Chapter 5 – The Scout

With Wheeler thrown into the mix all the positions on the team were filled but it left a bad taste in Garrison's mouth. This wasn't what he wanted, Wheeler didn't have the skills needed to stay alive in enemy territory, he'd certainly end up getting them all killed or, even worse, captured, interrogated and shot as spies.

Garrison desperately needed an experienced scout, someone who knew how to fight and survive even when the odds were against him. He hoped the solution to his problem was in the grubby, dog-eared file he now held. When he'd started his search for his team and first read this file he'd thrown it in the reject tray but something kept drawing him back to it, he'd pick it up, read it through and toss it back, after the fourth time he added it to his small pile of possible candidates. A niggling thought at the back of his mind and a feeling in his gut made him keep the file at the top where he could see it.

This man, known only as 'Chief', had been the hardest one to track down, the two month search had eventually lead him to Attica Prison, New York State and now here he was, outside Warden Finch's office where a guard had left him fifteen minutes ago. He opened his briefcase, took out the file and read through it again quickly while he was waiting, trying to make some sense of what was in there. It said Chief had been in and out of juvenile detention from an early age for stealing cars along with general theft and fighting. He was eventually arrested and, after a very short trial, convicted of robbery and attempted murder. He was initially imprisoned in Arizona, after escaping from there he'd been transferred to Statenville Prison, Georgia where he'd attacked two prison guards, killing one and putting the other in hospital with serious injuries. The details were vague and no names were on the report.

Garrison frowned as he read further on. The file was missing lots of information, pages had gone and entries had been crossed out including Chief's full name, Garrison thought he could just about make out something like, 'Rai...'; date of birth, home address and next of kin were also illegible. He read on the next page that Chief was of mixed Navajo and white parentage. Garrison was well aware of the general attitude people had towards Indians and it would have been even worse for someone like this prisoner who had a foot in both worlds – belonging to neither one nor the other.

A prison summary said that he was a loner who was extremely self-reliant, reputedly a very good shot and deadly accurate with a knife. He was also, allegedly, a vicious fighter, this particular sentence had been heavily underlined for some reason that was unfathomable to Garrison. He turned to the next page and carried on reading. Chief had escaped from a couple of the prisons he'd been in and evaded capture, using his native skills to live off the land for weeks at a time before eventually being caught and put back. After one escape he was captured after a two month chase through inhospitable desert and mountainous terrain. He'd eventually been run down by men on horseback with tracker dogs – he'd been on foot.

Every transfer record was vague or incomplete, it seemed this con had gone from prison to prison for no reason at all. The file also held numerous medical entries from those same prisons showing injuries received in fights and what little treatment he'd been given for them. He seemed to have spent all of his prison time in solitary confinement, perhaps that was punishment for the fighting. Every time Garrison read through this file he felt more and more that something was wrong, he'd gone through literally dozens of prison records in his search for suitable candidates for the team and none of them were as bad or as misleading as this one.

When he'd phoned Statenville, Prison Warden Pryor said he'd no idea why information was missing and blamed administrational errors. The prison wardens he talked to afterwards were unhelpful and queried the reason why he was searching for a 'no good breed' who would only cause him trouble, this had strengthened his resolve to find the Indian and see him for himself. He was sure this prisoner was the one he needed to complete the team.

Garrison was getting sick of visiting these depressing institutions, they reeked of depravity and decay, the sounds of desperation rang in his ears long after he'd left them. How men could endure years on end in these hellholes was beyond him, he'd had enough after thirty minutes in any of them. He took off his cap and rubbed his hand through his hair, eager to get away and return to decent people and surroundings.

The door opened. "Enter," a voice commanded, Garrison went in to be greeted by an unfriendly stare from Finch as he returned to his chair behind the desk, there was no invitation to sit down. The warden picked up a document and started reading it. "Lieutenant Garrison, I see you have the file you wanted, did you read it?"

Garrison nodded. "Yes Sir."

Finch continued to read, not bothering to look up. "All of it?"

"Yes Sir."

There was still no acknowledgement from Finch. "And you still want to see him?"

"Yes Sir. I do"

Finch finally glanced up and gave the Lieutenant a belligerent look. "Why? Pryor told me weeks ago that you were looking for that worthless half-breed. I would've thought you'd have given up by now. He's not worth the time or the effort you've put in to find him. Haven't you army boys got all the men you need without raiding my prison and taking my best cage fighter?"

So, someone had been keeping track of where the prisoner was and his own efforts to find him.

Garrison looked up sharply as the words 'cage fighter' sunk in, suddenly everything fell into place. All the missing records and injuries made sense now, he'd been traded from prison to prison to fight. He was sure the various wardens had made a good profit out of him – so much for being worthless! Garrison fixed Finch with a humourless stare. "The sooner I see the prisoner the sooner I'll be away from here... Sir."

Finch looked down at his paperwork. "You have no authority here Garrison. I'll let you talk to him, but I warn you he was in a fight yesterday and may not be willing or able to come see you."

The Lieutenant frowned. "Then I'll go to him, Warden Finch. I'm sure your guards are capable of stopping any attack from a half dead con."

That earned him another glare as Finch picked up the phone. "Gonzales, go down to solitary and see if the breed's awake, throw a couple of buckets over him, clean him up and bring him here. Don't forget the usual precautions." Finch went back to his paperwork, ignoring Garrison as he walked over to the window to stare at the area outside.

Twenty minutes later a door opened on the other side of the yard and a figure shuffled into view with a guard walking either side of him and another one behind, each carrying a long bat. At last Garrison got his first sight of the convict he'd been looking for as he slowly walked across the yard. He thought the man must be injured as his gait was awkward but that impression quickly changed when he saw the rear guard pull on something, sending him crashing helplessly to the ground, Garrison realised he was shackled hand and foot with no chance of saving himself. He watched as he struggled to get up without any help from the grinning guards, he seemed to be heavily favouring his left side.

Garrison glanced down at the file in his hand and then looked back out the window to watch the procession as it reached the building. After they entered he turned around to watch the door waiting for them to arrive. Eventually the door opened and the prisoner staggered in, obviously aided by a shove from one of the guards. This time he kept his balance and walked to the centre of the room followed closely by a guard, tapping his bat in his hand.

"Here's your Indian... talk to him and be done," said Finch flicking his hand at the prisoner.

Garrison stared at the shackled figure before him. The now dusty orange prison jump suit clung to damp patches on his slender body. His head was down and dark, wet hair had fallen to cover his forehead and eyes. His feet were bare and covered in a film of dirt that had clung to them during his walk across the yard. Garrison reckoned he was of similar height to himself.

Chief raised his head slowly to look at the pair of army boots standing close to him. His eyes narrowed as he frowned at the sight of the army uniform. His steady gaze travelled up until he was looking the Lieutenant straight in the eyes. Now Garrison could see the high cheekbones that indicated his Navajo heritage along with a slightly darker skin tone but this was hard to tell under all the dirt and bruises on his face.

Chief suddenly shook his head quickly from side to side to get his damp hair out his eyes. The guard stepped forward with his bat raised, ready to strike, Chief turned swiftly, ready to defend himself as best he could. Garrison saw the prisoner wince as he moved, he was definitely injured, he quickly held up a hand to stop the guard. "That won't be necessary!" he ordered. The guard stepped back but still held the bat ready.

Garrison returned his attention to the prisoner, he'd already turned back to face him, he was still ready to fight if necessary and was watching his every move warily. Garrison was surprised to find himself staring into intelligent, dark brown eyes that almost seemed to bore right through him. The Indian held his intense gaze on him, relaxed slightly and tilted his head as if questioning Garrison's presence.

Garrison realised the prisoner wasn't afraid of him or the guard. He looked at the way he stood, poised on the balls of his feet, prepared to move as quickly as he could to meet any eventuality despite being chained. It was obvious to him the Indian was ready for anything that might happen and wouldn't go down without a fight even in his present condition. The clink of the shackles broke Garrison out of his thoughts. "I want to speak to the prisoner in private Warden Finch"

"Why?"

Garrison gave Finch a cold look, he was beginning to dislike the man intensely. "It's a military matter, you don't have clearance to hear what I have to discuss with him."

"That worthless breed'll attack you before I close the door," sneered the guard, but under Garrison's glare he gave in. "You don't know what he's like, he's a vicious, cold-blooded killer! Don't say I didn't warn you."

Garrison cast a quick look at the badly injured and shackled con. "I'm sure I can deal with him. Leave the room. I'll call you when I've finished." He waited for the door to close before turning back to face the Indian, he was standing quietly, dignified and erect, he was still staring intently at him but seemed at ease and wasn't prepared to rip his throat out, yet! Garrison took a closer look at the prisoner, he was shocked to realise that under all the dirt and bruises he was just a kid - he'd be surprised to be told he was older than twenty two or three. He frowned, this was unexpected, with everything that was in the file he was expecting someone much older.

Without taking his eyes off the man in front of him he reached into his pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes, he offered them to the prisoner but was refused with a shake of his head. He put them back unopened and looked at the con assessing his injuries. "You alright? You look pretty beat up, do you want to sit down?"

A quiet voice answered his question. "I'm fine, those bulls love their fun, I'm used to it." Chief shifted uncomfortably in his shackles, trying to stop his ribs hurting. "Why're you here?"

Garrison took a deep breath. "To make you an offer. I've been searching for you for two months and come a long way to make it."

"I'm listenin'." Chief didn't drop his steady gaze as the Lieutenant started to explain why he was there.

Garrison felt as if he was the one being assessed as the Indian's dark eyes read every expression on his face and took in every gesture he made. "My name is Lieutenant Garrison, I've been tasked with putting together a Special Forces team of prisoners with special skills to go behind enemy lines in Europe on intelligence missions."

"Cons?" Chief couldn't believe what he was hearing.

Garrison gave a small nod. "Yes, cons. I already have a safe-cracker, a thief, a confidence man and a driver."

The Indian stared at the Lieutenant. "What you need me for? I got no special skills."

The officer pointed to the dog-eared file. "I need someone to protect them. You've got the expertise I need to do the job."

"You want me to fight?" Chief's voice held a hint of anger as he realised what was being asked of him. His eyes darted around the room. "I'm doin' that already here. Why should I bother goin' with you?"

Garrison looked at the prisoner's bruised face, he could see he was trying to hide how badly injured he was. He guessed he had at least two broken ribs. "How many fights you had in the last couple weeks?" he asked.

Chief glared at him defiantly. "Two. I'm back in the cage in a few days, Finch told me it's a death match." He shifted uneasily as his broken ribs grated. He had a foreboding that the death would be his own, it would be his last fight, he was in no condition to go back in the cage. The guards had already told him the other man was favourite to win and had bet against him.

Garrison couldn't believe what he'd heard. "That's illegal, why hasn't something been done?"

He got a cynical look and a soft snort from the prisoner. "No-one's gonna stand up for no con, 'specially an Indian. You heard 'em, I'm a worthless breed."

Garrison was shocked, two fights in two weeks? By the looks of it they'd been vicious ones too. He suddenly realised that if his search had taken even a few days longer all he probably would've found would be a body. He wondered how he could persuade the injured man that he would be better off taking his chances with him.

"I've read your record, I know what you can do. Yes, I'm asking you to fight but you can do much more than that. You know how to survive and that's what I'm looking for. If you stay here you'll die, that's certain, I'll get you medical attention and give you a chance to live. Come to Europe with us, I've been looking for a good scout and I think you're what the team needs."

Garrison paused as he tried to find the right words. "You don't know me or have any reason to believe or even trust me but I'll give you the chance of a parole and your freedom. It'll be dangerous and I can't guarantee any one of us will get through it, but it's a better choice than you got now."

Chief stared defiantly at the Lieutenant. "Some choice, whatever I do I'm gonna die."

Garrison uncharacteristically reached out to put a hand on on the Indian's shoulder, Chief reacted to the sudden movement and jerked violently away from the unwanted contact, he winced and drew in a quick breath at the pain from his ribs. Garrison immediately withdrew his hand. The convict regained his composure and relaxed his tense muscles.

Garrison looked down at the folder in his hand, he was running out of options. There was something different about this prisoner that marked him out from all the other candidates he'd seen, he had a strong gut feeling this was the man he needed on the team. "I don't have a lot of time before I go to Europe. I really need to have your answer now. Say you'll do it and you'll be out of this hellhole as soon as I hand over the paperwork."

Chief turned away and walked slowly to the window, his shackles rubbed painfully and his body ached. He looked out at the desolate prison yard and then gazed up at the clouds floating overhead. A bird flew towards him and then suddenly veered away, he watched as it soared over the boundary wire, disappearing into the hazy distance. Perhaps it was a sign to help him decide his future, he breathed deep and slowly turned back to face the officer.

Garrison realised he'd been holding his own breath and let it out slowly. It seemed the Indian had made up his mind. "Well, what do you say? Are you with me?"

Chief paused, gave the Lieutenant a long hard look and then a small nod. "Ok, I'm in." Garrison wondered why he felt a sense of relief, it felt as if he'd just passed a test he didn't know he was taking. Chief tilted his head towards the door. "Finch ain't gonna be happy when you tell him, I'll be dead before I get back to solitary. How you gonna get me outta here?"

Garrison pointed to his briefcase. "Got it covered, you're in my custody as of right now."

Chief shook his head. "You're crazy, he won't let me go. I told you I'm fightin', he'll already have bets on me bein' dead by the end of the match."

Garrison walked over to the door. "He's going to be a very disappointed man then." He threw it open and shouted. "Finch, come in here we've business to discuss."

Finch stormed back into his office along with the guard. "I've had enough of this Lieutenant. Gonzales take this breed outta here and put him back in solitary where he belongs."

Garrison stepped in between the guard and his newly acquired scout. "Gonzales, you so much as touch him and I'll drop you where you stand." Garrison's quiet voice carried a menace that stopped the guard in his tracks. Chief was taken by surprise by the unexpected intervention. No one had ever stood up for him before, he was used to fighting his own battles.

Finch looked up in shock "What the hell are you up to Lieutenant!"

Garrison reached into his case and pulled out a large wad of papers. He quickly slipped the last page back unseen. He dropped them unceremoniously on Finch's desk where they scattered, some falling on the floor. "Here's the paperwork Finch, read it at your leisure there's a lot of it. Basically it says this prisoner is now the property of the United States Army and he's coming with me, immediately." He paused and enquired over his shoulder. "Do you have any belongings you need to pick up?"

Chief stared at the officer's back in disbelief. "My clothes and a medallion."

The Lieutenant pointed to the door and indicated they were going. "Right, you can pick those up on our way out. Finch make sure everything is waiting for him as we leave."

"You can't do this Garrison," shouted Finch. "You don't have the authority!"

Garrison threw Finch a look of dismissal. "I may not, but the Army does Finch." He turned on his heel and followed the prisoner down the corridor.

They walked to the changing area in the reception building. A guard was waiting, Chief watched in disbelief as his shackles were undone, they dropped from his wrists and ankles and fell to the floor with a clatter. The guard gave Chief a basket of clothes and a small envelope, he opened it and pulled out a St Christopher medallion that he quickly inspected and put around his neck. He went to have a quick shower and change out of his prison clothes. Fifteen minutes later he was back out, grateful to be feeling fresh and clean, his dark hair had been towel-dried and tousled back from his face, the bruises were more noticeable on his tanned complexion.

Garrison straightened up and stepped away from the wall he'd been leaning against while smoking a cigarette. He looked at the young man standing in front of him wearing old, faded jeans, jacket, a loose fitting shirt and scuffed, well-worn shoes. Chief frowned and shook his head as he pulled the waistband of his jeans up and down. "Gonna need a belt, nothin' fits any more, it's all too big."

"Must've been all that fine food and exercise you've been getting recently," said Garrison drily. "Let's go before Finch gets to the last page of the paperwork I gave him and realises it's missing. He won't be happy I conned him into handing you over."

Chief's head shot up. "What?" he exclaimed, loose pants forgotten. "You suckered Finch?" He gave the officer an inquisitive look. "Lieutenant, you sure you ain't a con yourself?"

Garrison rankled at the question, he was a disciplined army officer who would never resort to underhanded, criminal activity. But, he admitted to himself, he'd just bent the rules to get the convict he required out of prison before he ended up a dead man. He reached into his briefcase and retrieved the page he'd kept hidden, he held it up – there were no signatures on it. "Finch will get the rest of the signed paperwork tomorrow, but it wasn't safe to leave you in there. I agree, he would've had you killed and I need you alive for what's coming up."

Chief's brown eyes looked into Garrison's. "What's that gonna be Lieutenant?"

Garrison took out his cigarettes and lit one. "First you're going to hospital to get your injuries treated properly, then a flight to England and four weeks' intensive training, we leave in a few days with the others."

Chief's head was still reeling from the morning's events. It had all happened so fast. Was it only an hour ago he'd been kicked awake in solitary and had buckets of cold water thrown over him? He'd thought he was going to be unexpectedly thrown back in the cage for another vicious fight. He'd barely survived the last one, every broken rib and strained muscle screamed in agony when he moved. How did he get here, on the verge of leaving this godforsaken place?

He looked at the Lieutenant who'd appeared out of nowhere and turned his world upside down. He wondered if he could take the risk and trust this army officer who was offering him a second chance. At first glance the man seemed to be totally self-controlled and humourless just like every cop and prison guard he'd met in the past. It was only while watching the Lieutenant in Finch's office he thought he'd also seen something else, a rebellious streak, much like his own, it was well-hidden under the veneer of the disciplined officer but it had flashed a fin under the surface during his dealings with Finch and the guard. There was something more to this man, only time would tell.

Garrison reached into his pocket and pulled out a set of handcuffs. "I have to do this." He gave his prisoner a meaningful look. "Do I have your word you won't try to escape? I don't want to but I will shoot you if I have to, believe me."

Chief looked the officer square in the eyes and nodded. "You have my word Lieutenant." He reluctantly held out his hands for Garrison to put the hated cuffs on his chafed wrists.

Garrison made sure the restraints fitted comfortably. "They'll stay on until we get to the army hospital."

Chief lowered his hands, shrugged and gave the officer a small smile. "No sweat, best not to take chances with a 'vicious, cold-blooded killer' like me."

Garrison shot him a quick glance, ready for trouble; what he saw was a proud young man standing before him, unbowed by what he'd endured, who was unsure of what was going to happen but was willing to go with him nonetheless. He knew instinctively he'd made the right choice.

Suddenly, Garrison saw Chief as a person, not just an expendable con or a no good, worthless breed; the realisation shook him and he took a moment to collect himself. He couldn't afford to think of any of his newly acquired team of prisoners as people, he couldn't let himself get involved in their lives. He was recruiting them to do a job, it would be unprofessional and bad for discipline if he did anything else but be their commander. He took a deep breath. "Ok, let's go."

They walked out through the security gates, reached the car park and climbed into an open-top military Jeep. Chief climbed awkwardly into the vehicle and held his hands out so Garrison could secure his cuffs to a metal chain connected to the vehicle's framework. Garrison started up the jeep, gunned the engine loudly and sped off in a cloud of dust. A couple of miles down the road Chief asked if they could stop for a moment. Garrison obliged and pulled to the side of the road, he kept his hand on his gun in case of trouble. "You feeling alright?"

Chief sat back in his seat, raised his face to the sun and felt its warmth. He closed his eyes and breathed in the welcome scent of freedom. A bird sang nearby – perhaps it was the same one he'd seen earlier. He opened his eyes, smiled and replied. "Am now, thanks for getting' me outta there Lieutenant. Let's go."

Garrison said nothing, he pulled out and sped off down the road.