The Mansion - January 5th, 1944
January fifth dawned cloudy and mild at the Mansion. Outside, the kitchen garden was now fully cleared and the girls were just finishing putting down the permanent pathways. After the first tentative experiment, ploughing had gone well and by the end both Millie and Em had been able to produce reasonably straight furrows. An old chain harrow had been unearthed and adapted so it could be pulled by a single pony, leaving a nice flat surface ready for sowing.
"It'll be covered in weeds again before it's warm enough to plant anything," moaned Millie as she and Em contemplated the completed plot.
"Nothing a bit of hoeing won't sort out," replied Emerald. "We could always put the chickens out here every so often, they'll clear it up as well as adding a bit of manure!"
Millie grimaced. She liked eating chickens well enough, but had as little to do as possible with caring for the birds on the farm.
"'Ere, I've brought you some teas." Goniff had become a regular visitor over the last few days, not actually getting his hands dirty, but supervising and making sure no-one got thirsty.
"Thanks Goniff love." Millie threw her spade into the back of the cart and took the mug with pleasure. "Heard anyfink from the boys yet? They're due back soon aren't they?"
Goniff shook his head. "Nah, probably missed the boat or ended up in 'ospital again. You'd better clear the lawn up before the Warden gets back. Charlie's been at it again."
Back in the Mansion, the sound of a jeep engine had Sergeant-Major Fletcher scurrying to the front door. It wasn't like the Lieutenant not to telephone when he landed, but then again...
"Hello Amb, back so soon?" The expression on the woman's face told him what he had already surmised. That her return hadn't been her choice. "Which one is it this time?"
"Chief," she replied, hoisting her suitcase out of the vehicle and stomping up the stairs into the house. "They didn't tell me how bad it was, just to get over here."
"Hello Actor. Feeling better?" she enquired politely as she passed the conman on his way downstairs.
"Much, thank you, although I doubt I'll be out on the obstacle course for a little while yet. Did I hear you say Chief is hurt?"
"Chiefy hurt?" parroted Goniff, trotting up the steps to join the conversation.
"That's what they said. Something about them wanting him here not in the hospital."
"Chiefy doesn't do with hospitals," clarified Goniff. "And the hospitals don't hold with us visitin'... says it upsets the nurses."
What Actor might have had to say on the matter was lost with the arrival of another vehicle.
The first thing Garrison saw as the staff car drove through the gates was the lawn. "What the hell...?"
Grazing contentedly on the lawn, protected from the cold with a jute rug, was Charlie. The pony lifted his head briefly, decided the oncoming vehicle was neither a threat nor someone bringing him a treat, and dropped his head back to the grass.
"Lieutenant?" Fletcher was as usual there to greet them. He saw the man glance yet again at the lawn, shake his head then tiredly climb the steps. Behind him, Diesel and Casino were helping the Indian out of the car.
It had been a painful trip for Chief. Unable to sit, he had spent most of both flights lying on his stomach across the seats. The staff car had been even worse. Too narrow to lie down he'd knelt on the seat most of the way from the airfield, forcing the other three to fit around him as best they could. Now all he wanted was some peace and quiet in his room. He suspected his wound might be infected, but had deliberately not said anything to Garrison, concerned that he might get left in Gibralter.
Once on his feet, Chief shook off the supporting hands, determined to make it up the stairs under his own steam. He made it across the gravel, but the first step defeated him.
"Come on Geronimo, let's get you upstairs."
Surprised, Chief looked into the eyes of the person who'd come to help him. It wasn't Actor or Goniff as he'd expected, but the young nurse he'd last seen on Christmas Day. He furrowed his brow, wondering why she would be here.
She answered the unasked question. "Sounds like the hospital prefers you recuperating here, far less disruptive."
Chief was too tired and in too much pain to respond. He accepted the support and slowly made his way indoors.
Meanwhile Garrison had turned his attention back to what had been going on in his absence. "OK Sergeant-Major. Debriefing. My office - now."
"Sir." Fletcher stood to attention, waiting to get the book thrown at him.
"Actor?"
"Doing well, sir. Bit wheezy. Probably be another couple of weeks before he's fit for duty."
"Goniff?"
"Fit as a flea. Just needed a rest and some good food. He's ready for duty now, although he couldn't do much in the way of running."
"The thing on the lawn?"
"Ah, that's Charlie, sir."
"I don't care what he's called, Sergeant-Major. What's he doing on the lawn apart from eating it?"
"Ah... well you said the land girls could clear the walled garden?"
"Yes...?"
"Well, petrol is in short supply and Charlie was doing nothing on the farm, so he was drafted in. Sorry about the lawn, sir, but we had to park him somewhere."
"Anything else Sergeant-Major?"
"Major Cavendish wants you to telephone him at your earliest, Sir, and there's been a message from Captain Hayter."
"Thank you Fletcher, that'll be all." The Lieutenant girded his loins and faced the mountain of paperwork waiting for his attention. What he wanted more than anything was a break. Some down time. Time to relax without the constant pressures of always being one step ahead of this team of men he'd somehow assumed responsibility for. However, he knew that like his men, it would be for at least the duration. Resignedly he picked up the first missive on the stack and started to read.
With Amber's help, Chief had made it to his room. He was aware that Actor had shadowed his progress. Privately he was shocked at how unwell the conman looked, but he doubted that he was winning any beauty contests himself at the moment.
Amber put her hands on her hips and tried to look as professional as she could. She cast an eye at Actor, hoping that he would back her up. The conman smiled slightly. He knew his reaction might make or break Amber's authority here.
Chief looked at Actor, but found no support from that direction. Resignedly he undid his belt and lay down on the bed.
Carefully Amber eased down the Indians clothes, with the aid of towels doing all she could to reveal as little as possible of the young man's anatomy. As Chief had suspected, the wound was inflamed and tight, but not seriously infected. She took a deep breath, determined to be professional. She couldn't deny that she was attracted to her patient, and it was hard to be dispassionate gazing at the pale skin in front of her. She was glad that Actor was there as chaperone as she changed the dressing and reapplied the sulfa. Once the treatment was complete she motioned the Italian over to help her. "Let's get your kit off Chiefy - you won't be going anywhere for a day or so, so you might as well be comfortable. If I'm stuck here nursing you, you'll do what I tell you - and Actor can tell you what a Rotweiler I am if I get crossed."
Actor carefully schooled his expression to show his agreement with Amber's words. He knew she was a bit of a pussycat really, but he wasn't going to tell Chief that.
It took Garrison an hour or so to finally unearth the airmail letter from Captain Hayter. He knew where Casino was - he could hear him exchanging insults with Goniff in the common room, but Diesel had disappeared. A glance out of the window solved the issue. The Mohawk was standing in the middle of the lawn, making the acquaintance of the chestnut cob. Garrison opened the glass, "Diesel?"
The man looked over his shoulder and with a final pat made his way back inside.
"Lieutenant?"
Garrison handed over the fragile piece of paper. "Looks like you're stuck with us for a bit longer."
Quickly Diesel scanned the words. Having got their man back on American soil, the brasses were going for their pound of flesh. He was training new Special Forces units, working alongside the British Navy officer that had trained their own team. Best guess it would be another two months at the earliest before he could get back to the UK. Gut feel - Diesel was safest where he was. Hayter wasn't in a position to protect him.
Garrison watched the man's face whilst he read the letter, waiting for his reaction.
The Mohawk took a deep breath. "I'll stay. You might need a scout for a while anyway. If not... I'm safer here than I would be back there." He handed back the letter and moved to look out of the window. Millie had come to collect Charlie and take him back to the farm. With a sigh, Diesel let himself out of the office.
As the door closed behind his 'lodger', Garrison picked up the telephone and called Major Cavendish. As expected it was a call to London for debriefing. If there was to be another mission, Cavendish wasn't letting on.
GG GG GG GG
It was late the next afternoon before the Lieutenant returned to the Mansion. With the exception of Chief, the remainder of the team had been waiting on tenterhooks for his return and were gathered in the common room.
"No briefcase," advised Goniff, watching out of the window.
"Looks like we're off the hook for a bit," added Casino, hopeful that a London pass might be on offer.
The Lieutenant deliberately held them in suspense for a while before making his way to join his men. He stood there silently, smiling waiting to see who would be first to ask. Of course, it was Casino.
"So what's the deal Warden?"
"Guaranteed 48-hours in London. No missions until Actor gets signed off by the medics, unless there's an emergency." He handed over the passes to the men. Casino snatched his out of the Warden's hand. Goniff, Diesel and Actor took theirs more slowly.
"Bet Chiefy'll be gutted losin' out," gloated Casino.
"I think Chief has other things on his mind at the moment," replied Actor enigmatically.
Garrison said nothing. The men hadn't asked, so he hadn't told them, but he had his own pass and was looking forward to his own two days of R&R. Fingers crossed the war wouldn't throw up any emergencies, two weeks without another Italian job would suit him just fine.
Postscript
After showing increased activity throughout January and February 1944, Mount Vesuvius finally erupted on 17th March 1944. Eruptions continued for the next 6 days. On 21st March the USAAF evacuated the Pompeii airfield, leaving their aircraft behind. When they returned to assess the damage on 29th March, 88 B-25 Mitchell bombers to a value of $25 million had been destroyed.
On 3rd January 1944, a raid by sixty B-17s of the 15th U.S. Air Force, dropped 156 tons of bombs on the RIV mechanical factory at Villar Perosa to the west of Turin, the FIAT plants in Turin itself and the adjacent marshalling yard. Sixteen civilians were killed and 42 were wounded.
To this day there is a discrepancy between the weight of gold that was stored in the vaults of the Bank of Italy before the outbreak of war and that which was recovered afterwards. It's location is currently unknown.