Post by adrini on Dec 23, 2015 0:22:27 GMT -5
Ultimate Justice Society of America
Chapter 3: Trapped
By Adrini
By Adrini
Waking up in a strange room the newly formed team, they find Carter Hall crashed on the floor with them. A noted archaeologist and member of the Monument Men corps. Able to read the walls, and finding the book that appeared out of nowhere, he begins to piece the mystery of Fate together. Tyler is told the secret full fold.
They are transported to Amiens, France where the Germans are becoming an ever nearing threat. A Team called the Blackhawks are working with local resistance to move as many high risk citizens as they can before the oncoming army arrives. McNiter and Tyler work to heal the injured while Scott finds them a newer and safer place to be. Hall comes to understand the rest of the puzzle.
While Scott and the two hawk pilots, Diana Trever and Zinda Blake, are getting a new assignment for the crew finalized McNiter finds a place to waste the hours till they come back. Settling in at a bar he finds Dinah Maria D’Couvier, known as Song Bird, waiting the bar. A survivor of the same SS raid that he barely survived, he finds one soul whose company he can find kindness and comfort in.
In Egypt the Afrike Korps of the German army are looking for the golden staff of Fate, and getting close.
5 AM. Amiens, France. Main Square. January 4, 1942
“Gather your men. We’ll meet at the bar and go from there.” Climbing out of the plane Scott was happy to be holding new form from command, no one was going to Leavenworth. Temporally attached as ground assistance he was beginning to feel like the world made sense. Diana tossed his pack to him and followed.
“Sounds good. I’ll round the men up and get the new orders out.” He put the pack on and they both trekked to the town, or what was left of it. “Any idea where we’re going from here?”
“I have one, but I want to check it out.” She made her way to the bar, he knew she kept a few of her things there. “You boys strike me as the type who want to do the most good.”
The town was still waking up, the first of the workers and keepers snuffing out the street lights and cleaning up the mess from the day before. Everyone here was tired, but they were carrying on. He had to give them credit.
At the make shift hospital the patients were resting, and he could tell they had been seen to. The few healers the town had were seeing to them. There was a back room but when he got there he only saw Tyler still asleep in the cots. McNiter was gone.
“Private.” He shook the kid awake. “Get up. We need to start moving. Where’s McNiter?”
“Wha-? Oh, sir.” Tyler was awake quickly. “We saw to everyone, sir. I also took the liberty of repairing some of the equipment and contacting locals to help, sir.”
“Well done, they need the help.” He sat down, it would take a moment for the fog of sleep to fade. Tyler was impressive, he was honestly a good kid. Kind only America made. “But I’m looking for McNiter.”
“He’s not here? We worked till, what was it, two or three in the morning.” He could tell Tyler was still exhausted. “The patients just kept coming. I’ll get ready to head out, sir.”
“Hold on that, soldier.” It was only now five. His men weren’t much use as zombies. “I’m doing a head count first. Think you can be ready by eight? You’re dead.”
“But, sir-“ Tyler wanted to argue but then stopped. He wasn’t going to, sleep was good. “Thank you sir. Where should I be?”
“The bar, and be ready to go. Any idea about Hall?” Tyler was already drooping back.
“Book shop, sir. He was reading that book we found.” Tyler was already back on the pillow and Scott took that as a cue to leave.
Outside he saw Diana looking around the street like he was, also unsure of something. She had a fresh shirt on but looked concerned. She ducked into a shop and he found the bookstore.
Hall was inside, easy to find. He would have to remember that the man snored, might be an issue later. He was resting at a desk with a mostly filled journal nearby. Whatever his project had been it seems to have been a success, he was surrounded by books. Two of his men tracked down he went back to the streets, worried that McNiter might have bolted.
“Who are you missing?” Diana was there, by the bar. She seemed to be expecting him.
“My medic. He’s not at the hospital.” He walked over and looked inside, no sign. “He’s not here willingly.”
“The best medics aren’t, life is more sacred to them then it is to us. Maybe it’s a good thing. He’s inside, cleaning up.” She nodded in the direction of the building. “There was a lot of carnage yesterday, I think he needed to escape it a little after seeing to everyone. He hasn’t run.”
“I’m giving the men a couple more hours, McNiter and Tyler were up till early morning seeing to the injured and Hall seems to have found something. Find yours?” He leaned next to her and she handed a beer, she seemed to drink a lot.
“Yep. Guess I can’t blame her, this is war. You fight for life where you find it.” She looked at his confusion. “She was with our new pilot-you know.”
“That’s fraternizing.” He said by knee jerk response.
“That’s life. We’re human and come with all the frailties and strengths therein. Lord knows I’ve done the same.” She finished the beer, a stolen german brew, and took out a cigarette case. “Hell, she’s been through hell. Maybe this will help her move forward. Only way to move forward after something really terrible is to make something new. I’d call it healthy. Maybe more of us should.”
She sighed, her thoughts closed to him, and lit up. He wasn’t convinced, but it was her personnel. If any of his own tried that he’d have their head. He ran his unit clean. The military meant discipline. She saw his expression and sighed.
“Zee will gather everyone, there’s some things we need to work clear. The hawks have been working with the resistance and the SOE, it’s a good team but we need agents who are freer to move. If you’re willing we’d like that to be you. You’ll have the support of all three, but we could use the help.” She looked at the bottle, he could feel her wish it were full again. When she spoke again it was softer. “We could still lose this, Scott. Things are not going well. Europe could slip away and if they do – I try not to think about it. But it’s there.”
“Tell me.” He had heard that things were hard fought, but hearing it from boots on the ground was sobering. “I came to fight, we’re here to help.”
“You might regret saying that.” The moment was over and she smiled and nodded to the edge of town while throwing her cig on the ground and stepping it out. “I’ll get you read in.”
Song Bird's Pub, upstairs. 5 am.
He thought he heard muffled voices behind him but was still too groggy from sleep to make out both of them, just the one. Though the one that was made him start awake, while memories began to come back.
“-say he got drunk or something. The leader, Scott, he will not be kind and I do not want him hurt.” Song Bird, now his Song Bird, was at the door talking to an unseen figure. She sounded nearly panicked, causing her native tongue to take over. “Jure, Diana! Tu n’allais pas expose-tu. Le capitan de sait rein!”
“Alright! You’re the boss here, I’ll cover for you. Just get everyone ready and out, we can’t afford rumors. The Germans aren’t far off.” The new voice said, also a woman. “I’ve never seen you like this, you never-“
“Pars!” Closing the door firmly she turned around, her ire still raised. He remembered the events of only a few hours ago and watched as she took a breath and collected herself.
It was a worn down room, the once nice wallpaper was torn and frayed. The window was oiled paper, the glass long gone. He noticed that the salvaged furniture was pointedly placed everywhere except one corner, and walking back the bar owner avoided it herself. Still what was in the room was nice, very nice. She had been a woman of means once, something her clothing and few possessions made clear. Several wealthy families were tied to the art houses, most having property outside Paris. With the war she now lived over a working man’s bar, crooning for a living. Yet her fire survived.
“Pardon, mon amour.” As though doing so for the hundredth time, and not the first, she slid back under the one good blanket and kissed him ‘good morning’ only the French knew how. After she looked at the still healing wounds, worried they weren’t more healed. “The war is calling us back, your captain was looking for you. Our moment is ending.”
“This one is ending.” He corrected, in some real way he needed her. War or no he was going to fight for it. “I told you I’m not a normal G.I., there will be more.”
“This I could live with.” Her eyes lit for a moment, but she got out of the bed to get ready.
Getting up he got back in his uniform as she got back into the tight and risque bar dress she wore to bring in a few more coins, and he found he was no longer quite as at ease with it. She put her hair back up, and did her face before making sure his uniform was right.
“If you mean what you say.” She slipped a paper into his pocket. “The pilot, Diana, she knows how to find me. Write letters to that dictation and they will find their way here. At least in words we can be together, for now.”
“Buy stationary.” Stopping at the door, where the rest of the world waited to take her away, he took a last look. “Or I’ll send you some. You’ll need it.”
Skies over France, en route to Blackhawk base camp.
“Roger, H.Q., we’re in flight now.” Diana was barely audible over the plane, and he couldn’t make out a response. But the response worried him. “I’ll keep an eye out, thanks for the heads up. Trever out.”
In the second seat Scott was flying in formation with the Hawks, his four man team stuffed into three planes along with the three pilots. The information center was just in allied territory, where it was safer to join the three sources of information into one clean battle plan.
Hall had been quiet all day, following but lost in his own head. Tyler was quickly becoming his right hand man. To be fair McNiter was recovering from his wounds, which could explain the air of just being out of it.
He saw the three planes move together, wings nearly touching, at a radio command. All three pilots pulled out attached machine guns and checked to make sure bullets were in their front guns. His stomach began to sink.
Diana was watching the clouds with a worried expression, and the other pilots were doing the same. As though joined in the mind they all turned at the same moment and a new plane appeared, falling out of the same clouds.
“Hold on, Yank. This is going to get rough.” Moving the plane she drifted into the clouds herself. He heard the radio wake up. “Blake, you direct Hawke. Follow Blake’s lead, she knows what she’s doing. Lead and distract, now!”
Blake’s plane pealed to the right and seemed to fade into the nothingness, this left Hawke as the center of aggression. Watching from above, Hall and Tyler in the line of site, he saw Hawke accelerate. And soon after, why.
It was a red plane, with cross markings and white trim. The German cross decorated both wings, and Diana’s eyes narrowed.
Below Zinda’s passenger did the same, but Hawke’s knew the plane on sight and his cheerful demeanor was quickly replaced by an open hatred for the new pilot. Noticing it both Hall and Tyler didn’t have to guess there was a history.
Seeing easy prey the red plane rushed to charge Hawke’s bird, and nearly hit it. Shorting the speed on the bird sharply the new plane dropped and avoided the plane, a level of Gs Hawke was used to but both of the army men began to feel sick. It got worse when he sped up again and began trailing the red plane himself.
It was cat and mouse for a time, the two planes weaving, until the red pilot caught on. Flying up at a steep angle there seemed to be no way to avoid the two planes colliding. Watching, Scott could feel the blood drain from his face but Diana’s face was beginning to show a smirk, clearly she knew something.
It was like a flash, the new bird coming in so fast it was easy to miss it, but he knew why the girl was kept around now. Zinda had been in a smaller plane, a British one. It only seated two people, and then tightly, and hadn’t seemed like much. But what it lacked in power it gained in speed.
More flashing then weaving Zinda piloted her bird so close that metal scratched and strings broke on the red plane. Quickly twisting back she avoided Hawke’s plane, no small feat, and again got close enough that the two had to be nearly face to face. There was a sound of a couple gun shots, and smoke from damaged controls.
The red plane tried to get away but Hawke, in a much larger and stronger plane, blocked his path allowing Zinda another go. He had seen the two meet the day before but in the air they two teamed like they had been doing so for months. The german plane was finally able to break away, and Diana lowered her bird from the cloud cover – clearly proud.
“That’s my girl.” Diana was clearly proud of her student, who was back in formation like Hawke. “She wasn’t an easy nut to crack, like your McNiter. Went through hell back home before she got out here. But that is what she can do. It was worth everything it took. Damn proud of that girl.”
A small airfield came into view and the three landed surprisingly smoothly for the makeshift runway. The pilots helped their passengers out and a few new pilots walked up. Diana exited the plane looking to make conversation but was cut off. There was more pressing news.
“G.I. pinned down. Way behind enemy lines. Local Resistance have him hidden but moving is a no go without help.” It was a tall blond man, muscled and vibrant with a clearly polish accent. “We’ll take it from here, no need to bother the ladies with the dangerous missions. It’s enough we make them bring the birds out here.”
Scott, knowing it was his team that would be put to work, paid attention. But Tyler, Hall and McNiter looked at the man with open shock at the comment after the recent show of skill. Hawke look at the woman he had just flown with and then back at the man in disbelief. Diana sighed, resigned to the treatment. Zinda had fire in her eyes but also didn’t bother arguing. They two wordlessly got back in the small bird, seemingly theirs, and took off again.
“I know, let women have their fits, but they don’t understand. War is a man’s world. They don’t need to be sacrificed to it. I’m Captain BlackHawk, and this is my second in command.” He motioned to the man behind him. “We fly out at first dark, only way you’ll get to the location safely. The resistance will guide you there and back.”
The man was walking fast, in a hurry to get them talked in.
“The resistance said one of you was a doctor?” He asked and McNiter nodded. “You’re our doctor now, welcome. The Blackhawks, any resistance you can help and visiting SOE. I’ve been asking for one for months so you’re just it. Welcome to the team. I see the engineer, the egg head and the leader – couldn’t be more perfect. Einstein, you know French?”
“Oui, Je parle fraincais. Mais-“ Hall started to motion to the doctor again, that he knew it as well but was cut off.
“Good enough for me. We play fast and tight here. No room for nonsense, and no need for sentimentality. Hit the head, grab some grub, whatever you need to do.” He pointed to tents to the east. “Night fall is just after six today and we will be in the air. Till then your time is yours.”
Scott, feeling at home, smiled. Everyone else was no longer sure about what they had gotten themselves into.
Reins, France. January 5, 1942. 3 am.
“Es-que-“ The man tried to talk to him but was struggling. “Tu mange? Tu faim? To eat?”
He was offering a rag holding some bread and cheese, and a small vial of wine. Injured and nearing delirium Jay took the food, his rescuers were kind even if they didn’t speak English well. Certainly an improvement over the Krauts who were punching his face in before. In his early 40’s and feeling clearly that he wasn’t a young man anymore. His hair was crusted in blood, he was in pain. Only the memory of Joan’s smile, of his son’s laugh, was keeping him going. Beyond them it was just the cold.
There were four resistance members, two men and two women and all four looked worried about him. One of the female agents knew some basic first aid, which had at least helped, but he knew he was hurt.
German voices started yelling outside, and the room went still. They had barely managed to hide the first time. If they were found again they were done. There was no way they had any luck left.
There was a loud thunk from outside and a knock on the thin door. The room went deathly still. Another thunk was heard.
“We’re from the, how do you say it?” A voice said on the other side of the door.
“La Noir Canari.” A second voice said, clearly used to being the one who know the language.
“And the Blackhawks, let us in.” They heard the first voice and two agents hurried to open the gate, three men rushed inside and the first went back to speak to a forth. “Private, now! I am not putting up with this.”
The forth man, the medic, came in a few moments later. An agent looked outside and remarked that he had been moving the knocked out germans to less exposed locations to save them from the worst of the cold.
“Captain Scott, Private McNiter, Private Tyler and Captain Hall. You have a man down?” The first man said and the four looked confused. Jay waved to get the medic’s attention. The man looked for a moment and grabbed a few things before heading over.
“Qu’Il bien?” He asked the nearby agent, who knowing that they were understood all four talked to him at once. Filling him in. “Je comprende, merci. Je besoin de travalle.”
“Hall?” The captain asked as Jay relaxed, the man knew what he was doing.
“Described Private Garrick’s injuries. They’re in danger to. They say that the local leader said we’d get them out.” Hall was pulling out MREs and handing them out, the agents were excited at the pouches. It was food. “And if you don’t go along with it they’ll contact the resistance leader have her let the Blackhawks know that you’re why they lose the local intel.”
“But I never-“ Scott sputtered, frustrated. “Fine. We need a new path out. And move tonight. Can he be moved yet?”
The doctor nodded, he was closing a wound. He was thinking about something, something worrisome. He grabbed a branch on the wall of the building and turned it into a workable crutch.
“If they can eat first it will help their speed in moving, sir. Every one of them is beat. Most literally.” The captain agreed, moving fast was their one chance. Jay had to move carefully but he was downing his second water bag, the doctor had warmed it to help him fight the cold. “How long have you been on the run?”
“About a month. It’s been rough.” Jay liked the man, he wasn’t regular army but he was good at what he did. “I was grabbed on an SOE job my first week. I’ve been switched a few times since. My wife has to be worried sick.”
“This is about over. There’s a currier you can pass letters off to at base. Eat up and we’ll go.” The medic, McNiter, was preparing the meal for him. His right hand was hurt so that was useful. The medic didn’t say much, leaving explanations to Scott. When a member of the resistance began a coughing fit he waved Tyler over to look after him and went to check out the agents. “McNiter knows this area, we’ll get out.”
It wasn’t long but Scott was keeping watch, with Tyler doing the same and they both saw the same thing.
“Guard just passed, this is our chance. We have to go. Now. ” Hall and McNiter spoke to the agents and the crew went outside and stuck to the treeline, it was going to be close. They got to a small clearing where an army jeep waited. Once everyone was packed inside they drove off, slowly so as not to attract attention. They ran into a few of the brushes in the night until McNiter took the wheel by force and the ride became smoother. He seemed to be skilled at driving in night, good skill.
The crew arrived at a small airfield where Blackhawks were waiting for them. Now hobbling, his leg was still out, Jay didn’t have to say a word for the medic to get him to the plane and safely inside. He was directing help for all the injured persons. Looking around his head was clearing up, and he was enjoying taking in a sea of English. Now he needed to write to Joan.
January 7, 1942. Blackhawk Main Camp.
“Do an old man a favor?” Jay walked up to the medic, once they had gotten back to the camp he had taken care of everyone then disappeared. Apparently to a corner where he was writing a rather long letter in french. Motioning to his still hurt dominate hand and the letter writing paper the young man nodded that he understood.
“Yes, Captain.” He stood up and helped get the man settled. The leg would heal but it would be a few days. The extraction team and the hawks were waiting for intel to form the next mission. The typical pattern of fear and boredom that war was known for.
“None of that captain stuff, not with us.” Jay sat down gingerly. “You saved my skin and there’s a girl back home that would kiss you for that, and I wouldn’t stop her. It’s Jay, I’m just a store keeper. That’s good enough.”
“Thank you, sir.” He smiled a little and opened the paper to write. “But it’s my job, I’m glad to do it. She who this letter is to?”
“Ya, Joan. Though I call her Joannie. You have to pretend not to know that if you ever meet her though. Saw her in our first week of university and-“ He snapped his fingers with his good hand. “That was it for me. Thankfully she was willing to go along with it or I’d be in real trouble. Should probably shoot one to my parents to, let people know I’m okay.”
“You’d have to fight for her.” McNiter said, now smiling for real. “And it’s Charles, so long as Scott isn’t around, if you like.”
“She’d be worth it, worth anything. She’s home with our boy now. He was just crawling when I left, best thing in the world. See, look at that grin.” Taking out his wallet he pulled out the pictures that had been carrying him for weeks. Charles looked at the pair and grinned. “Best boy you ever saw.”
“You’re a lucky man. I don’t have a family anymore.” He started the letter ‘Dearest Joannie’, and waited for more to write. “What do you want to say, Pops?”
“Where to start.” Jay had to think for a moment, channeling the relief of that moment into words. The medics line worried him but that was for another day. “I guess I should start with ‘There was a bit of trouble when I first got here but it’s been all cleared up now. I got a little hurt but a fine medic cleaned me up and I’ll be right as rain by the time you get this. If the handwriting is off it’s because my hand got roughed up and he’s helping me out till it heals up-”
Nearby at the main fire the rest of the crew were also writing letters to loved ones, while downing the mass produced swill that Uncle Sam called beer. A few lucky people had also gotten mail.
“My Dad’s stones are acting up again.” Tyler said as he read the letter, his mother filling him in on everything from home. “He’s going after calcium again. I keep telling him not to do that.”
“Hector and I have to keep an eye on Father back home, local doctor tells him what to lay off of and he just ignores it.” Hall laughed, he had a letter of his own. “See, like this the local says no riding till his muscle tear clears up and next morning he’s out on old Roger anyway. Before he gets back it’s torn again. Never learns.”
“My Pop’s store sells this cream, brings that swelling right down. I can have him send some to your Pop if you like. Might help.” Tyler said and Hall wrote down the address to pass over. “If he insists on going out anyway.”
“Brilliant, old sport. I’ll tell the old man it’s coming so he knows to look for it, Hector will see he uses it. Just tell me what I owe you for the trouble.” Hall moved over so they could coordinate letters. “At least I won’t have to worry about the old man hurting himself so much.”
Watching the crew Scott hid a smile as he listened. His own letter to his father was quite different. He was overdue for his weekly report. And the strongly worded letter that had been waiting for him made it clear that the General didn’t approve of the delay, no matter the reason. All Scott could do was respond and hope it was enough to make up for the lapse.
The new assignment is with a counter-intelligence group, General. They work with several groups to help the local insurgency and target German and Italian resources. My team is good, solid. Everyone has a solid training and can hold their own. We pulled out four French agents for the local resistance and one Engineer who I applied to stay on as it was one position that wasn’t filled yet. Intel is slow in coming, german advances make it hard for the local resistance to get back to us as fast as before, but a new mission should be starting in a few days to take out a rail line and make contact with agents for more information.
I wanted to make sure that you knew I understood your concern about our medic but so far I haven’t found any of his work lacking. He’s managed to save over ninety percent of the people we’ve come across, both military and civilian, despite his meager resources and the severe damage that modern weaponry can cause. I have been told that his assistance with the casualties in Amiens is the main reason the intelligence chief of the region opened up more resources. It helps that he speaks the language. I don’t agree with his politics anymore then you do but I can’t ignore that he is proving a valuable member of the team. He does need to be broken of the fairy tale he believes in, but he’s doing his part in this man’s war. I will by no means coddle him, but he should get credit where it’s due. People are alive for him being here, and a live soldier is one that can still fight.
January 12, 1942. Amiens, France. Song Bird Bar. 3 am.
It was early morning in the Song Bird Bar, still just as cold. The stiff wind easily slipped through the old wood and into the open room. Walking from the back room, where she kept her sparse supplies, the Song Bird lifted the crates and took them to the bar. Her supplies weren’t great, but it they kept the city going in its own way. The Americans called it ‘liquid courage’ for a reason.
Her piano player, Maurice, was as old as the instrument he played but his fingers had the same skill they held when playing for Matisse in Paris café’s long ago. It was fitting that the recent Americans had wanted so much Cole Porter, he had known and worked with the man once.
There wasn’t much, but she pulled out the stash from the compartment in the bar and carried over the simple dinner that would have to hold them for the next day. It was good food, if sparse. And the poor man, like her, had little else now.
“Merci, Mon Amie. Bonn appitit, Maurice.“ He sat down at a table and offered for her to join her. Bringing her own meal of soft brie, bread, cured meat and red wine the two ate at the table for a time before the old man smirked.
“Monsieur?” She asked, smiling at the look. He looked at the door, where they might be heard, and switched to English. It wasn’t as spoken.
“You have been quiet, it is not like you. I miss your voice.” He sipped the wine, savoring it. “But then perhaps there is a reason for the melancholy.”
“A momentary foolishness, at times even I can be young again.” She was beginning to lose the pain of hunger, and ignored the lingering pain beneath it. It had been a week, she had felt it was real. She had been wrong. “But it was nice to dream for a night, even if it was meaningless.”
“Was is, ma petite?” He slipped four thick letters on the table, each carefully written with the direction she gave given. With them several nice stationary sets and new pens. “The young Miss Blake dropped these off, with apologies. They’ve been having trouble crossing the channel. She’ll be back in the morning, should you care to reply.”
“He wrote.” Picking up the letters, each one something she never thought she’d see, the knot in her chest loosened. They were very thick, pages and pages. “Is this crazy, Maurice? In war?”
“Love is always crazy, ma petite. Why would war make it any different?” The man smiled wisely. “The greatest battle we fight in war is with ourselves. To not let the darkness win, and is had been winning with you until the young man showed up. What do you see when you look at the future now?”
“That there might be one.” To write so much, it must have taken hours. He had been thinking of her as well. She tucked the letters into her belt as a number of town’s people in the streets outside began to scream. Held the new writing papers. “Maybe the world after this will be worth it after all.”
“Les Allemands! Les Allemands!” It was the common cry. Neither she nor Maurice was surprised, they had expected the germans to be there long before.
“Maurice?” She could hear troops and tanks coming. Zinda would have to be there and gone tomorrow.
“I will calm them, read your letters. And I will drop off at least as many in the morning from you.” The old man was sure to finish his meal before getting up. The two of them had already arraigned for groups they knew the Germans would target to be removed, it was the first job of each resistance cell. Something Diana and Zinda had helped with. Now it was a matter of hiding and surviving. “Cling to the light, Song Bird. Take it from an old man who knows too well, the light will see you through.”