Post by adrini on Jan 14, 2016 9:17:35 GMT -5
The team settles into Camp Blackhawk, where they begin their work going on missions based on the intelligence of the SOE, the Resistance and the Hawks. Once the most despondent in the group, McNiter finds he has more to work for in the war then he thought he would as his blooming relationship with a local resistance leader makes him a point of contact between the two groups.
Trever and Blake, the female pilots who fly in new birds and supplies, face off against the local german ace with ease. However when they arrive at the camp after both are dismissed. Unable to change anything the team can only watch at the two highly skilled pilots are made to walk away from the war effort.
The team rescues Jay Garrick, a man older then generally permitted, yet brought into the war with mysterious special clearance. The man becomes the newest addition to the crew, though he needs to heal before he can go on full assignment. However in the off time between missions the group get to know each other, and begin to find that they actually pull together well.
In Amiens the Germans finally arrive and the local resistance, Song Bird at it's head, bunker down for the dark days to finally come.
February 24, 1942. Camp Blackhawk, England.
“It’s a lot better than it was.” Jay heard the doctor say. “You heal very well for an old man.”
He laughed, knowing the young medic was teasing him about his age. He had gotten special permission to enlist at the age of 41, due to his mission. In the small medical room that the young man called home he was in his undershirt and regulation boxers hopefully being cleared for missions again.
“You’re not so far off from it as you like to think, boyo.” McNiter smiled at the retort, but stayed focused on watching the muscle groups. “It is ready?”
He had suffered a fairly major leg gash, and had worried about losing the leg entirely. Thankfully that had not been the case, but he was still waiting for it to heal. In the meantime he couldn’t work.
“No.” McNiter said simply. “But not too much longer. A few of the muscle groups are still knitting. Another four or five days will do it. Make sure to use the cream and exercises and you should be fine.”
“You’re killing me, Doc.” Jay said, getting back in uniform. “I’m going crazy.”
“I’m doing the opposite. How about writing your wife? I’m sure she loves getting news.” McNiter was washing his hands and setting the examination bed for the next patient.
“I’m writing four letters a day. She knows about Hall’s snoring and Tyler’s baseball card collection, I wrote a whole paragraph about how you hide here to get away from Scott.” Now dressed, Jay put on his coat and sat down. He had become fond of the local healer. “Wish I could get more letters from her, though.”
“She has more to do then you. Is your son doing better?” Charles asked, the formal part of the visit over. “You said he was sick before.”
“Infection cleared right up, good call on the medicine you recommended. He’s back to pulling things off tables and knocking over everything he can reach. Thank goodness.” He smiled but noticed that his companion was hiding sadness again. “You ever going to tell me about that perpetual rain cloud you live under? Whatever it is I’d be happy to help.”
“Nothing to worry about.” The medic dismissed the concern. “You could volunteer for supply runs. Tyler could use the help. You’re good for lifting, so long as you don’t overdo it. He’ll be heading out tomorrow to get the new engine parts.”
“At least I’ll be some use. You need anything while we’re in town?” He asked and McNiter smiled slyly as he pulled out a list. Scott was openly refusing any and all of the medics personal requisitions to try to break the objectors will. The rest of the team, all of whom the medic had treated at some point now, ignored him and got the list directly. Looking it over it was clear from the sheer amount of stationary that he was writing someone constantly. There were few personal supplies.
“Let me know what I owe you when you get back, but this usually covers it.” He also handed over a wad of bills. Most of his salary, which would be a problem if he was allowed to leave camp, which he wasn’t. “And if you see one I could use an old, beat up antique French locket. I’ll cover repairs. But it has to look worn.”
“Someday I will figure out these secrets of yours.” Jay said as a whistle went out and Jay put the list and money deep within his coat, where Scott wouldn’t find it.
The C.O. appeared shortly, nodding kindly to Garrick who nodded in return.
“Leg healing up?” He asked, making polite conversation. He was openly friendly to the rest of the team. “I noticed you weren’t limping quite so much this morning.”
“Almost there, the good doc does good work. A few more days.” Garrick said and Tyler nodded, appreciating that their medic did a good job at least. “Till then I was wondering if I could pick up odd jobs, just to stay busy. Trips, assisting, whatever people need.”
“It’s a great idea. Approved, you head out tomorrow with Tyler. You’re a good man, Garrick.” Jay saluted and left the room, leaving the company commander with the doctor. McNiter knew better then to start any kind of conversation with the man.
“Private.” He said simply, now half glaring. “I haven’t seen you around camp much, you have an explanation for that?”
“Yes, sir.” He picked up the several files from the nearby table. Other members of the team, and even some of the Blackhawks, had been creating reasons to come to the medical tent. It kept the two men apart. “Mostly local allergens, various reactions. All in hand.”
Tyler continued to half glare, looking for some aspect to nitpick, some action to take offence to. The room was in regulation perfect condition, down to the medicine bottles being in exact order. And both men knew it.
“Captain, is McNiter with you?” The French Captain Blac-Dumont, the Blackhawkes
Intel chief, appeared and Scott couldn’t quite hide is frustration. He knew what the men were doing. But if he didn’t get the time he needed he would never break McNiter of his idiocy. He agreed with his father, provoking him was the only way. “Fly and rescue in the north of France, time is short and we have reports of wounded. Can you spare the doctor for a few hours?”
McNiter said nothing, simply awaiting orders, but rescue missions were the main mission of the Blackhawks and if Scott refused the Colonel himself would override the refusal.
“He’s all yours.” Scott said and turned leaving the tent. “Private.”
February 25, 1942. Amiens, Song Bird Bar.
“Ruhig!” Hans Godsten leaned over the table in the old bar. His source was talking in German, the others would hear and there was no way to know who was a spy for the resistance. The locals mostly spoke French and the men spoke German, English was safest. “Are you sure you saw it here? The glowing sign?”
“Ya, at the old warehouse. Four Americans came out, one was on a cot. I was able to get their names.” The young man slipped him a list, pointing out who was who. “They left quickly, the one on the cot was a doctor. There was an engineer, a book guy and the leader. Less than a day. Walked to west. That was it.”
“And they came here.” Hans looked around, it was a mixture of locals and the new troops. The building was under some repair, but a local boy was tending the bar while an old man played on a decrepit piano. “What did they do?”
“Had a bath, got some fresh supplies, paid for food and had a drink before heading out. Heard it from the housekeeper the owner keeps. Cost me.” The officer was waiting for something, he looked like he was excited. “The owner doesn’t like to play politics. They offered thirty American dollars, she took the gift. It was money.”
“You trust her?” Hans asked, she might have information to sell as well. She had met the four personally, there had to be a clue if they were Fate’s chosen.
“As much as I can. She hates us, but has to eat. For a price she can be depended on.” Hans nodded, that was fair, and he could even respect it. More, he could use it.
The room erupted into open cheers, including his companion who was now grinning. Look at the source he felt himself stopped. The owner had good taste in employees. The bar singer sauntered to the raised stage where the piano player was warming up and started a set of standard but well performed pieces, the frauline was very good.
“You can talk to her after the performance.” He heard, torn away from the voice. “She makes rounds to get us to stay later and order more.”
He smiled and raised a glass, a mercenary mind he understood. This was promising.
February 25, 1942. En-route to Brighton.
“I appreciate you taking me on.” Garrick said as Tyler pulled out a bag, basic rations and water for the drive. The kid was cheerful, glad to get away from the camp. “I know I’m a dead weight, you don’t need a gimp.”
“Not at all, I’ve been looking for a chance to talk to you. We’ve been so busy pulling Scott away I haven’t gotten a shot. Hell of a crap shoot for you to be signed on this flying circus, but you fit. Guess you were just meant to join up with us.” Tyler seemed to be relishing the company. They had left Hall behind as the buffer in their absence. The egg head was generally good at coming up with little emergencies.
“Didn’t know you believed in fate.” Garrick said lightly, not sure what Tyler meant. The jeep hit a fairly rough rock in the road and Tyler’s dog tags jumped out of his shirt just long enough for the man to see it. An anhk, the simple golden anhk. He was shocked, Tyler was tied to Fate. Who else was as well?
“You’d be surprised.” The kid said dryly. “I’ve seen things, you know. Just a little too neat. Makes you think, wonder, what’s really going on out there?”
“How long has Fate been pulling these strings?” Garrick said lightly as Tyler stepped on the breaks and choked, looking at him in disbelief. He motioned to his dog tags and Tyler look at his own, seeing the charm himself. “When?”
“Few weeks ago, just before we found you. I had almost convinced myself it was some kind of dream.” The kid was pale, just now understanding. “We were, well, the only word I can think to use is ‘borrowed’ back in the states. Jeepers Criminy!”
“Who?” Garrick asked, trying to pull the teen from his shock, this was needed information. “Comon’ kid.”
“Um, the four of us. It was when we found Hall, he had been taken from elsewhere. McNiter hit some stone somehow and got hurt.” Tyler was working through it. “Hall and the Captain kept looking at the damn walls while McNiter got paler and weaker, and I couldn’t get them to pay attention. But this other healer just appeared and-“
“So McNiter is certainly part of this.” Garrick said, Fate had personally intervened. “What happened?”
“Um, it was this woman, like from old times – really old times. She fixed him up and the door appeared. Amiens was on the other side. We jumped from New Jersey to northern France.” Tyler was catching his breath, Garrick was honestly shocked none of them had talked about it. But then it made sense. No one would believe them. “I guess we just agreed not to talk about it, pretend it never happened.”
“Can’t blame you.” Garrick said and pointed to the attention they were getting just sitting there. Tyler started the jeep again. “You know anything? What your job is?”
“It comes with a job?” Tyler asked, now driving carefully. “Hall might know. There was this book he found in the tomb, I know he’s been reading it. All I know is things ‘click’ way too often for it to be chance. And I don’t even know what that means.”
“None of us do.” Jay said, as they got to the edge of town. “But we’ll worry about that another day. Machine shop first.”
February 27, 1942. Camp Blackhawk.
“Get the mail out, then get back here and we’ll drop off the intel at SOE.” Diana said as she climbed out of her bird. “I’ll refuel here.”
“You got it, skipper.” Zinda was lifting the bag from her bird out and took the intel bag from her C.O. “There and back. You have the, you know.”
“You know how to play this. That ankle still bothering you?” Diana asked pointedly, as she handed over the sealed letters.
“Nah, that wasn’t – I mean, ya. It’s just been stubborn, you know? I think I should have it checked out.” Zinda said as she tucked the letters into her flight jacket. “I mean its war, every reason to stay A-1, right?”
“Victory in Europe, Peace in our time – get to work.” Diana pulled out the empty gas tanks.
Zinda lifted the two bags and walked the short path to camp, as Diana put the tanks by the gallon fountain and set to filling them with fuel to last a couple trips. It was heavy work, but needed. Crashing into the channel just sounded cold.
“Miss Trever, is it?” A man spoke behind her. “I didn’t catch your rank before, please forgive me.”
“Mrs. If you must. But I prefer captain or ma’am. How are ya doin’ Hall?” She turned to see the young man, almost certainly a product of a Dollar Princess and her broke but elegant gentleman. There was something to having a bit of culture in the area though. “Things holding up here?”
“As much as they can be, with the tug of war that’s going on. I have a mission, but Scott says I can’t tie up main Blackhawk resources to get it done. When I brought up asking you that was allowed.” He pulled out a folder and made sure it was complete. She was annoyed by the tone - yes, they were the backups. That wasn’t the way he was going though. “Which worked out perfectly as you’re the best flyers anyway. If you wouldn’t mind, though it is of some importance. Time is pressed.”
“Nice to see that someone knows it.” She smiled at the honest compliment and opened the file, dossiers on French art. “I heard about this, keeping art away from the Germans. Anything to get under their skin. When do they need to be picked up?”
“I need to radio the northern resistance leader, and she’ll have her agents move them to a flight zone for pickup. It’s all been arraigned.” Captain Hall pulled out a map, it was a workable landing area. “At night, of course. But you won’t need to be there long. When you have a time I can get up the contact.”
“One minute and you’ll have that.” She pulled out her journal. “And you’ll need a third plane, ours won’t hold all that.”
“Diana!” Zinda was back and being trailed. She was arguing with Captain Hawke. « Non! Tu es impossible! Je n’ai pas une décoration! »
“Saw this coming from a mile away.” Diana leaned on the plane, Hall moved to leave but she waved for him not to. “No, this will be good for you. And you get to watch. Problem, my student?”
“This Neanderthal thinks he can-“ Zinda began to explain but the captain interrupted her.
“No I’m not! I know you can fly, but Enemy Ace knows you now! You have to be careful!” Bart was shortly behind, trying to make his case to the angry women. She wasn’t interested.
“Captain Hawke, we’re pilots. We try not to take undue risks but in every war some people go home in body bags. We’ve made peace with that. You are subject to the same.” Diana said, and she and Hall both saw the man’s face go pale at the thought, though he did still glace at her student as well.
Zinda had refueled her plane and was running checks to make sure everything was in working order. Only her pilot boots were now visible as she took care of a few minor issues. Bart looked at the knee high boots and both of them could see the fear and helplessness.
“You could go with her.” Hall said before thinking, feeling for the man. Diana hid a laugh, and a look of ‘now you’ve done it’. Zinda appeared again and glared. “Not that she needs protecting, of course, but sometimes it’s nice to just verify that-“
“We have a real mission that needs three planes and we have two. Captain Hawke would fill that need. Could you live with that, Blake?” Diana offered the folder and Zinda wiped grease off her hands before looking herself.
“A real mission, about damn time.” She got back under the bird. “This will take about an hour anyway. We’ll go tonight. Don’t slow me down Hawke.”
February 27, 1942. Amiens. Song Bird Bar.
« Le groupe ayant retourne avec plus intelligence. Tu besoin de tout ? » The housekeeper took the box of ‘soap’ and put it with the others.
Going back inside she watched the full bar, lots of money being made for the resistance. The building was slowly being repaired, and resistance members being hired on and moving in as rooms were became usable. So long as they could keep up the cover they could keep up the quality of intelligence.
Pouring refills for several of the officers she began to wipe down the wood and make a list of supplies to restock. Once the bar closed she had a new batch of letters to dig into, it was taking some will power to finish the shift.
“Frauline, good evening.” He was here, he was always here. Leaning on bar he was clearly planning on staying to close. “I am told you were very good tonight, but then you always are.”
“Colonel. I expected you earlier. Something keep you away?” He always wanted the same gin, Charles’ gin. It was ‘out’, instead stored in her room and away from him. The middle shelf would do. “The usual?”
He took the glass and downed the liquid, then savored the second glass. Pulling his cigarette case from his coat he flashed a think wad of bills.
“Any news, frauline? I am a terrible gossip.” He closed the coat.
“The Italians have a ring going, bringing in wine from home.” She poured a small glass of wine for herself, to put him at ease. She got more information that way. “Cheese to, I think. I recall that being against regulations.”
“And bad for your business, I’ll pass it on. But something more interesting?” Gobsten offered to share but she waved the offer away. Instead lighting a French cigarette.
“If I had it.” She said sadly. “The most I have to offer is that there is some rumbling of a meeting in the south wood. No one seems willing to say just what. It might be nothing, likely is. But not every day can be interesting.”
Watching as she finished the wine, calls pulling her away, he smiled. Leaving a little tip on the counter, it might turn out to be something, he went to his table and watch as she directed staff and kept the men thirsty. She had hired an old german woman who was good at salty snacks, which kept the beer flowing.
The singer wasn’t telling everything, but then information brokers tended to keep certain insurances in their back pocket. She would slip up.
February 28, 1942. Over the channel, early morning.
“Landing might be a little rough!” Captain Trever said as they neared the ground. “Hold your lunch!”
The warning wasn’t needed. Knowing that he was flying into Nazi territory that night Hall has been unable to eat anything. As opposed to the pilots who had ordered seconds, they were not who you wanted to be around if you wanted to feel heroic.
The landing wasn’t bad, but the three planes also drove around so as to be able to take off again quickly. The three might not be as terrified of the nazi’s as he was, but they still didn’t want to be here long.
They turned off the planes and took out flashlights, they were told to go to the great oak in the north wood. The resistance leader had leaked false intel to the germans to keep the troop level in the area low.
« Allo, Capitan Hall! » They heard a voice from the tree line. « Ici ! »
The four hurried to find a group of the local resistance, a group of six in all ages. The younger of the group were dragging out wooden crates marked ‘musée, national’ into view. The sight stopped Hall in his tracks as the pilots moved to load the planes quickly.
« La collection du national? Au Louvre? » He said, not believing it. He was helping the national collection, the greatest art collection in the world, escape to safety. France’s greatest treasures, safer at risk over the channel then staying home. He could feel tears come to his eyes. « Je suis très désole. »
« Non, merci. Vu-Voir avez sécurit pour nous, oui? Nous voutons ils securit. Allé, capitan. Bon chance. » It was an old man, but he hurried him to the planes just as Hawk and Zinda were fitting a crate into her tiny back seat. Going back to his own seat he climbed into only to have Diana put a box into his lap, another crate was at his feet.
“No room anywhere else I’m afraid. But I don’t think you’ll mind. She’s said to be good company.” The pilot winked.
Diana climbed in and he looked at the box, the lid could slide off so he looked inside. He was flying back to camp holding an early Di Vinci Madonna and Child. It had already been damaged. He knew a restorer in London, he would write as soon as he got back.
Till then all he could do was cradle the priceless work, and wish the war would end.
March 1, 1942. Camp Blackhawk.
“Where is Garrick?” Tyler sat down by Hall’s bunk, surprised that the others weren’t there. Hall grabbed a grape ni-high from his trunk, a favorite of the kid and sat down.
“Getting McNiter from Scott.” He took out his notebook, the back pages he hadn’t shown anyone. It wasn’t confirmed, but he had been playing with his teammates as the roles he read in the book. He had his theories.
The door opened and Garrick led the worn doctor in, for a young man of only twenty-seven he was looking much older as of late. Hall was almost certain it wasn’t Scott, or not just Scott, but something much closer. If he was right he felt very sorry for the man. Garrick grabbed some gin from the chest and poured it for the doctor before grabbing a beer for himself. Tyler looked concerned, McNiter actually had a black eye developing, but the concern was waved off.
“Scott’s on a war path but I got the hawkes to tie him up.” Garrick pulled out his dog tags, nodding to the others to do the same. Tyler and Hall weren’t surprised by the new charm, but McNiter was visibly shocked.
“That’s not possible, I saw them in the shower this morning. It was just the two.” The golden ankh was just as bright on his chain as the others though.
“It didn’t want to be seen. Hall?” Garrick explained quickly. “You have the book.”
“We’re looking for a staff, the Staff of Fate.” He pulled out the book and showed a page. It was a plain, golden staff in the ankh shape. “The role of Fate isn’t being filled right now, and the staff awakens the thing that chooses the next office holder. It can also just be used, without the staff, to control the power of it. There are people who want that.”
“I can think of someone.” Tyler said, making a small ‘heil hitler’ gesture. “The bastard.”
“Bastard isn’t bad enough.” McNiter said darkly, pulling out his case and glancing at it for a moment before lighting a french cigarette. “Trust me on this one.”
"No it isn't. ” Hall said softly and turned the page. It was as much as any of them had seen of the man’s mind, and to hear a healer talk that way was chilling. The page showed several pieces that needed to be found. None of the others spoke. “The staff responds to its other pieces, so we need to find them and go from there. The nearest one is across the channel, it was buried in a roman temple, would be ruins now. I think I can find it once we get to the area, but we need to get there first.”
“There’s resistance there, they can lead us. Blake and Trever know the ground contacts.” Tyler said and pulled out a map. “Do we land in Amiens?”
“No.” Hall said. “Or at least if we do we’re careful. Someone is looking for us there. New intel.”
“That resistance leader really comes through for us, glad she’s on our side." Garrick liked that they were looked after, the local chapter had meant it when they offered an alliance.
“And we have to work with Scott.” Tyler said dryly. The others nodded. That was going to be a challenge. "He needs to clear heading out."
“Maybe something will open up.” Garrick shrugged.
March 3, 1942. Private Garrick's Quarters.
Garrick was finishing a letter to Joannie. She had sent a care package, along with a reel of tape of their son who was now beginning to learn to run. The little boy wasn’t taking long to catch on, he’d be zooming around the house in no time.
Listening to the pounding rain outside he tried not to think about the soft bed and warm food back home. Chasing his son around the house and holding his wife every day. But as the lightening crashed again and he heard the pilots run to their planes to check on them, and Hall and McNiter hurried to being their chess game inside, and Tyler had already moved inside with his comic books. There was a family of sorts here - sort of.
Thinking everyone was settled he was surprised when a knock came to the door.
“Some storm, huh?” Scott said as he came in. “At least being grounded means the team gets a break, can’t fly.”
“Wouldn’t recommend it anyway. Can I help you, Captain?” He cleared off a chair and Scott sat down, waiting for the door to close.
“I come in peace. To be honest I want your advice on something.” He pulled out a letter in a very high end envelope. “If I fill you in could you spare a few thoughts?”
Jay looked at the address, and look up, shocked. It didn’t make sense.
“Why wouldn’t she just write to him?” He asked, Clare McNiter had no reason to write the C.O. Scott motioned for him to read it.
“She can’t. All contact is forbidden.” Scott said, looking more conflicted then he had for some time. “He’s been banished from the family home, order of his father. I know the man, I’m not surprised.”
“One hell of a rain cloud.” Garrick said, mostly to himself, as he read. “Well known guy?”
“Mad Man McNiter, legend of sorts. General in the Great War, universally seen as insane. Would order charges against fully formed lines and have anyone who refused shot on sight.” Scott filled in the history, he looked guilt stricken.
“So they could get shot or get shot.” Garrick replied. It must have been a hell of a childhood.
“He was drummed out just before Armistice Day, but he still did damage. Only person I know who admires him is my old man, and that’s never a good sign.” Scott reached for the small collection of booze, asking for permission which was given. Garrick hid a smirk as he reached for the gin.
“So dear old dad is the same way. That’s rough.” He reached for a glass himself, it was about time the young man opened up. “What’s the problem, then?”
“Clare filled in the last of the pieces. His old man is trying to get him disciplined for cowardess, mine is helping. He’s opted out, but they still want a way to get at him.” He downed the glass. “If I can get him to take the pin off I can call off the dogs, but then they’ll want to send observers to monitor his kill count.”
“He wouldn’t be Charles.” Jay sighed, there was a serious lack of good parentage in his unit. He held up the letter. “I’ll take care of this, she’ll get her news. But you have the hardest job here, and I don’t envy you any of it.”
“You mean I have to stand up to him.” Scott said, looking steeled. “I’m less afraid of a German air raid then I am of my father. But if I don’t another man pays for it, and I can’t live with that. I’ll have to get tips on being disowned. Maybe McNiter will forgive me enough to give me pointers.”
“Tell him what you’ve told me, he’ll need a few days but he’ll come around. But you could start by doing a solid. We’ve gotten a request from the resistance. Would help our standing with them, get more on the ground assistance. You know his ties to France.” Jay poured the man another glass.
“I can see him moving there if we win this thing. It’s the right thing to do. We’ll have to wait for the rain to clear, but done.” Allen looked at his glass. “Before I forget I wanted to apologies for being a total prick. I know how it’s looked. My father doesn’t excuse it.”
“No lasting harm done, and you’re on the right path now.” Jay smiled, he was a good man. “Just keep going. We’re here, no matter what the man does, for both of you. Though if you ask me they’re both damn fools, they have every reason to be proud of the sons they have."
Trever and Blake, the female pilots who fly in new birds and supplies, face off against the local german ace with ease. However when they arrive at the camp after both are dismissed. Unable to change anything the team can only watch at the two highly skilled pilots are made to walk away from the war effort.
The team rescues Jay Garrick, a man older then generally permitted, yet brought into the war with mysterious special clearance. The man becomes the newest addition to the crew, though he needs to heal before he can go on full assignment. However in the off time between missions the group get to know each other, and begin to find that they actually pull together well.
In Amiens the Germans finally arrive and the local resistance, Song Bird at it's head, bunker down for the dark days to finally come.
Ultimate Justice Society of America
Chapter 4: Dusk
By Adrini
February 24, 1942. Camp Blackhawk, England.
“It’s a lot better than it was.” Jay heard the doctor say. “You heal very well for an old man.”
He laughed, knowing the young medic was teasing him about his age. He had gotten special permission to enlist at the age of 41, due to his mission. In the small medical room that the young man called home he was in his undershirt and regulation boxers hopefully being cleared for missions again.
“You’re not so far off from it as you like to think, boyo.” McNiter smiled at the retort, but stayed focused on watching the muscle groups. “It is ready?”
He had suffered a fairly major leg gash, and had worried about losing the leg entirely. Thankfully that had not been the case, but he was still waiting for it to heal. In the meantime he couldn’t work.
“No.” McNiter said simply. “But not too much longer. A few of the muscle groups are still knitting. Another four or five days will do it. Make sure to use the cream and exercises and you should be fine.”
“You’re killing me, Doc.” Jay said, getting back in uniform. “I’m going crazy.”
“I’m doing the opposite. How about writing your wife? I’m sure she loves getting news.” McNiter was washing his hands and setting the examination bed for the next patient.
“I’m writing four letters a day. She knows about Hall’s snoring and Tyler’s baseball card collection, I wrote a whole paragraph about how you hide here to get away from Scott.” Now dressed, Jay put on his coat and sat down. He had become fond of the local healer. “Wish I could get more letters from her, though.”
“She has more to do then you. Is your son doing better?” Charles asked, the formal part of the visit over. “You said he was sick before.”
“Infection cleared right up, good call on the medicine you recommended. He’s back to pulling things off tables and knocking over everything he can reach. Thank goodness.” He smiled but noticed that his companion was hiding sadness again. “You ever going to tell me about that perpetual rain cloud you live under? Whatever it is I’d be happy to help.”
“Nothing to worry about.” The medic dismissed the concern. “You could volunteer for supply runs. Tyler could use the help. You’re good for lifting, so long as you don’t overdo it. He’ll be heading out tomorrow to get the new engine parts.”
“At least I’ll be some use. You need anything while we’re in town?” He asked and McNiter smiled slyly as he pulled out a list. Scott was openly refusing any and all of the medics personal requisitions to try to break the objectors will. The rest of the team, all of whom the medic had treated at some point now, ignored him and got the list directly. Looking it over it was clear from the sheer amount of stationary that he was writing someone constantly. There were few personal supplies.
“Let me know what I owe you when you get back, but this usually covers it.” He also handed over a wad of bills. Most of his salary, which would be a problem if he was allowed to leave camp, which he wasn’t. “And if you see one I could use an old, beat up antique French locket. I’ll cover repairs. But it has to look worn.”
“Someday I will figure out these secrets of yours.” Jay said as a whistle went out and Jay put the list and money deep within his coat, where Scott wouldn’t find it.
The C.O. appeared shortly, nodding kindly to Garrick who nodded in return.
“Leg healing up?” He asked, making polite conversation. He was openly friendly to the rest of the team. “I noticed you weren’t limping quite so much this morning.”
“Almost there, the good doc does good work. A few more days.” Garrick said and Tyler nodded, appreciating that their medic did a good job at least. “Till then I was wondering if I could pick up odd jobs, just to stay busy. Trips, assisting, whatever people need.”
“It’s a great idea. Approved, you head out tomorrow with Tyler. You’re a good man, Garrick.” Jay saluted and left the room, leaving the company commander with the doctor. McNiter knew better then to start any kind of conversation with the man.
“Private.” He said simply, now half glaring. “I haven’t seen you around camp much, you have an explanation for that?”
“Yes, sir.” He picked up the several files from the nearby table. Other members of the team, and even some of the Blackhawks, had been creating reasons to come to the medical tent. It kept the two men apart. “Mostly local allergens, various reactions. All in hand.”
Tyler continued to half glare, looking for some aspect to nitpick, some action to take offence to. The room was in regulation perfect condition, down to the medicine bottles being in exact order. And both men knew it.
“Captain, is McNiter with you?” The French Captain Blac-Dumont, the Blackhawkes
Intel chief, appeared and Scott couldn’t quite hide is frustration. He knew what the men were doing. But if he didn’t get the time he needed he would never break McNiter of his idiocy. He agreed with his father, provoking him was the only way. “Fly and rescue in the north of France, time is short and we have reports of wounded. Can you spare the doctor for a few hours?”
McNiter said nothing, simply awaiting orders, but rescue missions were the main mission of the Blackhawks and if Scott refused the Colonel himself would override the refusal.
“He’s all yours.” Scott said and turned leaving the tent. “Private.”
February 25, 1942. Amiens, Song Bird Bar.
“Ruhig!” Hans Godsten leaned over the table in the old bar. His source was talking in German, the others would hear and there was no way to know who was a spy for the resistance. The locals mostly spoke French and the men spoke German, English was safest. “Are you sure you saw it here? The glowing sign?”
“Ya, at the old warehouse. Four Americans came out, one was on a cot. I was able to get their names.” The young man slipped him a list, pointing out who was who. “They left quickly, the one on the cot was a doctor. There was an engineer, a book guy and the leader. Less than a day. Walked to west. That was it.”
“And they came here.” Hans looked around, it was a mixture of locals and the new troops. The building was under some repair, but a local boy was tending the bar while an old man played on a decrepit piano. “What did they do?”
“Had a bath, got some fresh supplies, paid for food and had a drink before heading out. Heard it from the housekeeper the owner keeps. Cost me.” The officer was waiting for something, he looked like he was excited. “The owner doesn’t like to play politics. They offered thirty American dollars, she took the gift. It was money.”
“You trust her?” Hans asked, she might have information to sell as well. She had met the four personally, there had to be a clue if they were Fate’s chosen.
“As much as I can. She hates us, but has to eat. For a price she can be depended on.” Hans nodded, that was fair, and he could even respect it. More, he could use it.
The room erupted into open cheers, including his companion who was now grinning. Look at the source he felt himself stopped. The owner had good taste in employees. The bar singer sauntered to the raised stage where the piano player was warming up and started a set of standard but well performed pieces, the frauline was very good.
“You can talk to her after the performance.” He heard, torn away from the voice. “She makes rounds to get us to stay later and order more.”
He smiled and raised a glass, a mercenary mind he understood. This was promising.
February 25, 1942. En-route to Brighton.
“I appreciate you taking me on.” Garrick said as Tyler pulled out a bag, basic rations and water for the drive. The kid was cheerful, glad to get away from the camp. “I know I’m a dead weight, you don’t need a gimp.”
“Not at all, I’ve been looking for a chance to talk to you. We’ve been so busy pulling Scott away I haven’t gotten a shot. Hell of a crap shoot for you to be signed on this flying circus, but you fit. Guess you were just meant to join up with us.” Tyler seemed to be relishing the company. They had left Hall behind as the buffer in their absence. The egg head was generally good at coming up with little emergencies.
“Didn’t know you believed in fate.” Garrick said lightly, not sure what Tyler meant. The jeep hit a fairly rough rock in the road and Tyler’s dog tags jumped out of his shirt just long enough for the man to see it. An anhk, the simple golden anhk. He was shocked, Tyler was tied to Fate. Who else was as well?
“You’d be surprised.” The kid said dryly. “I’ve seen things, you know. Just a little too neat. Makes you think, wonder, what’s really going on out there?”
“How long has Fate been pulling these strings?” Garrick said lightly as Tyler stepped on the breaks and choked, looking at him in disbelief. He motioned to his dog tags and Tyler look at his own, seeing the charm himself. “When?”
“Few weeks ago, just before we found you. I had almost convinced myself it was some kind of dream.” The kid was pale, just now understanding. “We were, well, the only word I can think to use is ‘borrowed’ back in the states. Jeepers Criminy!”
“Who?” Garrick asked, trying to pull the teen from his shock, this was needed information. “Comon’ kid.”
“Um, the four of us. It was when we found Hall, he had been taken from elsewhere. McNiter hit some stone somehow and got hurt.” Tyler was working through it. “Hall and the Captain kept looking at the damn walls while McNiter got paler and weaker, and I couldn’t get them to pay attention. But this other healer just appeared and-“
“So McNiter is certainly part of this.” Garrick said, Fate had personally intervened. “What happened?”
“Um, it was this woman, like from old times – really old times. She fixed him up and the door appeared. Amiens was on the other side. We jumped from New Jersey to northern France.” Tyler was catching his breath, Garrick was honestly shocked none of them had talked about it. But then it made sense. No one would believe them. “I guess we just agreed not to talk about it, pretend it never happened.”
“Can’t blame you.” Garrick said and pointed to the attention they were getting just sitting there. Tyler started the jeep again. “You know anything? What your job is?”
“It comes with a job?” Tyler asked, now driving carefully. “Hall might know. There was this book he found in the tomb, I know he’s been reading it. All I know is things ‘click’ way too often for it to be chance. And I don’t even know what that means.”
“None of us do.” Jay said, as they got to the edge of town. “But we’ll worry about that another day. Machine shop first.”
February 27, 1942. Camp Blackhawk.
“Get the mail out, then get back here and we’ll drop off the intel at SOE.” Diana said as she climbed out of her bird. “I’ll refuel here.”
“You got it, skipper.” Zinda was lifting the bag from her bird out and took the intel bag from her C.O. “There and back. You have the, you know.”
“You know how to play this. That ankle still bothering you?” Diana asked pointedly, as she handed over the sealed letters.
“Nah, that wasn’t – I mean, ya. It’s just been stubborn, you know? I think I should have it checked out.” Zinda said as she tucked the letters into her flight jacket. “I mean its war, every reason to stay A-1, right?”
“Victory in Europe, Peace in our time – get to work.” Diana pulled out the empty gas tanks.
Zinda lifted the two bags and walked the short path to camp, as Diana put the tanks by the gallon fountain and set to filling them with fuel to last a couple trips. It was heavy work, but needed. Crashing into the channel just sounded cold.
“Miss Trever, is it?” A man spoke behind her. “I didn’t catch your rank before, please forgive me.”
“Mrs. If you must. But I prefer captain or ma’am. How are ya doin’ Hall?” She turned to see the young man, almost certainly a product of a Dollar Princess and her broke but elegant gentleman. There was something to having a bit of culture in the area though. “Things holding up here?”
“As much as they can be, with the tug of war that’s going on. I have a mission, but Scott says I can’t tie up main Blackhawk resources to get it done. When I brought up asking you that was allowed.” He pulled out a folder and made sure it was complete. She was annoyed by the tone - yes, they were the backups. That wasn’t the way he was going though. “Which worked out perfectly as you’re the best flyers anyway. If you wouldn’t mind, though it is of some importance. Time is pressed.”
“Nice to see that someone knows it.” She smiled at the honest compliment and opened the file, dossiers on French art. “I heard about this, keeping art away from the Germans. Anything to get under their skin. When do they need to be picked up?”
“I need to radio the northern resistance leader, and she’ll have her agents move them to a flight zone for pickup. It’s all been arraigned.” Captain Hall pulled out a map, it was a workable landing area. “At night, of course. But you won’t need to be there long. When you have a time I can get up the contact.”
“One minute and you’ll have that.” She pulled out her journal. “And you’ll need a third plane, ours won’t hold all that.”
“Diana!” Zinda was back and being trailed. She was arguing with Captain Hawke. « Non! Tu es impossible! Je n’ai pas une décoration! »
“Saw this coming from a mile away.” Diana leaned on the plane, Hall moved to leave but she waved for him not to. “No, this will be good for you. And you get to watch. Problem, my student?”
“This Neanderthal thinks he can-“ Zinda began to explain but the captain interrupted her.
“No I’m not! I know you can fly, but Enemy Ace knows you now! You have to be careful!” Bart was shortly behind, trying to make his case to the angry women. She wasn’t interested.
“Captain Hawke, we’re pilots. We try not to take undue risks but in every war some people go home in body bags. We’ve made peace with that. You are subject to the same.” Diana said, and she and Hall both saw the man’s face go pale at the thought, though he did still glace at her student as well.
Zinda had refueled her plane and was running checks to make sure everything was in working order. Only her pilot boots were now visible as she took care of a few minor issues. Bart looked at the knee high boots and both of them could see the fear and helplessness.
“You could go with her.” Hall said before thinking, feeling for the man. Diana hid a laugh, and a look of ‘now you’ve done it’. Zinda appeared again and glared. “Not that she needs protecting, of course, but sometimes it’s nice to just verify that-“
“We have a real mission that needs three planes and we have two. Captain Hawke would fill that need. Could you live with that, Blake?” Diana offered the folder and Zinda wiped grease off her hands before looking herself.
“A real mission, about damn time.” She got back under the bird. “This will take about an hour anyway. We’ll go tonight. Don’t slow me down Hawke.”
February 27, 1942. Amiens. Song Bird Bar.
« Le groupe ayant retourne avec plus intelligence. Tu besoin de tout ? » The housekeeper took the box of ‘soap’ and put it with the others.
« Non, allé ! Vous irez voir-tu. » Song Bird looked around and ushered the woman out the back. « Bonne chance. »
Pouring refills for several of the officers she began to wipe down the wood and make a list of supplies to restock. Once the bar closed she had a new batch of letters to dig into, it was taking some will power to finish the shift.
“Frauline, good evening.” He was here, he was always here. Leaning on bar he was clearly planning on staying to close. “I am told you were very good tonight, but then you always are.”
“Colonel. I expected you earlier. Something keep you away?” He always wanted the same gin, Charles’ gin. It was ‘out’, instead stored in her room and away from him. The middle shelf would do. “The usual?”
He took the glass and downed the liquid, then savored the second glass. Pulling his cigarette case from his coat he flashed a think wad of bills.
“Any news, frauline? I am a terrible gossip.” He closed the coat.
“The Italians have a ring going, bringing in wine from home.” She poured a small glass of wine for herself, to put him at ease. She got more information that way. “Cheese to, I think. I recall that being against regulations.”
“And bad for your business, I’ll pass it on. But something more interesting?” Gobsten offered to share but she waved the offer away. Instead lighting a French cigarette.
“If I had it.” She said sadly. “The most I have to offer is that there is some rumbling of a meeting in the south wood. No one seems willing to say just what. It might be nothing, likely is. But not every day can be interesting.”
Watching as she finished the wine, calls pulling her away, he smiled. Leaving a little tip on the counter, it might turn out to be something, he went to his table and watch as she directed staff and kept the men thirsty. She had hired an old german woman who was good at salty snacks, which kept the beer flowing.
The singer wasn’t telling everything, but then information brokers tended to keep certain insurances in their back pocket. She would slip up.
February 28, 1942. Over the channel, early morning.
“Landing might be a little rough!” Captain Trever said as they neared the ground. “Hold your lunch!”
The warning wasn’t needed. Knowing that he was flying into Nazi territory that night Hall has been unable to eat anything. As opposed to the pilots who had ordered seconds, they were not who you wanted to be around if you wanted to feel heroic.
The landing wasn’t bad, but the three planes also drove around so as to be able to take off again quickly. The three might not be as terrified of the nazi’s as he was, but they still didn’t want to be here long.
They turned off the planes and took out flashlights, they were told to go to the great oak in the north wood. The resistance leader had leaked false intel to the germans to keep the troop level in the area low.
« Allo, Capitan Hall! » They heard a voice from the tree line. « Ici ! »
The four hurried to find a group of the local resistance, a group of six in all ages. The younger of the group were dragging out wooden crates marked ‘musée, national’ into view. The sight stopped Hall in his tracks as the pilots moved to load the planes quickly.
« La collection du national? Au Louvre? » He said, not believing it. He was helping the national collection, the greatest art collection in the world, escape to safety. France’s greatest treasures, safer at risk over the channel then staying home. He could feel tears come to his eyes. « Je suis très désole. »
« Non, merci. Vu-Voir avez sécurit pour nous, oui? Nous voutons ils securit. Allé, capitan. Bon chance. » It was an old man, but he hurried him to the planes just as Hawk and Zinda were fitting a crate into her tiny back seat. Going back to his own seat he climbed into only to have Diana put a box into his lap, another crate was at his feet.
“No room anywhere else I’m afraid. But I don’t think you’ll mind. She’s said to be good company.” The pilot winked.
Diana climbed in and he looked at the box, the lid could slide off so he looked inside. He was flying back to camp holding an early Di Vinci Madonna and Child. It had already been damaged. He knew a restorer in London, he would write as soon as he got back.
Till then all he could do was cradle the priceless work, and wish the war would end.
March 1, 1942. Camp Blackhawk.
“Where is Garrick?” Tyler sat down by Hall’s bunk, surprised that the others weren’t there. Hall grabbed a grape ni-high from his trunk, a favorite of the kid and sat down.
“Getting McNiter from Scott.” He took out his notebook, the back pages he hadn’t shown anyone. It wasn’t confirmed, but he had been playing with his teammates as the roles he read in the book. He had his theories.
The door opened and Garrick led the worn doctor in, for a young man of only twenty-seven he was looking much older as of late. Hall was almost certain it wasn’t Scott, or not just Scott, but something much closer. If he was right he felt very sorry for the man. Garrick grabbed some gin from the chest and poured it for the doctor before grabbing a beer for himself. Tyler looked concerned, McNiter actually had a black eye developing, but the concern was waved off.
“Scott’s on a war path but I got the hawkes to tie him up.” Garrick pulled out his dog tags, nodding to the others to do the same. Tyler and Hall weren’t surprised by the new charm, but McNiter was visibly shocked.
“That’s not possible, I saw them in the shower this morning. It was just the two.” The golden ankh was just as bright on his chain as the others though.
“It didn’t want to be seen. Hall?” Garrick explained quickly. “You have the book.”
“We’re looking for a staff, the Staff of Fate.” He pulled out the book and showed a page. It was a plain, golden staff in the ankh shape. “The role of Fate isn’t being filled right now, and the staff awakens the thing that chooses the next office holder. It can also just be used, without the staff, to control the power of it. There are people who want that.”
“I can think of someone.” Tyler said, making a small ‘heil hitler’ gesture. “The bastard.”
“Bastard isn’t bad enough.” McNiter said darkly, pulling out his case and glancing at it for a moment before lighting a french cigarette. “Trust me on this one.”
"No it isn't. ” Hall said softly and turned the page. It was as much as any of them had seen of the man’s mind, and to hear a healer talk that way was chilling. The page showed several pieces that needed to be found. None of the others spoke. “The staff responds to its other pieces, so we need to find them and go from there. The nearest one is across the channel, it was buried in a roman temple, would be ruins now. I think I can find it once we get to the area, but we need to get there first.”
“There’s resistance there, they can lead us. Blake and Trever know the ground contacts.” Tyler said and pulled out a map. “Do we land in Amiens?”
“No.” Hall said. “Or at least if we do we’re careful. Someone is looking for us there. New intel.”
“That resistance leader really comes through for us, glad she’s on our side." Garrick liked that they were looked after, the local chapter had meant it when they offered an alliance.
“And we have to work with Scott.” Tyler said dryly. The others nodded. That was going to be a challenge. "He needs to clear heading out."
“Maybe something will open up.” Garrick shrugged.
Garrick was finishing a letter to Joannie. She had sent a care package, along with a reel of tape of their son who was now beginning to learn to run. The little boy wasn’t taking long to catch on, he’d be zooming around the house in no time.
Listening to the pounding rain outside he tried not to think about the soft bed and warm food back home. Chasing his son around the house and holding his wife every day. But as the lightening crashed again and he heard the pilots run to their planes to check on them, and Hall and McNiter hurried to being their chess game inside, and Tyler had already moved inside with his comic books. There was a family of sorts here - sort of.
Thinking everyone was settled he was surprised when a knock came to the door.
“Some storm, huh?” Scott said as he came in. “At least being grounded means the team gets a break, can’t fly.”
“Wouldn’t recommend it anyway. Can I help you, Captain?” He cleared off a chair and Scott sat down, waiting for the door to close.
“I come in peace. To be honest I want your advice on something.” He pulled out a letter in a very high end envelope. “If I fill you in could you spare a few thoughts?”
Jay looked at the address, and look up, shocked. It didn’t make sense.
“Why wouldn’t she just write to him?” He asked, Clare McNiter had no reason to write the C.O. Scott motioned for him to read it.
“She can’t. All contact is forbidden.” Scott said, looking more conflicted then he had for some time. “He’s been banished from the family home, order of his father. I know the man, I’m not surprised.”
“One hell of a rain cloud.” Garrick said, mostly to himself, as he read. “Well known guy?”
“Mad Man McNiter, legend of sorts. General in the Great War, universally seen as insane. Would order charges against fully formed lines and have anyone who refused shot on sight.” Scott filled in the history, he looked guilt stricken.
“So they could get shot or get shot.” Garrick replied. It must have been a hell of a childhood.
“He was drummed out just before Armistice Day, but he still did damage. Only person I know who admires him is my old man, and that’s never a good sign.” Scott reached for the small collection of booze, asking for permission which was given. Garrick hid a smirk as he reached for the gin.
“So dear old dad is the same way. That’s rough.” He reached for a glass himself, it was about time the young man opened up. “What’s the problem, then?”
“Clare filled in the last of the pieces. His old man is trying to get him disciplined for cowardess, mine is helping. He’s opted out, but they still want a way to get at him.” He downed the glass. “If I can get him to take the pin off I can call off the dogs, but then they’ll want to send observers to monitor his kill count.”
“He wouldn’t be Charles.” Jay sighed, there was a serious lack of good parentage in his unit. He held up the letter. “I’ll take care of this, she’ll get her news. But you have the hardest job here, and I don’t envy you any of it.”
“You mean I have to stand up to him.” Scott said, looking steeled. “I’m less afraid of a German air raid then I am of my father. But if I don’t another man pays for it, and I can’t live with that. I’ll have to get tips on being disowned. Maybe McNiter will forgive me enough to give me pointers.”
“Tell him what you’ve told me, he’ll need a few days but he’ll come around. But you could start by doing a solid. We’ve gotten a request from the resistance. Would help our standing with them, get more on the ground assistance. You know his ties to France.” Jay poured the man another glass.
“I can see him moving there if we win this thing. It’s the right thing to do. We’ll have to wait for the rain to clear, but done.” Allen looked at his glass. “Before I forget I wanted to apologies for being a total prick. I know how it’s looked. My father doesn’t excuse it.”
“No lasting harm done, and you’re on the right path now.” Jay smiled, he was a good man. “Just keep going. We’re here, no matter what the man does, for both of you. Though if you ask me they’re both damn fools, they have every reason to be proud of the sons they have."