Post by adrini on Mar 19, 2016 23:49:23 GMT -5
When we left our Heroes…
Allen Scott makes peace with his new roll in Fate in time to lead the first run. The team finds and rescues the first item with the help of the local resistance. Rex Tyler, trying to help, reveales that he had been sneaking information from the Resistance to the SOE, who is still working with Vichy. McNiter storms out, claiming that Vichy is a plant but the matter isn't cleared.
The mission goes off without a hitch, but leaving Tyler spies McNiter with the receiver of the letters he's been writing all this time. Knowing now that his information comes from a solid source he stops communication. The claim seems proved when Song Bird is taken.
The timing couldn't be worse. The SOE sends a General with news of impending attacks, the Nazi's are targeting civilian target and they need intel now. But until they are able to find the cell leader there isn't much to be done.
June 2, 1942. Camp Blackhawk. Medical Room.
“I could take care of that for you.” Diana said, entering the back room. His eyes still wrapped Charles was lying in bed, there wasn’t much for him to do until the doctor came back and they found out if his sight had been saved. At the voice he turned, as if to look, and sat up.
“The owl?” He asked, the creature had planted by his window. It seemed happy there, spoke up every now and again. “No need, we’re friends now. Hey, Hootie, you good out there?”
The owl responded on que and Diana sighed, sitting down. The man was resilient. Though he could have picked a more creative name.
“I should get him a bar or something to sit on, let him come inside.” He was on the edge of his bed now. “Any news?”
“No, but they have agents fanned out looking. She was at the end of a number of missions. No one else knew the details so it’s hurting the operations on the whole coast.” He nodded, SOE people had come to ask him what he knew several times. It had helped but not enough. “What are those?”
“Letters, didn’t get a chance to read them before-“ He waved at his bandages. The letters were still sealed, he was holding them tightly.
“Let me.” She said. “Maybe they have a clue.”
“Thank you.” He gently offered them. “I only wish I had read them when I had the chance.”
“Give it time. Let’s see.” She opened the first one. “My dear, but she is sentimental. She’s at the bar, a few of the other agents are on the mend so she’s doing their work for them. She mentioned a colonel, bit obsessive.”
“He has her, I know it. But I don’t know where.” Charles said, sighing.
“Have you told the SOE that?” She asked and he nodded. She read the letter softly, it was full of constant reminders of affection. Dreams and wishes of times to come. Small in jokes that made the serious young man smile despite the distance and his injury, he even laughed a couple times. One thing was made very clear. They both wanted for the war to end, and the channel to no longer divide them.
Looking at the man Diana shook her head.
“You’re lucky, like it or not.” Diana said and Charles looked up. “Don’t look at me like that.”
“Haha. How do you figure?” The owl hooted again, Charles just cocked his head, once again momentarily forgetting that the sight thing wasn’t working just then.
“I had to run three states to get away from Ulysses, keep Stephen save the whole time. Still amazed we made it.” Charles ‘looked’ down, listening. “Only really knew we were safe when the bastard died. Never had this.”
“I’m sorry, Diana. I’m so sorry.” Charles sighed. “I’ve seen that before. She didn’t escape.”
“But she kept you safe, as long as she could, and that’s what mothers do.” Charles seemed taken aback, but she had guess long ago. “It’s how you respond to bullies. Stephen has it to.”
She handed the letters back and got up, to leave the man to his thoughts.
“One last thing while I’m here. The military just passed new regulations, tightening laws on war brides. If you have any thoughts in that direction sooner is better than later. Might take a few years to get through.” He seemed to consider the idea then looked discouraged again, as nice of as thought as it was Song Bird was still missing. “She’s still fighting, McNiter. See that you do to.”
June 2, 1942. Blackhawk Camp. Captain Scott's Office.
“New Blitz numbers.” The Colonel McSweeney sat down with a file. “About what we expected.”
“Tyler, sit down. We have work to do.” Garrick called the young man. He was changed, punishing himself Song Bird going missing, McNiter being distracted enough to get hurt, the operations in Northern France hitting a wall and now London burning. He was convinced it was all somehow his fault. He kid just ignored him. Scott looked over himself but looked to the SOE general.
“We got it wrong, not you lad.” The general said, Tyler didn’t look entirely convinced but he was listening. “We can’t change what we’ve done, but we can do better now. Only way left is onward.”
Tyler took a moment but sat down, finally joining them. He was sharp, focused – no longer so innocent. The war was changing everyone.
“We screwed up, and it cost us. Now we act. We need those plans to save London, and they need their cell leader back to keep the Resistance alive. So we get her back and we all get what we need.” Scott took over the conversation. “That’s means clear communication. We need someone direct from the SOE here in camp. A radio set up so the Resistance can contact us without setting up romantic rendez-vous first. A radio with the SOE to. We’re doing this right now.”
“This is what happens when the yanks enter the war.” The Colonel looked at Carter. The Brits shared a look, they had been fighting this war for years.
“What’s the plan, Captain?” Garrick leaned forward, keeping the kid focused. Rex needed something to do to help him feel like he was making up for his mistakes. “We’re behind.”
“Get Trever and Blake in here, and Blackhawk. They’re the closest things to locals we have right now.” Scott said, the Colonel nodded to a figure at the door.
“We need to stop at her bar, see what they know.” Tyler said, thinking. It caught on.
“Key spot for a radio.” The Colonel said, agreeing. “Maybe they’ve found something.”
“Now we’re working. McNiter had a lead.” Garrick put in his bit, the Colonel pulled out a file. But it wasn’t very thick.
“Working on it.” The man said. “But it’s a start.”
“You summoned, sir?” A woman arrived, carrying a heavy briefcase. She was wearing an SOE uniform but her accent was American. She was young, brunette, pale, almost a kid.
“Lt. Harris. Your local contact with SOE, and a Resistance specialist.” He said by way of introduction.
“I guessed Code Name Song Bird’s placement.” Lt. Harris said, eager. “It was either her or the cook, I had a feeling it was the singer though. The German Colonel operates in the shadow, but I have a few ideas. If you care to hear them.”
“Her I like.” Diana Trever arrived, Zinda Blake in tow. “I hope this means we have a plan now.”
“We have the beginnings of one. Everyone set in, we need this air tight before we go in.” Scott was grinning now. “Harris, right? Take us through it. Blackhawk, grab the men. We’re all in on this one.”
Bart grinned, happy and left.
“Colonel get me a radio, pronto. The smaller the better. Tyler, you think you can install it?” Scott looked at the young man and he began to smile.
“I’m going to review my books sir – thank you.” The SOE woman handed over a thin pamphlet, smiling shyly. The boy noticed her, looking twice. It was for the new radio model. “That will work.”
“Tends to be the case.” Garrick glanced at the exchange, lot of strings going on here. “We need a timeline here, she’s been waiting already.”
“Get me the radio.” Trever said, setting in for the meeting. “Blake and I will get Tyler there tonight to at least get that done.”
June 7, 1942. Song Bird Bar.
Maurice was not a young man, well into his seventies he was now, but he was still the last pillar of the resistance in the area. It was a job that he had hoped to be done with before now, but he had work to do if he was going to give it back to the person it really belonged to. After his set.
The bar wasn’t the same without its resident singer, but after informing the bar that she had been called away there had only been a little grumbling. The current line now was that she had been called away by her city boyfriend.
Maurice made his way to the piano and played instrumentals, there was no point to lyrical songs with no one to sing them. As he worked he watched the waiters taking note not only of orders but of information. He knew the boys at the bar were working on the officers who came in to relax after their days. Information was still coming in but they had no way to get it out.
The room was beginning to die down, common for just after midnight, when the boy at the bar gave the sign that they had a visitor. The people mostly taking care of themselves he finished the piece and got up.
“Madam Trever!” In the back kitchen he saw three dark clad people, two he knew. “Mademoiselle Blake. Bienvenue!" I had hoped you would come and help.”
“Wish it could be sooner, not quite safe here. Mind if we go upstairs?” Trever asked, worry on her face. There was a young man with them, carrying heavy bags. She say him look at the boy. “Help, make getting info in and out easier.”
The young man opened a bag to show a radio, and Maurice understood. It would help.
“Oui, Oui. There is much to discuss.” He waved the three to follow, leading them to Song Bird’s room at the back of the building.
Arriving the two women got to work breaking out the equipment while the young man looked around, thinking. He walked over to the vanity, looking at the pictures and post cards.
“From better days, garcon. It helps sometimes to remember them.” He smiled at the young man’s confusion.
“The Player.” The he said, understanding, and Maurice nodded. “Tyler. Rex Tyler. I’m on McNiter’s team.”
“Ah, son copain.” Maurice asked and Tyler’s face faltered. It would seem not. « Je suis désole. »
“I was wondering if you had anything, just so he could have something, you know?” Rex Tyler looked at the items. “He could have something of her.”
“Un bon idée.” Maurice agreed. “The picture, no? She always liked it.”
“No, I mean-“ Tyler gathered his words. “He’s lost his sight, at least for now. Something he won’t have to look at, maybe something to hold.”
“Or better.” Maurice sighed gently at the news, if Song Bird made her way back she would not like hearing it. He picked up one of her good handkerchiefs and sprayed it with perfume, at the last minute adding a bar of her lavender soap. Tyler wrapped it all up gently and put the package in one of his uniform pockets. He looked a little happier. Maurice gave him the picture as well. “And the picture, just in case, non?”
“Can we move the dresser? Put the radio behind it?” Trever asked, Blake helping her look for a hiding place.
“Use the center drawer, remove the back and install a false front. Fill it with something they won’t look twice at.” Tyler hurried over to help. “I’ll install the tower in the shadow of the inner wall, it will be near impossible to see.”
Maurice walked to the brick and pulled out the box that she had said to pass on to McNiter and his team when there was a chance. In doing so he saw the unopened letters still on the desk, the ones she hadn’t been able to read, they weren’t safe there. He put them away in their own hiding spot before taking the box to the others.
“Not to interrupt, but I was told to send this on to you.” He offered the parcel and Tyler took it, curious. “I was told it was important.”
Tyler looked inside and his eyes went wide. Quickly he put the box in the now empty bag to take with him.
“Very, thank you.” He said before getting back to work.
Maurice let them work, looking out the window where agents were returning from their search. Seeing him they shook their heads. Nothing.
« Combattre, ma Petit. Combattre. »
June 10, 1942 Blackhawk Base.
Carter didn’t was drifting out of the night’s dream. They had begun to become more real, the wafting smell of jasmine from the wide copper incense bowls carried into his real life. He would look around, wondering who had forgotten to refill the bowls before realizing where he was.
The jump from staid and noble ornate halls to loud and dirty military camp was taking longer, and he was taking his time anyway. There was a real temptation to stay in the world where he could fly among the skies at a whim, and see that culture and tradition remained protected. Where at least there was order. But it wasn’t to last, he was being pulled into the chaos of war.
“Carter!” Looking up he saw the old man of the group run over. “I need your French, hurry.”
Getting up He followed Garrick to the communications room, where the radio was lighting up. Garrick pulled over a chair and grabbed the code book, nodding for Carter to translate.
“New information.” He said as he listened, they did need French to transcribe it. “Break in the search. The little bell swings in the dark of night. The little mice dance as the grapes are brought in.”
“Right, that’s-” Garrick was flipping through the pages, which were in english. “Target has escaped into hiding, but that means she’s made contact. The mice means, give me a minute, ah. They mean they are on the lookout but she hasn’t been able to get them her location yet. It’s going again.”
Listening Carter nodded, writing down the message.
“The fox runs, and the great book is read.” Carter said and Garrick once again flipped through the pages. “Beware the Giant.”
“She’s on the run, but she is being looked for.” Garrick filled in. “By the Colonel, McNiter was right. Do they offer a rough area?”
“Five-five-six-H.” The speaker signed off and the unit went silent. They pulled out the map and looked.
“Rouen.” Garrick read off the code. “He moved her.”
“Or she escaped there. Don’t they have resistance?” Carter asked. It should be a matter of finding a safe house.
“Or she still has a mission.” Garrick guessed. “But that’s good news either way, the dead can’t run.”
“That’s true. I’ll take over here. Go spread the news, tell Charles first.”
June 12, 1942. Blackhawk Camp.
“Capitan Scott?” Allen looked up to see his British friend poke his head in. “I think you had best come with me.”
Allen had a bad feeling but followed. Tyler, Garrick and Carter were milling around in the medical tent talking in hushed tones. When they saw their commander they formed into a semi-line and waited, though they avoided eye contact.
“I’ll leave you to it.” He said, walking over to the physician. Scott took a breath, guessing what had happened.
They didn’t say anything, but then they didn’t have to. If McNiter’s eyes had healed he would be with them, celebrating. Instead he was in his personal quarters with the physician and the Colonel. Blindness was enough to get him shipped back home to his father, and that was something he may not survive. War was sadly safer.
“Not a word to anyone, I’ll be right back.” Scott said, walking to the room where Charles was sitting on his bed while the two brits told him the details of his new situation. He looked resigned, with this there was no way he could fight for anything. Going after his girl wasn’t going to happen, this was the opening his father had been waiting for.
“Hang in there, Soldier. Gentlemen, a word?” He walked over to the two, who took the hint to keep voices down. “We have a situation here.”
“The corneas didn’t recover, they’ve malformed.” The doctor said, leaning in. “I’ve seen it before. I can do what I can but I’ve never seen someone recover from that condition before.”
“The Doctor wants to send him home.” The Colonel said, trying to keep his voice low. “It’s likely be the best thing.”
“He will need help to learn to operate without sight.” Scott felt his will harden, no one was doing this to one of his men.
“McNiter is our key contact and strongest tie we have to the intelligence of Northern France. None of them trust us enough to spit at us. But they will move mountains for one man, and if we send him home we lose that.” He didn’t like putting the two men in their place but if word of this got out it was bad for everyone. “The story is he’s going to heal, slowly. But there’s no way to know right now when that will be so he’s deactivated but here. Understood?”
The doctor looked unsure, but the SOE Official nodded, he understood.
“I’ll cover this, top clearance.” The SOE official pulled the file and the doctor’s attention. “I’ll see to it.”
They hurried off, leaving the door open. Garrick, Tyler and Carter appeared and looked inside. They weren’t quiet and McNiter waved them inside.
“It’s not changing anytime soon.” The man said dryly. ‘If you’re going to grab a drink get one for me, I’ll have to learn how to pour without spilling.”
“If anyone here needs one it’s you kid.” Garrick poured the man a double. Tyler sat at the chair nearby, looking around the room to look for ways to help while Carter took and drink and sat down. He was taking this as just another day. As this is what days would be now maybe it was the best approach.
“I hear mums the word, what’s the plan Cap?” Carter was calling the meeting to order.
“Same as it has been. Save Fate, save France, win the war.” Scott sat down as well, gently moving a small box holding some soap and fabric that Charles was keeping on his night stand to put his glass down. “Nothing has changed.”
June 12, 1942 Amiens Safe house.
The basement barren but dry, an improvement from the mold ridden hideouts she had been in before. It was still freezing though.
Covering the wounded with the few blankets they had been able to find Song Bird did what she could to keep them at least relatively warm. The injured were getting the bulk of the food to, the unhurt like getting barely enough to keep on. But it was what they had right then.
Their numbers weren’t what they were, she had arrived at the Chateau basement after some of the agents had already been killed. The german agents make a show of keeping their rotting corpses in their cells for show. They were people she knew, even in war the treatment stood out.
“Dinah.” A man on a nearby stretcher called, reaching. He needed medicine, surgery, help. All she had was water.
A small group of surviors appeared at the trap door, which led to a boot maker’s shop. He was a safe house keeper. They had a few more supplies, but not nearly enough. They needed to make contact.
The four returning agents were moving around the room to get the food and blankets to those that needed them most. When they were done there wasn’t much left but the still functioning members made the most of it.
« Le Vin, Merci Dieu ! » The agents on her right said, savoring her swig. « Dinah ? »
« Merci. » She took the bottle, only half full, and felt her muscles loosen at the taste. It was silly, such a little thing, but it was a reminder. Life was more than darkness, there was the wine of life as well. And it was no less worth remembering.
« Un message, Dinah. Du contact. Que parle-il? » A young man, handed her a coded note. As she had written most of the codes she didn’t need the book. « C’est important ? »
She excused herself to make sure she understood the whole thing, careful to hide her expression. It was intelligence from one of her deeper moles. It would save lives but she would need make it to the radio tower first. She looked over her remaining crew, all beaten and bruised. Several of them had been tortured, a fate she had been able to avoid. She wasn’t putting them at risk.
It was raining outside, and it was dark. So long as she kept to the shadows she should be able to get to the transmission point unseen. Once everyone was asleep she would take the chance to leave. If she could get Charles to help those still alive could be saved.
July 13, 1942. Blackhawk Camp.
There were two possibilities that occurred to him as he stirred out of sleep. One was that the noise from the camp had woken him and the other was that Hootie was lonely and wanted him awake. Either way he was awake.
Sitting up he adjusted his mask, part of his ‘healing’ cover, and moved to the door. He could hear the sounds of night in the air as his teammates ran around. He opened the window and heard the owl fly inside, Rex had installed a bar in his room for the creature. So far the camp wasn’t doing much, they were just talking, so it was planning stages, but they would be moving out soon.
“Zinda, no. Let them go. They’ll find her.” Diana called to her student, she was upset herself.
“We know those streets! We need to be there!” Zinda was clearly upset. “God, what if they’re too late.”
“We could try an alternative airfield. Hope they don’t notice.” Trever wanted to help with whatever this was. Having seen how the Hawks treated them he was on their side.
“I know I would.” Charles said, interrupting the fight. “What’s the news, seems crazy.”
They didn’t say anything, and that made him nervous. Zinda finally spoke.
“He needs to know, it’s the right thing to do.” He could hear the a couple planes take off, they were certainly in a hurry. “Le Noire Canarie made contact, she’s in hiding with a few supporters. She said she had injured. They’re running to get there as fast as they can.”
“We don’t know if we’ll get there in time already. But they’re heading not now.” Charles heard the words, and felt week. “They’ll get there in time and get her here and patch her up-“
“Diana!” Zinda hissed, but she had said enough. She was a leader of the resistance, of course she could get hurt.
Turning to go in his tent he felt a table but it fell before he could catch it. He didn’t care. His mind raced, seeing the images of his Song Bird hurt, bleeding. And he was stuck here.
Throwing off the eye mask his eyes gazed into darkness, the table he knocked over having had the lantern on it. It was on the floor, the glass broken and oil on the floor. At least there wasn’t a fire.
Looking up he saw Hootie on his perch, he was a grey-brown owl with a wide wing span. The darkness was total, his tent being on the far end of camp. As such he could see everything.
Rex had gotten him a few items from the bedroom in Amiens, an embroidered handkerchief with a wrapped lavender soap. And a picture, her picture.
He walked out of the tent and noticed his sight get worse as he went back into the light. Hootie flew to his shoulder and offered encouragement before going back . He did think to grab his medical bags with his remaining sight.
The two were arguing, he didn’t care. He was literally going in blind but he was going in. He needed a ride
“Blake, take me to the plane. Trever, keep an eye out.” He felt around and Zinda put his hand on her shoulder to lead him.
“I like it.” Trever said, following. “But are you sure?”
“Entirely. Do you have sun glasses?” He asked and felt the metal item pressed into his hand.
“Why, it’s after dusk?” Trever asked.
“ Lead the way to your plane captain.”
July 13, 1942. Blackhawk Camp. 4 am.
“Hawks set up here, we’ll get people fast so be ready.” Scott was in street clothing, like the rest. “This needs to be fast, some of them don’t have time. Carter I want you with me, you’ll talk. Get people off our trail. Tyler I need you here doing triage, first aid. I know it’s not your forte but do what you can.”
“I’ll work on moving, be done in a flash.” Garrick said, and Scott agreed.
They had arrived about an hour ago, and they were about ready to move.
“Good. First we contact the safe house then we radio back. Are we clear?” The four men were huddled in a group. The resistance team had been waiting a month, they needed to be moved out now.
The house was just south of Amiens, near two guard towers and in the middle of a once active area. According to reports it was also a heavy security area so they were thinking about ways to work around it. Carter was pouring over a map to find the best way.
The Blackhawks were gearing up to get the agents out of the country for medical help, leaving his team to get them out. Garrick moved to join Carter at the table, the two of them swapping ideas.
“We should scout, sir.” Looking up he saw Tyler glance at the entry way into the street. “Get on the ground conditions. Know what we’re dealing with.”
“Agreed.” Scott grabbed a pair of binoculars and waved. Carter seemed to understand and nodded.
The two moved to the opening street. It was dark out, the street lamps were dim to save on fuel. They moved carefully to look at the streets that would get them the few blocks to the safe house. But the reports were wrong, there were no guards.
Footsteps could be heard and they turned into a street structure, a urinal, to stay out of sight. Looking they saw a working class man on his way home, they were still in the clear.
“Captain.” Tyler said, and Scott looked up. “Look.”
It was the guards. Knocked out, tied, but tucked in the urinal to keep them from the cold. They were all here. They could move people out now. Scott wasn’t going to complain, but he was very confused. Rex was looking them over for a hint of what happened.
“Who did this?”
The Colonel had set himself up in a local mansion, a nice one. It had been fitted with electric light before the war and the rooms and hallways still had light switches. Switches that could be turned off.
McNiter had gotten to the safe house after cleaning up the street, where he treated who he could. They were going to lose one or two but most were going to make it. Dinah hadn’t been there. She had snuck out and not come back, they assumed she had been hurt. He had an idea where to look from the guards.
The house was mostly empty, the man didn’t trust many people to be around him. Charles had cleared the main and second floor. He just needed to track down where the German was now.
Making his way to the third room he heard someone coming and stepped into a room to wait for them to pass. It was an officer, slightly undressed, and going downstairs. He was leaving a lit room.
It took a moment to cross to the room and find the switch, making it pitch dark. His eyes adjusted and looked inside, he had to be close.
There was breathing, the kind of someone trying not to panic, from the far corner. Moving quickly he arrived to find Dinah, the majority of her clothing removed. There was no way to know what exactly had happened but he could find out later. After she was safe.
She noticed the darkness and the person nearby and terror began to take over. He moved to make himself known.
« C’est moi, mon amour. Allons y. » She tried to look at him, her eyes not able. He saw that her hands were bound and cut them.
« Je suis désole, mon Charles. » She began to say, fighting tears. She was covered in bruises, he at least knew that she had been beaten. « Il es – Il es un monstre. »
She was safe, she was here, whatever the rage he felt those two facts kept his actions in check. He grabbed her items of clothing and then her and moved back to the hallway and the room he was in before, turning the light on as he left so cover his tracks. In the side room they got her dressed again.
« Escalier de service ? » She nodded, still holding tight. Rushing from the door she led him to a small wooden entrance to the servant’s quarters.
At the bottom of the stairs Dinah moved to pull him into the main hall, where the light was on again. He felt his eyes go blind again. Dinah stopped pulling and he felt her roughened hand.
« Un neveux talent, ma Charles. Je comprends. » She was working in a room, grabbing a few things. She put a box in his hands and pulled him again. « Vête. »
She ran to the back door, just in time for them to be greeted.
“Song Bird, mon Dieu !” Zinda cried and embraced her friend. “You look terrible. What’s the luggage?”
“He had files about us, to take out the system.” Song Bird explained as Blake and Trever took the boxes and they walked into the streets. “They have to be destroyed.”
“Bonfire then. Home it is.” Trever turned right to the edge of town.
“But I cannot go back to the bar, not while they are looking for me.” Rushing out both Dinah and Zinda were making sure that McNiter got out without running into anything. She gasped as he tightened his hand. « Charles, faire attention! »
“New home, till we clear this mess out.” Trever spotted the plane. “We didn’t plan on the boxes. Mind sharing a seat?”
Song Bird, the boxes dealt with, she had tucked herself into Charles. Beyond the the visible bruises she clearly wasn't well. Trever and Blake moved to get closer, concerned.
"Skipper, what happened to you?" Diana said, pulling her friend into a hug. Dinah accepted the embrace for a moment but hurried back to Charles. Looking at the two Zinda shook her head. "We'll get you safe, this is done."
"Actions over words, Diana. Being back will mean more then talking about it." Zinda moved them along. "We don't need to be here anyway. If we hurry we can beat them back. That's everyone, Skipper. They're getting your people out."
"Go." That would mean more when they got back but Charles wanted to be gone from here. He wanted Dinah gone from here.
Allen Scott makes peace with his new roll in Fate in time to lead the first run. The team finds and rescues the first item with the help of the local resistance. Rex Tyler, trying to help, reveales that he had been sneaking information from the Resistance to the SOE, who is still working with Vichy. McNiter storms out, claiming that Vichy is a plant but the matter isn't cleared.
The mission goes off without a hitch, but leaving Tyler spies McNiter with the receiver of the letters he's been writing all this time. Knowing now that his information comes from a solid source he stops communication. The claim seems proved when Song Bird is taken.
The timing couldn't be worse. The SOE sends a General with news of impending attacks, the Nazi's are targeting civilian target and they need intel now. But until they are able to find the cell leader there isn't much to be done.
Ultimate Justice Society of America
Chapter 6: Dark Sight
By Adrini
June 2, 1942. Camp Blackhawk. Medical Room.
“I could take care of that for you.” Diana said, entering the back room. His eyes still wrapped Charles was lying in bed, there wasn’t much for him to do until the doctor came back and they found out if his sight had been saved. At the voice he turned, as if to look, and sat up.
“The owl?” He asked, the creature had planted by his window. It seemed happy there, spoke up every now and again. “No need, we’re friends now. Hey, Hootie, you good out there?”
The owl responded on que and Diana sighed, sitting down. The man was resilient. Though he could have picked a more creative name.
“I should get him a bar or something to sit on, let him come inside.” He was on the edge of his bed now. “Any news?”
“No, but they have agents fanned out looking. She was at the end of a number of missions. No one else knew the details so it’s hurting the operations on the whole coast.” He nodded, SOE people had come to ask him what he knew several times. It had helped but not enough. “What are those?”
“Letters, didn’t get a chance to read them before-“ He waved at his bandages. The letters were still sealed, he was holding them tightly.
“Let me.” She said. “Maybe they have a clue.”
“Thank you.” He gently offered them. “I only wish I had read them when I had the chance.”
“Give it time. Let’s see.” She opened the first one. “My dear, but she is sentimental. She’s at the bar, a few of the other agents are on the mend so she’s doing their work for them. She mentioned a colonel, bit obsessive.”
“He has her, I know it. But I don’t know where.” Charles said, sighing.
“Have you told the SOE that?” She asked and he nodded. She read the letter softly, it was full of constant reminders of affection. Dreams and wishes of times to come. Small in jokes that made the serious young man smile despite the distance and his injury, he even laughed a couple times. One thing was made very clear. They both wanted for the war to end, and the channel to no longer divide them.
Looking at the man Diana shook her head.
“You’re lucky, like it or not.” Diana said and Charles looked up. “Don’t look at me like that.”
“Haha. How do you figure?” The owl hooted again, Charles just cocked his head, once again momentarily forgetting that the sight thing wasn’t working just then.
“I had to run three states to get away from Ulysses, keep Stephen save the whole time. Still amazed we made it.” Charles ‘looked’ down, listening. “Only really knew we were safe when the bastard died. Never had this.”
“I’m sorry, Diana. I’m so sorry.” Charles sighed. “I’ve seen that before. She didn’t escape.”
“But she kept you safe, as long as she could, and that’s what mothers do.” Charles seemed taken aback, but she had guess long ago. “It’s how you respond to bullies. Stephen has it to.”
She handed the letters back and got up, to leave the man to his thoughts.
“One last thing while I’m here. The military just passed new regulations, tightening laws on war brides. If you have any thoughts in that direction sooner is better than later. Might take a few years to get through.” He seemed to consider the idea then looked discouraged again, as nice of as thought as it was Song Bird was still missing. “She’s still fighting, McNiter. See that you do to.”
June 2, 1942. Blackhawk Camp. Captain Scott's Office.
“New Blitz numbers.” The Colonel McSweeney sat down with a file. “About what we expected.”
“Tyler, sit down. We have work to do.” Garrick called the young man. He was changed, punishing himself Song Bird going missing, McNiter being distracted enough to get hurt, the operations in Northern France hitting a wall and now London burning. He was convinced it was all somehow his fault. He kid just ignored him. Scott looked over himself but looked to the SOE general.
“We got it wrong, not you lad.” The general said, Tyler didn’t look entirely convinced but he was listening. “We can’t change what we’ve done, but we can do better now. Only way left is onward.”
Tyler took a moment but sat down, finally joining them. He was sharp, focused – no longer so innocent. The war was changing everyone.
“We screwed up, and it cost us. Now we act. We need those plans to save London, and they need their cell leader back to keep the Resistance alive. So we get her back and we all get what we need.” Scott took over the conversation. “That’s means clear communication. We need someone direct from the SOE here in camp. A radio set up so the Resistance can contact us without setting up romantic rendez-vous first. A radio with the SOE to. We’re doing this right now.”
“This is what happens when the yanks enter the war.” The Colonel looked at Carter. The Brits shared a look, they had been fighting this war for years.
“What’s the plan, Captain?” Garrick leaned forward, keeping the kid focused. Rex needed something to do to help him feel like he was making up for his mistakes. “We’re behind.”
“Get Trever and Blake in here, and Blackhawk. They’re the closest things to locals we have right now.” Scott said, the Colonel nodded to a figure at the door.
“We need to stop at her bar, see what they know.” Tyler said, thinking. It caught on.
“Key spot for a radio.” The Colonel said, agreeing. “Maybe they’ve found something.”
“Now we’re working. McNiter had a lead.” Garrick put in his bit, the Colonel pulled out a file. But it wasn’t very thick.
“Working on it.” The man said. “But it’s a start.”
“You summoned, sir?” A woman arrived, carrying a heavy briefcase. She was wearing an SOE uniform but her accent was American. She was young, brunette, pale, almost a kid.
“Lt. Harris. Your local contact with SOE, and a Resistance specialist.” He said by way of introduction.
“I guessed Code Name Song Bird’s placement.” Lt. Harris said, eager. “It was either her or the cook, I had a feeling it was the singer though. The German Colonel operates in the shadow, but I have a few ideas. If you care to hear them.”
“Her I like.” Diana Trever arrived, Zinda Blake in tow. “I hope this means we have a plan now.”
“We have the beginnings of one. Everyone set in, we need this air tight before we go in.” Scott was grinning now. “Harris, right? Take us through it. Blackhawk, grab the men. We’re all in on this one.”
Bart grinned, happy and left.
“Colonel get me a radio, pronto. The smaller the better. Tyler, you think you can install it?” Scott looked at the young man and he began to smile.
“I’m going to review my books sir – thank you.” The SOE woman handed over a thin pamphlet, smiling shyly. The boy noticed her, looking twice. It was for the new radio model. “That will work.”
“Tends to be the case.” Garrick glanced at the exchange, lot of strings going on here. “We need a timeline here, she’s been waiting already.”
“Get me the radio.” Trever said, setting in for the meeting. “Blake and I will get Tyler there tonight to at least get that done.”
June 7, 1942. Song Bird Bar.
Maurice was not a young man, well into his seventies he was now, but he was still the last pillar of the resistance in the area. It was a job that he had hoped to be done with before now, but he had work to do if he was going to give it back to the person it really belonged to. After his set.
The bar wasn’t the same without its resident singer, but after informing the bar that she had been called away there had only been a little grumbling. The current line now was that she had been called away by her city boyfriend.
Maurice made his way to the piano and played instrumentals, there was no point to lyrical songs with no one to sing them. As he worked he watched the waiters taking note not only of orders but of information. He knew the boys at the bar were working on the officers who came in to relax after their days. Information was still coming in but they had no way to get it out.
The room was beginning to die down, common for just after midnight, when the boy at the bar gave the sign that they had a visitor. The people mostly taking care of themselves he finished the piece and got up.
“Madam Trever!” In the back kitchen he saw three dark clad people, two he knew. “Mademoiselle Blake. Bienvenue!" I had hoped you would come and help.”
“Wish it could be sooner, not quite safe here. Mind if we go upstairs?” Trever asked, worry on her face. There was a young man with them, carrying heavy bags. She say him look at the boy. “Help, make getting info in and out easier.”
The young man opened a bag to show a radio, and Maurice understood. It would help.
“Oui, Oui. There is much to discuss.” He waved the three to follow, leading them to Song Bird’s room at the back of the building.
Arriving the two women got to work breaking out the equipment while the young man looked around, thinking. He walked over to the vanity, looking at the pictures and post cards.
“From better days, garcon. It helps sometimes to remember them.” He smiled at the young man’s confusion.
“The Player.” The he said, understanding, and Maurice nodded. “Tyler. Rex Tyler. I’m on McNiter’s team.”
“Ah, son copain.” Maurice asked and Tyler’s face faltered. It would seem not. « Je suis désole. »
“I was wondering if you had anything, just so he could have something, you know?” Rex Tyler looked at the items. “He could have something of her.”
“Un bon idée.” Maurice agreed. “The picture, no? She always liked it.”
“No, I mean-“ Tyler gathered his words. “He’s lost his sight, at least for now. Something he won’t have to look at, maybe something to hold.”
“Or better.” Maurice sighed gently at the news, if Song Bird made her way back she would not like hearing it. He picked up one of her good handkerchiefs and sprayed it with perfume, at the last minute adding a bar of her lavender soap. Tyler wrapped it all up gently and put the package in one of his uniform pockets. He looked a little happier. Maurice gave him the picture as well. “And the picture, just in case, non?”
“Can we move the dresser? Put the radio behind it?” Trever asked, Blake helping her look for a hiding place.
“Use the center drawer, remove the back and install a false front. Fill it with something they won’t look twice at.” Tyler hurried over to help. “I’ll install the tower in the shadow of the inner wall, it will be near impossible to see.”
Maurice walked to the brick and pulled out the box that she had said to pass on to McNiter and his team when there was a chance. In doing so he saw the unopened letters still on the desk, the ones she hadn’t been able to read, they weren’t safe there. He put them away in their own hiding spot before taking the box to the others.
“Not to interrupt, but I was told to send this on to you.” He offered the parcel and Tyler took it, curious. “I was told it was important.”
Tyler looked inside and his eyes went wide. Quickly he put the box in the now empty bag to take with him.
“Very, thank you.” He said before getting back to work.
Maurice let them work, looking out the window where agents were returning from their search. Seeing him they shook their heads. Nothing.
« Combattre, ma Petit. Combattre. »
June 10, 1942 Blackhawk Base.
Carter didn’t was drifting out of the night’s dream. They had begun to become more real, the wafting smell of jasmine from the wide copper incense bowls carried into his real life. He would look around, wondering who had forgotten to refill the bowls before realizing where he was.
The jump from staid and noble ornate halls to loud and dirty military camp was taking longer, and he was taking his time anyway. There was a real temptation to stay in the world where he could fly among the skies at a whim, and see that culture and tradition remained protected. Where at least there was order. But it wasn’t to last, he was being pulled into the chaos of war.
“Carter!” Looking up he saw the old man of the group run over. “I need your French, hurry.”
Getting up He followed Garrick to the communications room, where the radio was lighting up. Garrick pulled over a chair and grabbed the code book, nodding for Carter to translate.
“New information.” He said as he listened, they did need French to transcribe it. “Break in the search. The little bell swings in the dark of night. The little mice dance as the grapes are brought in.”
“Right, that’s-” Garrick was flipping through the pages, which were in english. “Target has escaped into hiding, but that means she’s made contact. The mice means, give me a minute, ah. They mean they are on the lookout but she hasn’t been able to get them her location yet. It’s going again.”
Listening Carter nodded, writing down the message.
“The fox runs, and the great book is read.” Carter said and Garrick once again flipped through the pages. “Beware the Giant.”
“She’s on the run, but she is being looked for.” Garrick filled in. “By the Colonel, McNiter was right. Do they offer a rough area?”
“Five-five-six-H.” The speaker signed off and the unit went silent. They pulled out the map and looked.
“Rouen.” Garrick read off the code. “He moved her.”
“Or she escaped there. Don’t they have resistance?” Carter asked. It should be a matter of finding a safe house.
“Or she still has a mission.” Garrick guessed. “But that’s good news either way, the dead can’t run.”
“That’s true. I’ll take over here. Go spread the news, tell Charles first.”
June 12, 1942. Blackhawk Camp.
“Capitan Scott?” Allen looked up to see his British friend poke his head in. “I think you had best come with me.”
Allen had a bad feeling but followed. Tyler, Garrick and Carter were milling around in the medical tent talking in hushed tones. When they saw their commander they formed into a semi-line and waited, though they avoided eye contact.
“I’ll leave you to it.” He said, walking over to the physician. Scott took a breath, guessing what had happened.
They didn’t say anything, but then they didn’t have to. If McNiter’s eyes had healed he would be with them, celebrating. Instead he was in his personal quarters with the physician and the Colonel. Blindness was enough to get him shipped back home to his father, and that was something he may not survive. War was sadly safer.
“Not a word to anyone, I’ll be right back.” Scott said, walking to the room where Charles was sitting on his bed while the two brits told him the details of his new situation. He looked resigned, with this there was no way he could fight for anything. Going after his girl wasn’t going to happen, this was the opening his father had been waiting for.
“Hang in there, Soldier. Gentlemen, a word?” He walked over to the two, who took the hint to keep voices down. “We have a situation here.”
“The corneas didn’t recover, they’ve malformed.” The doctor said, leaning in. “I’ve seen it before. I can do what I can but I’ve never seen someone recover from that condition before.”
“The Doctor wants to send him home.” The Colonel said, trying to keep his voice low. “It’s likely be the best thing.”
“He will need help to learn to operate without sight.” Scott felt his will harden, no one was doing this to one of his men.
“McNiter is our key contact and strongest tie we have to the intelligence of Northern France. None of them trust us enough to spit at us. But they will move mountains for one man, and if we send him home we lose that.” He didn’t like putting the two men in their place but if word of this got out it was bad for everyone. “The story is he’s going to heal, slowly. But there’s no way to know right now when that will be so he’s deactivated but here. Understood?”
The doctor looked unsure, but the SOE Official nodded, he understood.
“I’ll cover this, top clearance.” The SOE official pulled the file and the doctor’s attention. “I’ll see to it.”
They hurried off, leaving the door open. Garrick, Tyler and Carter appeared and looked inside. They weren’t quiet and McNiter waved them inside.
“It’s not changing anytime soon.” The man said dryly. ‘If you’re going to grab a drink get one for me, I’ll have to learn how to pour without spilling.”
“If anyone here needs one it’s you kid.” Garrick poured the man a double. Tyler sat at the chair nearby, looking around the room to look for ways to help while Carter took and drink and sat down. He was taking this as just another day. As this is what days would be now maybe it was the best approach.
“I hear mums the word, what’s the plan Cap?” Carter was calling the meeting to order.
“Same as it has been. Save Fate, save France, win the war.” Scott sat down as well, gently moving a small box holding some soap and fabric that Charles was keeping on his night stand to put his glass down. “Nothing has changed.”
June 12, 1942 Amiens Safe house.
The basement barren but dry, an improvement from the mold ridden hideouts she had been in before. It was still freezing though.
Covering the wounded with the few blankets they had been able to find Song Bird did what she could to keep them at least relatively warm. The injured were getting the bulk of the food to, the unhurt like getting barely enough to keep on. But it was what they had right then.
Their numbers weren’t what they were, she had arrived at the Chateau basement after some of the agents had already been killed. The german agents make a show of keeping their rotting corpses in their cells for show. They were people she knew, even in war the treatment stood out.
“Dinah.” A man on a nearby stretcher called, reaching. He needed medicine, surgery, help. All she had was water.
A small group of surviors appeared at the trap door, which led to a boot maker’s shop. He was a safe house keeper. They had a few more supplies, but not nearly enough. They needed to make contact.
The four returning agents were moving around the room to get the food and blankets to those that needed them most. When they were done there wasn’t much left but the still functioning members made the most of it.
« Le Vin, Merci Dieu ! » The agents on her right said, savoring her swig. « Dinah ? »
« Merci. » She took the bottle, only half full, and felt her muscles loosen at the taste. It was silly, such a little thing, but it was a reminder. Life was more than darkness, there was the wine of life as well. And it was no less worth remembering.
« Un message, Dinah. Du contact. Que parle-il? » A young man, handed her a coded note. As she had written most of the codes she didn’t need the book. « C’est important ? »
She excused herself to make sure she understood the whole thing, careful to hide her expression. It was intelligence from one of her deeper moles. It would save lives but she would need make it to the radio tower first. She looked over her remaining crew, all beaten and bruised. Several of them had been tortured, a fate she had been able to avoid. She wasn’t putting them at risk.
It was raining outside, and it was dark. So long as she kept to the shadows she should be able to get to the transmission point unseen. Once everyone was asleep she would take the chance to leave. If she could get Charles to help those still alive could be saved.
There were two possibilities that occurred to him as he stirred out of sleep. One was that the noise from the camp had woken him and the other was that Hootie was lonely and wanted him awake. Either way he was awake.
Sitting up he adjusted his mask, part of his ‘healing’ cover, and moved to the door. He could hear the sounds of night in the air as his teammates ran around. He opened the window and heard the owl fly inside, Rex had installed a bar in his room for the creature. So far the camp wasn’t doing much, they were just talking, so it was planning stages, but they would be moving out soon.
“Zinda, no. Let them go. They’ll find her.” Diana called to her student, she was upset herself.
“We know those streets! We need to be there!” Zinda was clearly upset. “God, what if they’re too late.”
“We could try an alternative airfield. Hope they don’t notice.” Trever wanted to help with whatever this was. Having seen how the Hawks treated them he was on their side.
“I know I would.” Charles said, interrupting the fight. “What’s the news, seems crazy.”
They didn’t say anything, and that made him nervous. Zinda finally spoke.
“He needs to know, it’s the right thing to do.” He could hear the a couple planes take off, they were certainly in a hurry. “Le Noire Canarie made contact, she’s in hiding with a few supporters. She said she had injured. They’re running to get there as fast as they can.”
“We don’t know if we’ll get there in time already. But they’re heading not now.” Charles heard the words, and felt week. “They’ll get there in time and get her here and patch her up-“
“Diana!” Zinda hissed, but she had said enough. She was a leader of the resistance, of course she could get hurt.
Turning to go in his tent he felt a table but it fell before he could catch it. He didn’t care. His mind raced, seeing the images of his Song Bird hurt, bleeding. And he was stuck here.
Throwing off the eye mask his eyes gazed into darkness, the table he knocked over having had the lantern on it. It was on the floor, the glass broken and oil on the floor. At least there wasn’t a fire.
Looking up he saw Hootie on his perch, he was a grey-brown owl with a wide wing span. The darkness was total, his tent being on the far end of camp. As such he could see everything.
Rex had gotten him a few items from the bedroom in Amiens, an embroidered handkerchief with a wrapped lavender soap. And a picture, her picture.
He walked out of the tent and noticed his sight get worse as he went back into the light. Hootie flew to his shoulder and offered encouragement before going back . He did think to grab his medical bags with his remaining sight.
The two were arguing, he didn’t care. He was literally going in blind but he was going in. He needed a ride
“Blake, take me to the plane. Trever, keep an eye out.” He felt around and Zinda put his hand on her shoulder to lead him.
“I like it.” Trever said, following. “But are you sure?”
“Entirely. Do you have sun glasses?” He asked and felt the metal item pressed into his hand.
“Why, it’s after dusk?” Trever asked.
“ Lead the way to your plane captain.”
“Hawks set up here, we’ll get people fast so be ready.” Scott was in street clothing, like the rest. “This needs to be fast, some of them don’t have time. Carter I want you with me, you’ll talk. Get people off our trail. Tyler I need you here doing triage, first aid. I know it’s not your forte but do what you can.”
“I’ll work on moving, be done in a flash.” Garrick said, and Scott agreed.
They had arrived about an hour ago, and they were about ready to move.
“Good. First we contact the safe house then we radio back. Are we clear?” The four men were huddled in a group. The resistance team had been waiting a month, they needed to be moved out now.
The house was just south of Amiens, near two guard towers and in the middle of a once active area. According to reports it was also a heavy security area so they were thinking about ways to work around it. Carter was pouring over a map to find the best way.
The Blackhawks were gearing up to get the agents out of the country for medical help, leaving his team to get them out. Garrick moved to join Carter at the table, the two of them swapping ideas.
“We should scout, sir.” Looking up he saw Tyler glance at the entry way into the street. “Get on the ground conditions. Know what we’re dealing with.”
“Agreed.” Scott grabbed a pair of binoculars and waved. Carter seemed to understand and nodded.
The two moved to the opening street. It was dark out, the street lamps were dim to save on fuel. They moved carefully to look at the streets that would get them the few blocks to the safe house. But the reports were wrong, there were no guards.
Footsteps could be heard and they turned into a street structure, a urinal, to stay out of sight. Looking they saw a working class man on his way home, they were still in the clear.
“Captain.” Tyler said, and Scott looked up. “Look.”
It was the guards. Knocked out, tied, but tucked in the urinal to keep them from the cold. They were all here. They could move people out now. Scott wasn’t going to complain, but he was very confused. Rex was looking them over for a hint of what happened.
“Who did this?”
July 13, 1942. Amiens. Chateau d'Jardin.
The Colonel had set himself up in a local mansion, a nice one. It had been fitted with electric light before the war and the rooms and hallways still had light switches. Switches that could be turned off.
McNiter had gotten to the safe house after cleaning up the street, where he treated who he could. They were going to lose one or two but most were going to make it. Dinah hadn’t been there. She had snuck out and not come back, they assumed she had been hurt. He had an idea where to look from the guards.
The house was mostly empty, the man didn’t trust many people to be around him. Charles had cleared the main and second floor. He just needed to track down where the German was now.
Making his way to the third room he heard someone coming and stepped into a room to wait for them to pass. It was an officer, slightly undressed, and going downstairs. He was leaving a lit room.
It took a moment to cross to the room and find the switch, making it pitch dark. His eyes adjusted and looked inside, he had to be close.
There was breathing, the kind of someone trying not to panic, from the far corner. Moving quickly he arrived to find Dinah, the majority of her clothing removed. There was no way to know what exactly had happened but he could find out later. After she was safe.
She noticed the darkness and the person nearby and terror began to take over. He moved to make himself known.
« C’est moi, mon amour. Allons y. » She tried to look at him, her eyes not able. He saw that her hands were bound and cut them.
« Je suis désole, mon Charles. » She began to say, fighting tears. She was covered in bruises, he at least knew that she had been beaten. « Il es – Il es un monstre. »
She was safe, she was here, whatever the rage he felt those two facts kept his actions in check. He grabbed her items of clothing and then her and moved back to the hallway and the room he was in before, turning the light on as he left so cover his tracks. In the side room they got her dressed again.
« Escalier de service ? » She nodded, still holding tight. Rushing from the door she led him to a small wooden entrance to the servant’s quarters.
At the bottom of the stairs Dinah moved to pull him into the main hall, where the light was on again. He felt his eyes go blind again. Dinah stopped pulling and he felt her roughened hand.
« Un neveux talent, ma Charles. Je comprends. » She was working in a room, grabbing a few things. She put a box in his hands and pulled him again. « Vête. »
She ran to the back door, just in time for them to be greeted.
“Song Bird, mon Dieu !” Zinda cried and embraced her friend. “You look terrible. What’s the luggage?”
“He had files about us, to take out the system.” Song Bird explained as Blake and Trever took the boxes and they walked into the streets. “They have to be destroyed.”
“Bonfire then. Home it is.” Trever turned right to the edge of town.
“But I cannot go back to the bar, not while they are looking for me.” Rushing out both Dinah and Zinda were making sure that McNiter got out without running into anything. She gasped as he tightened his hand. « Charles, faire attention! »
“New home, till we clear this mess out.” Trever spotted the plane. “We didn’t plan on the boxes. Mind sharing a seat?”
Song Bird, the boxes dealt with, she had tucked herself into Charles. Beyond the the visible bruises she clearly wasn't well. Trever and Blake moved to get closer, concerned.
"Skipper, what happened to you?" Diana said, pulling her friend into a hug. Dinah accepted the embrace for a moment but hurried back to Charles. Looking at the two Zinda shook her head. "We'll get you safe, this is done."
"Actions over words, Diana. Being back will mean more then talking about it." Zinda moved them along. "We don't need to be here anyway. If we hurry we can beat them back. That's everyone, Skipper. They're getting your people out."
"Go." That would mean more when they got back but Charles wanted to be gone from here. He wanted Dinah gone from here.
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