Boot Camp

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is a sequel to both "The Innocence Mission" and "The Enemy". It might help to read those first, but this should also stand on its own.

The map room was stifling. It had remained closed up since its last use several days ago, and the odor of dusty old fabric and stale cigarette smoke choked what little air there was. Garrison propped open the double doors, then pulled back the heavy curtains. He pushed the sashes wide on both windows, letting the fresh air from outside flow through.

In the distance, across the expanse of green lawn, he could see his team in the middle of some kind of physical activity. He squinted into the sunlight and watched for a moment. They were playing soccer. He thought they were suppose to be in drills with a new rifle model. He shook his head and sighed. There was no time to deal with it now. General Finch would be arriving any minute. He gave a brief thought to closing the curtains, to keep Finch from catching sight of his delinquent men, but decided it was useless. The General had already formed an opinion about them. Letting him see them having a little fun wasn't going to make much difference, one way or the other.

As he straightened up the table, emptying ashtrays and moving the slide projector to the sideboard, he tried again to think of what Finch might want with him. They had recently rescued the General's daughter from the Nazis, and while he had seemed grateful for their assistance, he had not been so happy with Garrison's decision to introduce her to the ex-patriot resistance community in Zurich. The last conversation he'd had with the General had not been a pleasant one, so he didn't hold out much hope for this one. He stood by his decision, though. Lisa Finch was a grown woman, capable of running her own life. She would have found a way to fight the war even without his help. Putting her in touch with experienced fighters seemed to Garrison to be the best way to help her stay alive.

He'd just slipped the dust cover back over the projector when General Finch knocked on the open door. Garrison turned and came to attention. He received a curt salute. "As you were, Lieutenant."

Finch was not a large man, either in height or girth, but his stiff military bearing and impeccable uniform radiated authority. He carried his cap under his arm, and his graying hair was cropped close. The dark eyes and perpetual thin-lipped frown pegged him as a commander who demanded perfection and was difficult to please.

"Have a seat, sir," Garrison offered. "The clerk is bringing up some coffee."

Finch took the chair at the head of the table and pulled several file folders from his briefcase. "Let's get right down to business."

Garrison took the chair next to Finch and waited while the General flipped through the folders, rearranging them. Private Connors brought in a tray with coffee pot, cups and saucers, and Garrison silently directed him to place them on the sideboard. He could have used some coffee, or a cigarette, something to occupy his hands while the General got organized. But he dismissed Connors and waited for Finch to make the first move.

Finally, apparently satisfied with the order of his materials, Finch looked Garrison in the eye. "How is your team, Lieutenant?"

"Fine, sir." That was not the question he'd expected.

"And your man's wounds have healed?"

"Yes, sir. Chief's back up to speed." He pictured the game he'd just witnessed out on the lawn. Chief had kicked the ball clear across the field and had immediately been tackled and thrown to the ground by Casino. Of course his men didn't play by traditional soccer rules.

Finch cleared his throat and leaned back in his chair, some of the starch draining out of his posture. "I don't think I ever properly thanked you and your men for bringing Lisa out of Castel Volturno. I want you to know how grateful I am. You all risked your lives for her. That young man could have been killed."