But by half past seven--about the time it had grown dark and the rain blowing through the open sides had soaked through his woolen overcoat--he was in strange territory and had to admit (which angered him) that he was lost.
He had a map, one he had drawn himself with care, even carefully listed the distance between turns in miles and tenths of a mile, but it had proved useless. And there were no road signs. They had been taken down in anticipation of a German invasion in the summer of 1940, and only a few of them had been replaced.
At nine o'clock he reluctantly gave up, and spent the night on a tiny and uncomfortable bed in a small country inn. It was a hell of a way to spend Christmas Eve, he thought.
At first light he started out again, unshaven, in a damp uniform.
There had been a stove in the room, and he had hung his overcoat, jacket, and trousers over two chairs and a bedside table close to it.
It had done almost no good.
It took him two hours to reach Atcham. The MP at the gate was willing to accept his identity card and trip ticket as proof that he hadn't stolen the jeep, but warned him that Atcham Air Force Station was "closed in." Once he came inside, he would not be permitted to leave until 0600 hours 26 December.
That strongly suggested that an operation was in progress, that he had come all this way only to find that the man he wanted to see was somewhere over France or Germany. Then he found a faintly glowing coal of hope. It was raining again. Visibility was about half a mile.
There was a thick cloud cover at I, 000 feet. It was likely that an operation would not be able to get off the ground because of the weather.
He decided that seeing Major Peter Douglass was worth a chance.
He'd worry about getting off the base when it was time to leave.
As he drove the jeep through an endless line of rain-soaked P-38s in sandbag revetments, a B-25 flashed low over him, so low that he could see the fire at the engine exhausts. It touched down and immediately disappeared in a cloud of its own making as it rolled down the rain-soaked runway.
One of two things was true, Naval Aviator Kennedy thought professionally. Either his assessment of flying conditions was way off, or the pilot of the B-25 was a fucking fool flying in weather like this.
Headquarters, 311th Fighter Group, U. S. Army Air Corps was a Quonset hut surrounded by tar-paper shacks with a frame building used for a mess, theater, and briefing room.
There was no answer to his knock at the door, so he pushed it open.
Inside, a bald headed man was snoring under olive-drab blankets on a cot. The jacket with staff sergeant's chevrons draped over a chair identified him as the charge of quarters.
When he shook the sergeant's shoulder and woke him, Kennedy expected the man would be upset that an offlcer had caught him asleep.
But the reaction was annoyance rather than humiliation.
"I would like to see Major Douglass," the lieutenant said.
"He's asleep," the sergeant said doubtfully as he reluctantly got off the cot and began pulling his trousers on. "He came in pretty late last night."
"It's important, Sergeant," the lieutenant said. "Would you please wake him?"
"He's in there," the sergeant said, pointing to a closed door and leaving unspoken what else he meant, If you want to wake him, you wake him.
Kennedy went to the door, knocked, got no response, and then pushed it open. Major Peter Douglass, Jr. , Army Air Corps, was in a curtained alcove of the office. He lay on his back in a homemade wooden bed, his legs spread, his mouth open. A uniform was hung somewhat crookedry over chair. The decorations on the tunic were a little unusual, A set of standard U. S. Army Air Corps pilot's wings was where it was supposed to be.
But there was another set, which the young naval officer recognized after a moment as Chinese, over the other pocket. And under the Army Air Corps wings were the ribbons of two Distinguished Flying Crosses.
One of them was the striped ribbon of the BATISH DFC. The other was American.
Kennedy went to the cot and looked down at Douglass. He wondered how much truth there was to the story that Douglass had walked into the Plans and Training Division of Headquarters Eighth Air Force, politely asked the lieutenant colonel who had planned the disastrous P-38 raid on Saintlazare to stand up, and then cold cocked him.
Kennedy leaned down and shook Douglass's shoulder. Douglass angrily snorted and rolled onto his side.
"Major Douglass," Kennedy said.
There was no response.
Kennedy was about to shake him again when he heard voices in the outer office.
"Merry Christmas, Sergeant, we're the Eighth Air Force Clap Squad," a voice said. "Where do we find a character named Douglass?
He's been infecting the sheep." The charge of quarters laughed.
"He's right in there, sir," the sergeant said. "And Merry Christmas to you, too." Two officers, a major and a captain, walked into the room. They looked at the sleeping Douglass, then at Kennedy, and then at each other.
They smiled and went to the bed, picked up one side of it, and rolled Major Douglass out onto the floor.
Kennedy was suddenly sure that these guys were the ones who had just flown the B-25 through the soup.
Major Douglass, now wide awake on the floor, was piqued.
"You sonsofbitches!" he declaimed angrily.
"Hark," Captain James M. B. Whittaker said, "the herald angel sings!"
"You bastards," Major Douglass said, but he was now smiling.
"Get dressed," Canidy said. "We are going to spring you from durance vile."
"You know, I suppose," Douglass said, as he rose to his feet and quickly stripped to change his underwear, gthat now that you're on the base, you're restricted to it until 0600 tomorrow?"
"Only the gate is closed," Canidy said.
"You've got an airplane? You're not flying in this shit?"
"Oh, ye of little faith!" Whittaker said.
"But get dressed, Doug, it's getting worse," Canidy said.
Douglass looked at Kennedy as he pulled on clean Jockey shorts.
"You realize, of course, Lieutenant," he said, That running around with these two is going to ruin your naval career?"
"I don't know who these gentlemen are," Kennedy said somewhat stiffly, but smiling.
"We thought he was a pal of yours," Whittaker said.
"My name is Kennedy," the j. g. said. "I came here from London'to tallk to you, Major Douglass."
"Talk to me? About what?" "Saint-Lazare," Kennedy said.
"You drove from London in the rain in that jeep?" Whittaker said incredulously.
"That's right," Kennedy said. "It's really important."
"I don't want to talk about Saint-Lazare," Douglass said coldly as he put his arms in the sleeves of a shirt.
"Your name is Joseph P. Kennedy, Jr. ," Canidy said. "Right?"
"Yes, sir," Kennedy said, visibly surprised that the major knew his name.
"I thought you said you didn't know him?" Douglass asked.
"I know about him," Canidy said.
"May I ask how?" Kennedy asked.
"I'm not sure you have the need to know," Canidy said.
"I know him," Whittaker said. "You went to school in Cambridge, right?" alf you mean Harvard, yes, I did."
"Jim Whittaker," Whittaker said, putting out his hand. a thirty-nine. I thought you looked familiar." Kennedy shook the offered hand.
"I can't place you," he said. "Sorry."
"You more than once knocked me on my ass playing lacrosse," Whittaker said.
Kennedy still didn't make any connection. He shrugged and shook his head. "No."
"Well, I hate to cut off auld langsyne " Canidy said, "but we have to get off the ground in the next ten minutes, or we will be stuck here until tomorrow."
"With respect, sir, I drove all the way from London'to see Major Douglass," Kennedy said. "I really have to talk to him."
"Sorry," Douglass said. "I am all talked out about S
aint-Lazare."
"What it is, Joe Louis, is that Lieutenant Kennedy and some other freethinkers in Navy Blue," Canidy said, "have the odd notion that the only way to take out Saint-Lazare is with a pilotless flying bomb." "Major," Kennedy said sharply, angrily. "That's classified Top Secret." "Yeah," Canidy said. "I know. Tell you what, Kennedy. Come along with us, and you can talk to Doug on the way." "Dick, is that smart?" Whittaker asked.
"Lieutenant Kennedy's father used to be the ambassador here," Canidy said. "I think he can be trusted."
"Dick, I really can't leave here, for Christ's sake. I'm the group commander," Douglass said.
"The base commander devoutly believes you have been summoned to brief certain unspecified big shots on Saint-Lazare," Canidy said.
"Come along where?" Kennedy asked.
Canidy ignored the question.
"We'll get you back however we get Douglass back," Canidy said.
"I really would like no more than an hour of Major Douglass's time right here and now," Kennedy said.
That's not one of your options," Canidy said. "Come or not, suit yourself."
"This is official business," Kennedy bluffed.
"No, it's not," Canidy said. zdoug is supposed to brief you people on Friday. You're jumping the gun, Kennedy." Kennedy's face again registered surprise at Canidy's detailed knowledge of the project.
Canidy saw it.
"Never lie to Canidy the Omniscient," he said. "You coming or not?"
"I'm coming," Kennedy said after a moment.
TWO] Whitboy House, Sonl, England lols Hours as Decembor lllex As It. Colonel Edmund T. Stevens and Captain Stanley S. Fine stepped out of a 1942 Ford four-door staff car at the entrance to Whitbey House, they were somewhat disconcerted by the roar of aircraft engines. They looked around for the source of the noise and spotted a B-25 Mitchell twin-engine bomber emerging from the cloud cover at about I, 000 feet.
It. Colonel Stevens was not pleased, The 125 was attempting to land on the dirt runway built before the war by His Grace the Duke of Stanfield for his personal aircraft, a four-passenger single-engine Cessna.
Engineering officers of the Eighth United States Air Force had recently examined the field in some detail. Their judgment was that the single runway was too short and too close to Whitbey House itself to be used by anything larger than single-engine observation aircraft.
Furthermore, the experts said, improvement of the field was not feasible, because of the topography of the land.
The strip could not be lengthened at the north-northeast end because of Whitbey House, nor at the south-southwest end because of the River Naer, whose steep banks were 155 yards from the end of the runway.
The experts had concluded that the field did not meet minimum safety standards even for an emergency landing strip and that it should thus be marked at both ends with at least fffly-foot-high X's (whitewashed rocks were recommended) to warn aircraft commanders of the hazard.
There was no doubt in It. Colonel Stevens's mind that the O25 attempting to sit down on the closed and hazardous runway was the one that (not without difficulty) Dick Canidy had recently procured on indefinite loan from the Eighth United States Air Force and that Dick Canidy was flying it.
Why? No flights of the O25 had been scheduled or authorized. It was supposed to be sitting in a revetment on the U. S. Army Air Corps base at East Grinstead, some thirty miles away.
A look at Captain Fine told Colonel Stevens that Fine had been considering the same possibilities, and was worried.
Worried not only that Canidy was attempting a dangerous landing, but more important (should he survive it) that he was about to be caught with his pants down by the Deputy Chief of the London Station of the OSS.
Colonel Stevens chose not to play the outraged senior officer. He pretended he'd never heard the B-25, prayed for Canidy's safety, and walked inside the house and waited.
He was greeted at the door by Lieutenant Jamie Jamison and Captain the Duchess Stanfield, WRAC, who he suspected were considerably less than glad to see him, at this moment, than they attempted to be. It Colonel Stevens did not ask about the present whereabouts of Major Canidy, nor did Lieutenant Jamison or Captain Stanfield volunteer any information.
It. Colonel Stevens and Captain Fine were led into the refectory of the mansion, where thirty officers and enlisted men who were undergoing training as OSS agents had gathered for a pre-Christmas-dinner drink. A huge silver punch bowl had been set up at a table, and everyone was holding a silver mug.
There was an Army tradition that the commanding officer of a unit and his staff took Christmas dinner with the troops. Whitbey House OSS station was not a line company, of course, and Stevens was not the battalion commander. But he was the senior commissioned officer of the OSS in England (Station Chief David Bruce was a civilian), and Stevens felt that his place was here.
When it was immediately evident that the trainees were pleased to see him, he knew that he had made the right choice.
It. Colonel Stevens and Captain Fine were offered, and took, a glass of punch. The taste was familiar to It. Colonel Stevens. It was Artillery Punch.
One of the trainees had served in the prewar Artillery and come forth with the recipe. There were shortly going to be, Stevens knew, some very drunk people in this room, and tomorrow morning some monumental hangovers.
Artillery Punch was judged by the smoothness with which it went down and by the jolt one got a few minutes later. This was, in his expert opinion, very good Artillery Punch.
He decided against warning Captain Fine of its potency. It might be good for Captain Fine to get a little drunk--both because it was Christmas and because it was good to know how people behaved when drunk. In vino veritas had a special meaning for those in the intelligence business.
Captain Fine was on his third glass--a little red in the face and silly of smile--and It. Colonel Stevens was still delicately sipping his first when Major Canidy appeared in the refectory. He was accompanied by Captain James M. B. Whittaker, which was not surprising, and by Major Peter Douglass, Jr. , which was. But this explained what Canidy had been doing with the B-25. He had used it to fetch Major Douglass.
But what was really surprising was the presence of Lieutenant Joseph P. Kennedy, Jr. , USNR. Stevens wondered where the hell Canidy had found him, and why he had brought him to Whitbey House.
Two days before, Canidy had decided that it would be nice to have Major Douglass at the Christmas dinner at Whitbey House. Douglass was close to going over the edge (the Uincident" at Eighth Air Force headquarters was all the proof needed of that). And, because of his father, Douglass was one of the two exceptions (Ann Chambers was the other) to the rule that visitors to Whitbey House were absolutely proscribed.
But when Canidy called young Douglass at Atcham to offer him a ride, Douglass told him the base commander had restricted everyone to the base over Christmas. The Eighth Air Force was determined to nip in the bud a recently surfaced British resentment toward their American cousins.
As in, Americans are loverpaids oversexed, and over here." The base commander had decided it would not be in the best interests of Allied goodwill to turn loose his several thousand overpaid and oversexed officers and enlisted men to drown their homesickness on Christmas in English pubs. He had arranged activities for them on the base.
Ulf I wasn't the group commander," Douglass told him candidly, "I'd go over the fence. But I'm stuck, I'm afraid." Canidy actually winced when he saw It. Colonel Stevens. Then Canidy shrugged, and walked over to face the music.
Completely out of character, Captain Fine threw an affectionate arm around Canidy's shoulders and asked, "How the hell are you, buddy?" Canidy and Stevens smiled.
UBEEN at the punch, have you, Stanley?" Canidy asked.
"Noel, Noel," Fine said happily.
UI'm happy," It. Colonel Stevens saidxuif a little surprised to see you, Major Douglass."
"There I was, snug in my own little bed, minding my own busine
ss," Douglass said. UWHEN out of the blue--actually, it was out of the gray overcast--came Canidy in his airplane. He told the base commander I had been summoned to a briefing of Vips. The base commander was very impressed.". j_ "I believe you know Lieutenant Kennedy, Colonel?" Canidy said innocently.
"Hello, Joe," Stevens said. "It goes without saying that I'm more than a little surprised to see you here, too."
"Major Canidy gave me the option of talking to Major Douglass here, or not talking to him at all," Kennedy said.
"As you seem to have already learned," Stevens said, "Canidy often does annoying things." He turned his face to Canidy.
W E B Griffin - Men at War 3 - The Soldier Spies Page 13
