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[THREE]
Navy Pier Pensacola, Florida 0915 25 June 1945
Captain Prentiss and Lieutenant Colonel Frade were standing on the flying bridge of the USS Bartram Greene DD-201 as she was being tied up to the pier. Frade was in a Marine summer uniform he’d never worn before.
“I would hazard the guess, Clete, that that’s your welcoming party,” Prentiss said, nodding toward an officer standing beside a Navy gray Plymouth sedan on the pier.
“I’m crushed, Slats. I was expecting a brass band and a cheering crowd.”
“I’ve been meaning to ask,” Prentiss said, tapping the Navy Cross on Frade’s chest, “where you got that.”
Frade glanced down at it, then replied: “In a hockshop on Bourbon Street in New Orleans. I bought a pair of those”—he tapped the binoculars hanging from Prentiss’s neck—“and the hockshop guy threw that in for free. I thought it looked nice, so I pinned it on.”
“Is that also where you got the Wings of Gold? In a New Orleans pawnshop?”
“No. A very long time ago, in another life, I got those here.”
“I’ll walk you to the gangway,” Prentiss said.
“Thanks for the ride, Slats.”
“In other circumstances, Clete, I would have been delighted to have you aboard.”
Prentiss and Frade reached the gangway just as it was lowered into place. The Navy officer—they were close enough for Frade to be able to see that he was a spectacles-wearing, mousy-looking lieutenant commander with the insignia of the Judge Advocate Corps where the star of a line officer would be, above the stripes on his sleeve—now stood waiting to come aboard.
Frade said: “I don’t see any reason I can’t get off, do you?”
Prentiss shook his head.
“Permission to leave the ship, sir?” Frade said.
“Granted.”
Frade saluted Prentiss, then the colors flying aft.
Prentiss offered his hand.
“Good luck, Clete.”
“Thank you, Captain.”
The JAG officer saluted as Frade stepped off the gangway.
Frade returned it.
“You are Lieutenant Colonel C. H. Frade, sir?”
“Guilty—for lack of a better word.”
The JAG officer ignored that. He said, “I’m Lieutenant Commander McGrory, Colonel. I have been appointed your counsel.”
He offered his hand. Frade was not surprised that McGrory’s grip was limp.
“We have a car, sir,” McGrory said.
A sailor opened the rear door of the Plymouth and Frade got in. As the car started down the pier, Frade saw that Prentiss was standing on the deck of the Greene watching them drive away.
When they were on Navy Boulevard, which would take them to Main Side, Naval Air Station, Pensacola, Frade said, “Exactly what are you going to counsel me about, Commander?”
