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Mrs. Greene’s mouth opened in shock, but she didn’t get to say whatever she had intended. General Greene, with relief evident in his voice, quickly announced, “Ah, here come the Schumanns and the McClungs.”
Colonel Schumann was wearing Mess Dress; Major McClung pinks and greens.
When everyone was in the now-crowded alcove, waiters closed doors, ones that Cronley hadn’t seen before, shutting off the alcove from the main dining room.
When all the male handshaking and female cheek-ki
ssing was over, and they took their seats, Rachel was sitting across, but not directly across, from Jimmy. He just had time to decide he wasn’t going to get groped when he felt her foot pressing against his.
Momentarily, but long enough so there was no question of it not being by accident.
When a waiter appeared for their drink orders, Cronley tried to do the right thing. He really wanted a Jack Daniel’s, but knew he shouldn’t. On the other hand, he didn’t like scotch, so if he ordered a scotch, not liking scotch, he would drink it slowly.
“I’ll have a Dewar’s please.”
“Colonel Frade,” General Greene began the dinner conversation, “I’d recommend the New York strip steak. Very good. They bring it in from Denmark.”
“Why do they do that?” Frade asked.
“The club—clubs, plural—don’t want to be accused of diverting the best beef from the Quartermaster refrigerators to the brass, taking it out of the mouths of the enlisted men, so to speak, so they go outside the system and buy it in Denmark.”
“You look as if you don’t approve, Colonel Frade,” Mrs. Greene said. “Don’t they do things like that in the Naval Service?”
“In the Marine Corps, I was taught that officers can have anything in the warehouse after the enlisted men get first shot at it.”
Before his wife could reply to that, General Greene quickly said, “That strikes me as a very good rule.”
“General,” Frade asked, “did you ever notice that there’s loops on the top of Marine officers’ covers—the brimmed uniform caps?”
“As a matter of fact, I have.”
“When I was a second lieutenant, I was told that was to identify officers who might have had their hands in the enlisted men’s rations and make it easier for Marine marksmen in the ship’s rigging to shoot them.”
Greene, Colonel Schumann, and Major McClung laughed. Rachel Schumann and Mrs. McClung chuckled. Mrs. Greene’s eyebrows rose. Mattingly managed a wan smile.
“I’d be interested to hear, Colonel,” Greene said, “how you think the meeting went this afternoon?”
“Paul,” Mrs. Greene said, “I didn’t get all gussied up to come out to listen to you talk shop.”
Her husband ignored her. “Your thoughts, Colonel?”
“General, in the Marine Corps, we have another odd custom. We ask questions like that of the junior officer present. That way, since they don’t know what their seniors are hoping to hear, they have to say what they actually think.”
“We do the same thing, Colonel,” General Greene said, and his eyes went to Cronley. “Well, Captain, what impression did you take away from that long, long session this afternoon?”
Thanks a lot, Clete!
No matter what I say, it’s going to be wrong.
What the hell! In the absence of all other options, tell the truth.
“Sir, from the bottom of the totem pole, it looked to me like those people from the Pentagon are very unhappy that there’s going to be a new OSS. And/or that the Pentagon is not going to be running it.”
Greene nodded and then made a Keep going gesture with his hand. Cronley saw that Mattingly was looking at him, obviously worried about what he was going to say next.
“Sir, I had the feeling that they were really upset to hear that I have the monastery and will be in charge of Pullach.”
“I don’t understand,” Mrs. Greene said. “What monastery? What’s Pullach?”
