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Bitter walked quickly, ahead of the DCNO, to Admiral Hawley’s door and pushed it open.
“The Deputy Chief of Naval Operations, sir!” he announced.
“Good afternoon, sir,” Admiral Hawley said as he rose to his feet behind his desk.
“Hello, Enoch,” the DCNO said as he walked, with hand extended, across the room. “How the hell are you?”
"I’m very well, sir. Yourself ?”
“Overworked and underpaid and wishing I was anywhere else but here,” the DCNO said. He sounded sincere, if resigned.
“May I offer you some coffee, Admiral?”
“Only if you have something to put in it besides milk and sugar,” the DCNO said.
“I’m sure we can take care of that, Ed, can’t we?” Admiral Hawley said.
“Aye, aye, sir,” Bitter said.
When he was out of the room, the DCNO said,“He’s limping.”
It was a question.
“He took a Japanese .50-caliber, or parts of one, in his knee,” Admiral Hawley said.
“And what does he have pinned to his chest?”
“They’re AVG wings, Admiral. Commander Bitter was a Flying Tiger.”
“I find that absolutely fascinating,” the DCNO said.
Admiral Hawley had no idea what the DCNO meant.
“Bitter is a very good man,” Hawley said loyally. “Class of ’38, and he was nearly a double ace—he had nine kills—when he was hit. By ground fire, I think I should add.”
“Hummmpph,” the DCNO said.
Bitter came back into the room carrying a napkin-covered Coca-Cola tray and two cups of coffee. When he extended the tray, the DCNO said, “The name ‘Canidy’ mean anything to you, Commander?”
“Yes, sir,” Bitter said, surprised at the question.
“You were in the Flying Tigers with him?”
“Yes, sir.”
“That all?”
"We were stationed together at Pensacola, sir, as IPs, before we went to China.”
“That all?”
“I don’t know what the admiral is asking, sir,” Bitter said.
“Is he a good man?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Friend of yours, you would say, Commander?”
