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But then he saw subtle differences: Although there were officers and men (of both sexes) sitting together at the eight-chair tables, the enlisted personnel were going through a serving line, while the officers were served by waiters. And there were separate tables for both enlisted and commissioned instructors. And one table at the far end of the room was separate from all the others. This one was reserved for the commanding officer and his staff, which was to say Canidy, Whittaker, Jamison, and Captain the Duchess Stanfield, WRAC.
Canidy saw Bitter standing in the door and motioned him to the head table. As he started across the room, someone greeted him.
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bsp; “Good morning, Commander,” Sergeant Agnes Draper said.
She was at a table with several other enlisted women, American WACs and British.
“Good morning, Sergeant,” Bitter said.
Sergeant Draper, Bitter noticed, was not wearing a tunic, just a khaki uniform shirt and knit khaki necktie. Her breasts stretched the khaki noticeably.
“I have known Commander Don Winslow,” Canidy greeted him, “since Christ was an apprentice seaman, and this is the first time I’ve ever seen him needing a shave.”
“Sit down, Commander,” the duchess said. “Ignore him. He’s in one of his rotten moods.”
“Overslept, did you?” Canidy pursued.
“I guess I did,” Bitter said as a GI waiter handed him a mimeographed menu. He was impressed with the array of food offered. “Very impressive menu,” he said.
“A well-fed sailor is a happy sailor,” Canidy said piously. “Thank Jamison for the food. He is a first-class scrounger.”
“So I see,” Bitter said. He ordered poached eggs and roast beef hash, then poured himself a cup of coffee from a silver pitcher.
“We have a reputation to maintain here, Commander,” Canidy said. “Your commanding officer expects you to be shaved and shined and in every way to measure up to our well-known spiffy sartorial standards.”
Bitter looked at him. Canidy was wearing an open-collared khaki shirt with no insignia of rank, and over that an olive-drab sleeveless sweater with the neck and arm holes bound in leather. It was, Bitter decided, British rather than American issue.
“Yes, sir,” Bitter said. “I will try not to disappoint you, sir.”
“That’s the spirit!” Canidy said. “When you go to see the admiral, I want him to look at your freshly shaven chin and sharply creased trousers and say to himself,‘Now, this young officer is clearly one of our own.’”
“What admiral?” he asked.
“On our part, we are so concerned about what the admiral thinks of you that we are going to let you use the Packard,” Canidy said.
“What admiral?” Bitter repeated.
“The Deputy Commander for Air, Naval Element, SHAEF,” Canidy said, “called Colonel Stevens first thing this morning. He told the colonel he deeply regretted not having been on hand to properly welcome you to the European Theater of Operations. Translated, that means he wants to remind you of your naval heritage, and why you have been sent here.”
“If I have to say this, Dick,” Bitter said,“I consider that I work for you. Period. ”
Canidy nodded.
“He asked Colonel Stevens if there was any way you could possibly find time in your busy schedule to give him a few minutes of your time. When Stevens told him he thought that might be difficult, the admiral sweetened his offer. He announced that he is an old friend of General Lorimer and would be happy to introduce the two of you.”
“You’re losing me, Dick,” Bitter said.
“Bear with me, Commander,” Canidy said. “Now, as a trade-school graduate himself, Colonel Stevens is well aware of the hoary military adage: ‘Beware of admirals bearing gifts.’ So he did not tell the admiral that we had already discussed you with General Lorimer and had in fact planned to send you over there this morning for a little chat. He decided that it might well be in our interest to see what the admiral has in mind. So he thanked the admiral profusely for his interest and suggested that you meet him there at noon.”
“Where’s ‘there’? and for the third time, who is General Lorimer?”
" ’There’is London. Brigadier General Kenneth Lorimer, of the Eighth Air Force Headquarters at High Wycombe, is what the Eighth Air Force chooses to call the ‘cognizant officer’ for the Project Aphrodite,” Canidy said.
“Okay,” Bitter said.
“The admiral’s concern for your welfare apparently goes beyond introducing you to the old boy network,” Canidy said. “He volunteered to provide you with a car and driver. Now, that really made Colonel Stevens suspicious, as cars and drivers are about as scarce as fifteen-year-old English virgins.”
