Men At War - The Soldier Spies - Men at War - The Soldier Spies Part 20
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Men at War - The Soldier Spies Part 20

Bitter knew that his job could just as easily have been accomplished-perhaps been better accomplished--by one of the directly commissioned civilians who had entered the Navy in large numbers, men from automobile and furniture factories, grocery distribution, railroads, even five-and-ten cent-store executives. These people were skilled and practiced in moving "supply line items" from Point A to Point B in the most efficient manner.

The need for someone qualified to base the supply decisions on tactical considerations had ceased as soon as the American industrial complex began to stamp out airplanes with the same efficiency that it spit out automobiles and refrigerators.

As often as he dared, he had asked Admiral Hawley to have him returned to aviation duty or to a ship. He was a naval officer first and an aviator second, and he could hold his own on a ship, as executive officer or even as captain, with luck.

Admiral Hawley had always courteously but firmly refused. The Navy needed him most where the Navy had put him, the admiral kept telling him.

And, as things had turned out, the admiral had been proved right.

He was going overseas, going in harm's way, back on flight status, because that was what the Navy needed.

Four days after the DCNO marched into Admiral Hawley's office, Sarah drove Ed to Anacostia Naval Air Station in the Cadillac, as she had fifty times before. The only difference was that this time he wouldn't be back in a couple of days. Otherwise, it was the same routine. He traveled in a blue uniform, carrying two suitcases (his priority orders waived weight restrictions) and a stuffed leather briefcase.

Sarah clung to him when the public address system announced the boarding of the Air Force C-54, and the pressure of her breasts against his abdomen reminded him that he was going to miss that part of their marriage. Joe cried, and there were tears in Ed Bitter's eyes when he kissed his son.

The plane refueled at Gander, Newfoundland, and again at Prestwick, Scotland, after fighting a headwind across much of the Atlantic, and then took off again for Croydon Field outside London, where it was scheduled to land at half past ten in the morning London time.

TWO] U. S. Army Air Corpn Station Sornham St. Faith 6 January Major William H. Emmons, who was the commanding officer of the 474th Photo Reconnaissance Squadron of the Eighth United States Air Force, was more than a little curious about Major Richard Canidy.

Canidy was preceded at Horsham St. Faith by a telephone call from Brigadier General Kenneth Lorimer of Eighth Air Force Headquarters.

Mission 43-Special-124 was a photographic reconnaissance of the German submarine pens at Saint-Lazare, General Lorimer said. And it was being flown at Major Canidy's request. Special-124 was a high-priority mission, he emphasized. Which meant that there was to be no delaying it or canceling it or getting around it except maybe for some overwhelming catastrophe (such as, say, the end of the world).

Which meant that if Major Emmons had problems mounting it, equipment problems, say, it would be necessary to take an aircraft from another scheduled mission so that Special-124 could go.

Major Canidy himself would come to Horsham St. Faith to personally brief the flight crew (Major Emmons was always pissed when some chair warmer showed up to tell his people how to do what they were ordered to do) and would remain at Horsham St. Faith while the mission was flown.

After the mission the film magazines would be turned over to Major Canidy, who would arrange for the necessary processing.

"Under no circumstances, Bill, is Major Canidy to be permitted to go along on the mission," General Lorimer said finally. "You understand me?"

"Yes, sir." Later Major Emmons as much as said it straight out to his friend Captain Ross that Canidy was one more of the glory-hunting headquarters sonsofbitches who liked to pick up missions twenty-five missions and you got an Air Medal and went home) by inviting themselves along as' observers.

"They got in the way, and they added two hundred pounds to the gross weight, and they picked and chose the missions to observe, generally short, safe ones.

Emmons was a little sorry that General Lorimer had this Canidy's number. Special-124 was going to be short, but it wasn't going to be safe. A P-38 group attempting to skip-bomb the Saint-Lazare pens had lost sixteen of twenty-nine attacking aircraft. Major Emmons would be happy to send some chair-warming sonofabitch trying to pick up a mission out on one like this.

Major Canidy arrived at Horsham St. Faith at three o'clock in the morning, sleeping in the back seat of a Packard driven by an English woman sergeant. Major Emmons was surprised to see that the sonofabitch did have wings pinned to his tunic. But that was all. Just wings. No ribbons. The sonofabitch apparently hadn't even been here thirty days.

If he had been, he would have had the ETO (European Theater of Operations) ribbon.

First Canidy asked for coffee and then something to eat, then promptly began to tell the crew how to fly this mission. And right in front of the WRAC sergeant, too. That pushed Emmons over the edge.

"Excuse me, Major," he said. "This mission is classified."

"I know, " Canidy said. "I classified it." And then he understood.

"Does Agnes look like a German spy to you, Major?"

"How much B-26 time do you have Major?" Emmons flared. "If you don't mind my asking? To tell my men how to fly this mission?"

"Actually no O26 time," Canidy said.

"But he does have several thousand hours of pilot time," the WRAC sergeant said sweetly. "And both the American and the English DFC."

"Shut up, Agnes," Canidy said. uand before we came here, we were with Major Douglass, who led the P-38 strike on the pens. He and Major Canidy were Flying Tigers in China."

"I told you to shut up," Canidy repeated.

"Richard," the WRAC sergeant said, undaunted, "the major obviously believes--and, worse, is communicating his belief to these gentlemen--that you're a... How does Jimmy put it? A candy ass."

"Cahn-dy Ah-ss" in the WRAC sergeant's dignified, precise English was comical. That broke the ice a little, and both Emmons and Canidy chuckled.

The B-26 pilot, a lieutenant who looked as if he belonged in high school, laughed out loud, like a boy.

"I guess I owe you an apology, Major Canidy--" Emmons began.

"Don't be silly," Canidy interrupted.

"--but when General Lorimer said that you were not under any circumstances to go on this mission, I got the idea you were one of those guys who like to collect missions by going on the easy ones." "Lorimer said what?" Canidy asked.

"That you are not under any circumstances to go along on this mission, " Emmons said.

"Oh, that sonofabitch!" Canidy said.

"He meant it, too," Emmons said. "I'm sorry."

"He outfoxed you, Richard," the WRAC sergeant said, obviously pleased to learn that. "He knew very well all along that you planned to go." Canidy looked at the boyish B-26 pilot and shrugged his shoulders.

"You just tell us what you want, Major," the young pilot said.

"And how you think is the best way to get it. We'll give it the old school try." Saint-Lazare was on the English side of the Brest Peninsula, 375 air miles from Horsham St. Faith. The B-26 stripped for aerial photography cruised at 325 knots. It would take a little over two hours in all for the trip. The boyish B-26 pilot broke ground at 0538, and the B-26 reappeared at Horsham St Faith a few minutes after eight. The return trip had taken longer than the way out. The port engine had been ripped off by flak.

A wounded aboard' flare went up from the B-26 as it lined itself up with the runway.

When the wheels came down, even from where they stood watching, it was clear to both Emmons and Canidy that the starboard gear had been damaged and was not going to lock in place.

An attempt to radio the pilot to go around, pull up his gear, and belly it in failed. And in any event, there wasn't time. It came in, in a crawl, and touched down, skidded off the runway, toward the bad gear, and spun around and around and around across the grass.

When Canidy and Emmons, in a jeep, reached the aircraft sixty seconds ahead of the crash truck and ambulances, the air was heavy with the smell of avgas. Thirty seconds after they pulled the limp body of the boy pilot through the canopy, the gas ignited.

But the photographers had tossed the film canisters out of the gun-and camera ports in the fuselage the moment the plane had stopped moving, and thus MA (for Mission Accomplished) could be written in the records after Mission 43-Special-124.

THREE.

Croydon Air Field London, England 1035 hours 6 January 1943 As the C-54 taxied to Base Operations, Ed saw two U. S. Army buses and a limousine waiting. There were three or four full colonels aboard the C-54, and one of them was apparently important enough to be met by a limousine.

Not without a little thrill, Ed saw in the limousine a couple of symbols that he was now in the war zone. Except for a narrow slit, its head lamps were painted black, and its fenders were outlined in white so the car would have more visibility in a blacked-out-against-the-enemy city.

He waited impatiently until there was room enough in the aisle for him to stand and put on his uniform cap and overcoat and collect his luggage.

Then he walked down the stairs, following the line of people toward the buses.

Then his name was called.

"Commander Edwin Bitter!" He looked around.

There were five people in uniform (no two uniforms alike) standing in a line by the limousine. Four of them were standing at attention, and the fifth was saluting. Three of them, including the one saluting, were female. It took him a moment to place her. He had never before seen his cousin Ann Chambers in her war correspondent's uniform.

But he had immediately recognized the two broadly smiling American officers with her. The one in a green blouse and trousers was Dick Canidy.

The one in a rather startling all-pink (trousers, shirt, and cut-down blouse) and totally illegal variation of an Air Corps captain's "pinks and greens" was Captain James M. B. Whittaker. He had no idea who the two Englishwomen, a captain and a sergeant, were.

The other debarking passengers were fascinated with the odd little greeting party. Most were amused, but two of the full colonels failed to see anything entertaining.

Bitter was more than a little embarrassed as he left the line headed for the buses and walked to them.

"The King was tied up," Canidy said, "so he sent the Duchess to welcome you."

"Damn you, Dick," the British female captain said.

"Commander Bitter," Canidy said, "may I present Her Gracefulness, the Duchess of Stanfield? And Sergeant Agnes Draper? I believe you know everyone else."

"The commander seems a bit underwhelmed to see you, Dick," the British captain said, as if this pleased her.

She's a good-looking woman, Bitter thought. Somehow aristocratic. wonder--it wouldn't surprise me--gshe might indeed be a duchess.

"That's because he hasn't been kissed, Your Gracefulness," Canidy said.

"Will you stop calling me that?" She laughed.

Canidy moved quickly to Bitter, grabbed his arms at the moment Bitter grasped what he was up to, and kissed him wetly on the forehead.

"Welcome to England, Edwin," Canidy said loudly. "We who have preceded you, plus, of course, those who have been here all along, will be able to sleep soundly now that the Pride of the U. S. Navy has arrived."

"What are you doing here?" Bitter asked.

"We came to fetch you, obviously, "Jimmy Whittaker said. "To spare you the two hours of How to Behave Now That You're in England' lectures you'll be given if you get on one of those buses."

"How'sjoe, Eddie?

"Ann Chambers asked.

"They're going to Palm Beach," Ed Bitter said.

"War is hell, isn't it?" Canidy said dryly.

"You seem to be having a good time," Bitter said. "How did you know when I was coming?" "I'm omniscient," Canidy said.

"You're what?"

"I'm omniscient," Canidy repeated. "Tell him, Your Gracefulness, that I'm omniscient." The captain put out her hand to Bitter.

"How do you do, Commander?" she said. "My name is Stanfield."

"How do you do?" Bitter said.

"On your knees, you uncouth swabbie," Canidy said. "That's a duchess you're talking to." Bitter looked in confusion at the captain and saw in her face, and then in a nod of her head, that she was indeed a duchess. He looked at the sergeant and was convinced he saw in her eyes sympathy for his discomfort.

It was just like Canidy to embarrass him in front of an enlisted man.

Woman.

He looked away from the sergeant, but not before he had noticed that despite the ill-fitting uniform, she was as good-looking as the captain, toward the buses. An Army officer with a clipboard was looking at him impatiently.

"I'd better get on my bus," Bitter said.

"You weren't listening to Captain Whittaker, Commander," Canidy said.

"If you do that, they will carry you into hours of durance vile, or some damned thing like that, Following the short-arm inspection, there will be bullshit lectures on how you're supposed to treat the natives.

Tell him you're going with us."

"Natives, indeed!" Captain the Duchess Stanfield said.

"What's a short-arm inspection?" Ann Chambers asked.

"I'll show you later," Canidy said, grinning at Whittaker.

"I'd better follow the SOP," Bitter said. "Where are you going to be later?"

"You don't have to go, Eddie," Canidy said.

I can't just go AWOL," Bitter protested.

"What are they going to do, send you overseas?" Canidy replied.

"Where are you going to be later?"

"God, you are a stuffed shirt," Ann Chambers said.

"We're going to drink our lunch at the Savoy Grill," Jimmy Whittaker said. "Then we'll be in the bar at the Dorchester from about five.

Can you remember that, or should I write it down for you?"

"III do what I can to be there," Bitter said. He turned to Captain Stanfield, "I'm happy to have met you, Your Grace." "Thank you," she said.

"Dick!