Soldier Spies by Griffin W. E. B

Author:Griffin, W. E. B. [Griffin, W. E. B.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781436219815
Publisher: PENGUIN group

VIII

[ONE]

Supreme Headquarters Allied Expeditionary Force Grosvenor Square, London 1115 Hours 9 January 1943

The Packard rolled grandly up Grosvenor Square, and Sergeant Agnes Draper signaled her intention to turn into the curb before the main entrance to the redbrick building. An English policeman, his gas mask slung over his shoulder, took a quick look and decided that a Packard with a WRAC sergeant at the wheel was entitled to use the front entrance. He signaled for her to turn.

There was not much room in front of the building. People had to be gotten out of and into their staff cars quickly or there would be a traffic jam. Only Eisenhower’s Packard Clipper was given a parking space (on the sidewalk) in front of the place. Everybody else’s car had to be parked either across the street or in a basement parking lot.

An American MP, tall and natty, wearing white gloves and leggings and a white crown on his brimmed cap, walked quickly and militarily across the sidewalk to open the door. When he had it open, he saluted crisply as Bitter got out.

Bitter returned the salute and walked toward the door. His second visit to SHAEF in less than twenty-four hours was more than a little different from his first. The first time he had arrived by bus at the back door, staggering under the weight of his luggage.

Inside the building, a WAC receptionist called Admiral Foster’s office and then reported that the admiral’s aide would come to get him.

The aide, a lieutenant, startled him by calling him by his first name. It took a moment to recall his face from Annapolis.

“I don’t know what went wrong,” the aide said as he led him down long corridors to Admiral Foster’s office. “I’d planned to pick you up at Croydon and get you through initial processing without the standard lectures. But we never got confirmation of your ETA.”

“No problem,” Bitter said. He thought: Canidy knew what plane I would be on.

Admiral Foster, who had an office overlooking the snow-covered park, greeted him warmly, and a sailor quickly produced coffee.

“So far the schedule’s fine,” the admiral said. “Ken Lorimer can’t see us until half past three or four, so we’ll have time for a quick tour of this place, a little lunch, and for the trip to High Wycombe.”

“Yes, sir,” Bitter said. “Admiral, I’m brand-new. I’m concerned about my driver getting her lunch.”

“Her lunch?”

“Yes, sir. She’s a British Army sergeant.”

“You and Eisenhower,” Admiral Foster said.

“Sir?”

“General Eisenhower also has an English female sergeant for a driver,” Foster said. “Damned good-looking woman.”

“So is this one,” Bitter said.

Foster told his aide to “make sure Commander Bitter’s driver gets her lunch,” and then he gave Bitter a tour of the Naval Element, SHAEF, introducing him to senior officers as “the man DCNO has sent off to represent the Navy in that ‘delicate project.’”

It was clear that in his eyes Bitter was the round peg in the round hole, someone who not only had a “distinguished combat record”

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