James Benn - Billy Boyle

“Lieutenant Boyle, I’m pleased you could join me,” he said as he poured out two glasses of sherry from a decanter. No first names between us, I guess. He replaced the stopper on the decanter and it settled in with that nice glassy clunk that said real crystal.

“Glad to, Sir Richard… or do you prefer Captain?”

He handed me a glass and gestured toward a chair. We sat. Books lined the wall in front of us, some of them really old, their faded leather bindings thick on the shelves. Others were new, with bright-colored covers showing off among the fading tones of the older books. I wondered if he had read them all. And if he had any Sherlock Holmes.

“‘Captain’ suits me better,” he said. “I feel as if I’ve at least earned that title. The knighthood, well, that’s so much politics. As a military man, perhaps you understand.”

“My military experience as an officer is really measured in weeks, but I think I do. My father and uncle were in the last world war. They lost their older brother in France.”

“The shared experience of death. It tends to stay with you.” He shook his head sadly, and I wondered what else we were going to talk about. I figured more small talk was in order.

“What sort of ship were you on, Captain? I’m afraid I don’t know much about the Royal Navy.”

“A cruiser. She went down in the Battle of Jutland. The captain is supposed to go down with his ship, but all I could manage to send down was one arm.”

He smiled to himself at what was now probably a well-worn joke.

“It must’ve been tough.”

“Losing the arm? No, that was easy, compared to losing my ship. And my men. Very difficult to come to grips with. You probably have yet to meet the enemy in combat, Lieutenant?”

“No, I haven’t.”

“Once you do, you will need to keep all your wits about you. You must be totally focused on the job at hand.”

I nodded. I waited. I couldn’t disagree with him, but I also didn’t know what he was getting at.

“You work with Daphne and Baron Kazimierz at the U.S. headquarters?”

“Yes.”

“She seems to be quite happy these days. With the baron, with her post there.”

“Yes. They seem quite devoted to each other.” Thunder boomed, a distant, low sound. Rain pelted the windows as the winds blew it sideways against the house. I wondered what in hell we were talking about.

“It is ironic that people in wartime find each other who never would have met otherwise. For some it can be very good, having a relationship forged during time of war. For others, it can be… dangerous. It may entail a loss of focus.”

“You mean, like thinking of loved ones back home when you’re dodging bullets?”

He took a drink, keeping his eyes leveled on me over the rim of the glass. He set the glass down, still gazing at me. “Yes, that sort of thing. It’s why the commandos don’t want men with families. On a dangerous job, one shouldn’t be thinking about anything but the objective.”

“Well, at HQ the most danger we ever face is a paper cut.” I couldn’t very well brag about almost getting shot by accident to a guy with one arm at the bottom of the North Sea.

“Every job has its rigors. More sherry?”

I drank a second glass of the stuff and we talked some more. About Eisenhower, U-boats, London, lots of idle chitchat. Maybe this was how the swells entertained a guest. Tiny glasses of liquor my grandmother might drink and lots of small talk. It went on until a butler, in a swallow-tailed coat even fancier than the captain’s, announced that dinner was served.

I followed the captain out of the library and down the hall, thick carpeting deadening the sounds of our footsteps. We passed portraits of two men in naval uniforms from the last century. I wasn’t introduced.

We turned a corner and came to the main staircase at the front, the formal entrance to the house. Diana was waiting at the bottom. She looked a lot different than she had earlier. The absence of horse manure on her shoes was nice. She wore her FANY uniform, a light gray outfit that wasn’t designed for fashion, but she looked like a movie star in it anyway. Her hair was brushed and gleaming, falling over her shoulders like sunlight.

“Billy, there you are,” she said. “I thought you might have gotten lost.”

“The captain invited me to the library for sherry,” I said, trying to sound cheery about it.

“Oh, how nice of you, Father,” Diana said, falling in beside me and taking my arm.

The captain bowed his head. “No trouble at all, my dear.”

Daphne and Kaz were already in the dining room. I walked with Diana to the table to pull out her chair, but the captain had other plans. He seated his daughters to his left and right, and put me next to Daphne. There were only five of us at the table, but somehow I ended up as far away from Diana as possible. Out of footsie range, anyway.

The dining room was wood paneled, a dark cherry color. It was lit entirely by candlelight, candlesticks on the table, sideboard, and flickering in wall sconces. It produced a mellow, golden light, reflecting off the polished wood and giving the room a sense of age and dignity. A brisk fire in a huge fireplace behind the captain kept the damp chill from the rain outside from creeping in. Firewood snapped and sparked as wine-claret according to our host-was poured. He raised his glass in a toast.

“To our American allies. Lieutenant Boyle, I hope you are the first of many more to come.”

“They’re on their way, sir. You can depend on that.”

We clinked glasses, and there were smiles all around.

“We are depending upon it,” Captain Seaton said. “After fighting alone for two years, 1941 was a godsend to us. First, Hitler attacked Russia in June, taking the pressure off England, and then America came into the war in December. Made us breathe a little easier over here, I can assure you.”

“When will the Americans get into the fight?” asked Diana. “It’s been over six months since Pearl Harbor was attacked, and we’re just beginning to see you Yanks over here.”

“Diana!” barked the captain. “Don’t be rude!”

“That’s OK,” I said, trying to avoid an embarrassing moment. “Miss Seaton may not understand how difficult it is to mount a military campaign.” I took another swig of wine, warming to my subject. I was on Eisenhower’s staff, after all.

“You see, there’s the matter of strategy, logistics, target selection-”

“Billy,” Daphne interrupted, “I think you can spare us the lecture. Diana actually has more experience with military campaigns than any of us, excepting Father.”

“Diana was with a FANY detachment that served as switchboard operators with the British Expeditionary Force in France,” Kaz said, jumping to my rescue. “In 1940.”

“Well, Belgium at first anyway, Baron.” Diana cocked an eyebrow at me while she took a drink. She had a look that said she was about to enjoy humiliating me. “We were in Brussels, at BEF headquarters with Lord Gort. Supposedly safe behind the lines, working the switchboard and freeing up men for the fighting units. Although nobody told the Germans.”

“Especially Rommel.” The captain said this gazing between my eyes. I could tell I was getting a message.

“Yes,” Diana went on. “Rommel and his Ghost Division, they called it. Kept showing up in our rear areas. Quite a nuisance. We abandoned headquarters, fell back. Bombed, strafed, and otherwise inconvenienced for most of the month of May. We were among the first to be transported out of Dunkirk, with the wounded.”

“Are you a nurse?” I asked.

“No, although I did learn a few things about caring for the wounded. They call us the First Aid Nursing Yeomanry, but one doesn’t need to be a nurse. It’s rather a catchall organization, providing support in various ways. Working switchboards, clerking, that sort of thing.”