James Benn - Billy Boyle

He smiled and waved us through. I turned around as we drove past. Neither sentry watched us as we went down the road.

“Pretty sloppy security,” I said. “He didn’t even check our IDs. We could be heading anywhere on this base.”

“Now that you mention it, Billy, isn’t it usually military police who guard base entrances?”

“Yeah, you’re right. Those weren’t MPs. Those clowns would let anyone in here.” Daphne took the second left and parked in front of a Quonset hut with HQ painted in red letters above the door. Pine trees rose up in back of the building, shading it from the weak warmth the June sun gave. The Imp attracted a few stares, and Daphne attracted quite a few looks herself when she stepped out. Nobody paid me much attention.

“Can I help you, miss?” A GI walked up to Daphne, his hands in his pockets and a grin on his face. There was a parachute patch on his fore and aft cap, and he wore paratroop boots shined to a mirror finish.

She smiled for a second. “That’s ‘Second Officer’ to you, Private. Accent on officer.”

Two of his buddies had hung back and were now laughing as his face reddened. He turned away from Daphne and nearly collided with me.

“Excuse me, sss-sir,” he stammered as he tried to pull off a salute and back up at the same time.

“Take it easy, soldier,” I said, returning the salute. “Just tell us where we can find the CO or Captain Gilmore.”

“The CO’s out on maneuvers, but Captain Gilmore’s here. He’s down by the trucks. Our battalion is getting our winter gear today and he’s in charge. We’re headed there. Would you like to follow us, Lieutenant? And the Second Officer, of course.” He offered a tentative grin toward Daphne.

“Sure, boys. Lead the way.”

We walked past a long row of Quonset huts, each bordered by a neat row of whitewashed rocks. In back of that row was another row, then another. Thick green grass, still wet from last night’s rain, gave off a damp, earthy smell.

“You boys ever get out of here?” I asked.

“Yessir. They give us passes most weekends. We go into Southwold or sometimes up to Halesworth. There’s pubs, movies, that sorta thing.”

“You’re all paratroopers, I see. The girls must like that. What’s your unit?”

“Third Battalion, 509th Parachute Regiment,” our new friend said proudly. “But there’s a lot of us, plus the rangers and commandos. There’s fewer girls than GIs around here. Makes it kinda tough.”

“Lots of competition, huh?”

“Yeah, I mean yes, sir. Especially with the Brit commandos. They think they have first dibs on the local girls. But they’re out with the rangers on maneuvers today, so I thought I might have a chance.. ..”

“With the Second Officer,” said Daphne wryly.

“Yes, ma’am. Sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it at all. It was most gallant of you to guide us,” she said, giving him a forgiving smile. “Are the Norwegian commandos on maneuver also?”

“Probably. They’re part of Number Five Troop, and I think all the commando units are out with the rangers. They’re doing an exercise, attacking the airfield at Lowestoft.”

Just what the brass had planned for them in Norway, where the plan was to take an airfield in Nordland. At the end of the row of Quonset huts was a large parking area. Two rows of five trucks each had their tailgates down and lines of paratroopers were passing along each, laughing and joking as men handed down heavy coats and other winter gear.

“We’ve got to get in line, sir. That’s Captain Gilmore over there, guy with the clipboard.”

“Thanks.” We walked along the queue of men, some already burdened by parkas, heavy pants, fur hats, and mittens. It was cool for June, but the guys looked hot just carrying all that stuff.

“Captain Gilmore?” I asked as Daphne and I both saluted.

“Yes, what is it, Lieutenant?” He seemed busy, and didn’t even bother looking at Daphne, which meant very busy in my book. He had his knee up on a crate, balancing his clipboard on it and jotting down numbers as fast as he could.

“Sir, we have orders granting access to your base in order to speak to Lieutenant Rolf Kayser, of the SAS commandos, Number Five Troop.”

“I don’t give a good goddamn…” He finally noticed Daphne. “Excuse me. I mean I don’t care what your orders say. All commando troops are out on maneuvers today.”

“Up at Lowestoft,” I offered.

“Right. They should be back this evening, when you can talk to Lieutenant Kayser all you want. Until then, I would appreciate it if you would just stay out of the way. I’ve got a lot to do.” He turned and walked to the next row of trucks, checking his clipboard. I kept up with him, although that had sounded like a dismissal.

“I see that, sir. But what’s the rush? Winter’s not due for months.”

“Then you must be the only guy they didn’t let in on the secret. Hey, Doc!”

“Yes, captain?”

A British officer walked over in response to Gilmore’s summons. He wore the commando shoulder flash along with the insignia of the Medical Corps. He was a little older than the American officer, with a tanned and lined face that looked like a sailor’s or a mountaineer’s. It was a hard face, but the blue eyes were soft and expressive. A doctor and a commando. Quite a combo.

“Doc, could you take these two off my hands? Give them lunch, a tour of the base, whatever. They’re waiting for one of the Norwegian guys to get back.” He walked off, still writing on his clipboard and counting off paratroopers, not even waiting for a response. The doctor eyed him as he walked away.

“Executive officer is not a job I’d wish on my worst enemy. Nothing but paperwork and details, no glory. You have to excuse Captain Gilmore; he’s just up to his eyeballs in it.” He turned toward Daphne and smiled. “I am Captain Stuart Carlyle. Pleased to meet you.”

I took that to mean he didn’t care two figs about meeting me, so I horned back in the conversation. “This is Second Officer Daphne Seaton. I’m Lieutenant Billy Boyle. We’re attached to U.S. Army headquarters.” Daphne handed him a copy of our orders, which he scanned and gave back, with the casual disdain for headquarters types that was quite natural among field officers and hardly even offensive.

“How come you’re not out with the commando troops, sir?” I asked.

“I have some training accident patients that needed looking after. A few broken bones, that sort of thing,” he said, moving away from the trucks and the noise of the paratroopers. “First let’s have some lunch, then I’ll show you around.”

“I didn’t know the commandos had their own medical staff,” said Daphne as we followed him.

“We usually avail ourselves of the regular Army Medical Corps,” Carlyle said, “but there are times when a doctor is needed on a mission. Such as when we are in the field in hostile territory for a period of time.”

“So you’re a trained commando?” I asked.

“Absolutely. Had to go through the same basic courses these younger chaps did. Although it helped that I’m an experienced mountain climber. Probably why they wanted me along.”

“What do you mean?” I asked. Before he could answer, we all had to step to the side of the road as two more trucks rumbled by, probably loaded down with scarves and mittens. We walked on quickly, waving the dust away from our faces.

“Since you two are on Ike’s staff, I’m surprised you don’t know. Norway. Lots of mountains there,” Carlyle said, looking back at us as we worked at keeping up with him.

“Oh, sure. The invasion. You guys are headed to Nordland, right?”

“Now that bit’s top secret. It seems the General Staff figured they couldn’t keep Norway a secret, what with the cold-weather gear and training we’ve been doing. The troops on this base know we’re on for Norway, but they don’t know exactly where or when. I’ve been told three different landing spots myself. So keep a tight lip, Lieutenant.”