Billy Boyle (27 page)

“But… what about Daphne and Kaz?”

“It has nothing to do with them. Neither of them will be dealing with the enemy.”

“Captain, I don’t know if I’ll ever be anything but a staff officer—”

“That does not matter to me,” he said, “if I may be blunt. There is nothing else to say. I’m sure you are a fine officer. Daphne speaks well of you in any case. But I stand by what I say. Diana is very… .”

“Impetuous?” I remembered how Daphne had introduced her.

“Impetuous, yes,” he nodded, “and quick to form opinions, sometimes to her own detriment. I know her quite well, and I can tell she sees something in you. I understand she was plying Daphne with questions about you, which is unusual. She thinks most young men are pompous fools, and is not shy about telling them. For you, she shows off her horsemanship. Quite a compliment, actually.”

He stood as if he were still on the bridge commanding his crew. “For now, do not attempt to see my daughter again.” There was sadness in his eyes that didn’t match the sternness of his words. “Breakfast is ready. We will not speak of this again, Lieutenant.” He turned and left.

I finished dressing, stunned by his ultimatum and what it meant. Of course I wanted to see Diana again, as soon as I could get some leave. Why was he against me? I went down to breakfast, and he greeted me like an old chum. More small talk, mostly the weather this time. It was going to be a nice day.

After breakfast, we all stood around outside with our bags stacked near the driveway, saying some awkward good-byes. Diana and Daphne hugged like there was no tomorrow, until Daphne pulled away and ran to the barn to get the Imp. Kaz put his bag in the staff car and left the captain, Diana, and me alone. Great.

“Good luck, Lieutenant,” said Sir Richard formally as he extended his hand. I didn’t have any problem taking it in my left hand and shaking it this time. I wanted to show him I didn’t give up easily.

“Thank you, sir. Thanks for your hospitality. Diana, perhaps you’ll teach me how to ride someday?”

She smiled and was about to speak when her father broke in. “Diana will be back on active service very soon. She’ll not have time for riding lessons, and neither should you, young man, if General Eisenhower is keeping you sufficiently occupied!”

“Father!”

At that moment, Kaz started up the staff car and backed up as Daphne drove up in the Imp.

“I’ll see you in a few days, darling!” she yelled as he waved and drove off. The captain took advantage of the interruption and busied himself with stowing our bags. As he did, Diana gave my hand a gentle, surreptitious squeeze. Before I could say a thing, she let go, kissed Daphne on the cheek, and ran toward the barn. I saw her run the back of her hand across her eyes as she went.

The captain and Daphne fussed over each other for a bit. I had already said thank you, and since even that hadn’t turned out well, I decided to sit in the passenger’s seat and keep quiet. Eventually we drove off down the long driveway, away from the captain, who waved, alone.

“What’s the matter with your old man?” I asked Daphne. “Does he hate all Americans or just me?” She didn’t answer. I looked over at her. She had a grim look on her face, and tears streaked across her cheeks, blown by the wind.

“Why the hell is everyone crying?”

Again, silence. It wasn’t until we pulled out onto the main road that she spoke.

“I’m not supposed to say anything. I’m not really even supposed to know.”

“Know what?” This family sure had its secrets.

“Diana volunteered for the Special Operations Executive. She just finished her training. That’s why she was home. She’s going off on a mission.”

“SOE? She’s a spy?” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “When is she leaving?”

“Next Sunday at the latest. Maybe sooner.”

“Where?” Silence again.

“Across the channel. Exactly where doesn’t really matter, does it?”

Neither of us spoke for a long time.

Now I understood why she had been so desperate to talk with a stranger rather than lie awake in her room, alone with her thoughts and fears.

CHAPTER
SEVENTEEN

D
APHNE
DROVE
SINGLE-MINDEDLY
, focusing on the road and putting the Riley Imp through its paces. There was no chatting. She took corners like a pro and wasn’t afraid to open up on a long, straight stretch of road. If I hadn’t known she was thinking about Diana and worrying, I would have believed she was enjoying herself. I watched her gloved hands flex, fingers opening, then gripping the leather-bound steering wheel, over and over again. The desperation inside her had to come out somewhere.

We drove through farmland and small villages, mostly green wooded land and cultivated fields separated by hedges and stone walls. The land dipped down to the sea the closer we came to the base at Southwold. I was looking at the scenery but seeing Diana. I had never met anybody like her, and no woman had ever made me feel this way, like all the air had gone out of a room when she left it. It seemed that everything else had been just going through the motions before I met her, as if my life had been empty without my realizing it. I felt strange, like I had left some part of me behind.

Damn! Why did she have to get all gung ho and volunteer to be an SOE agent? Would I ever see her again? At least the captain made sense to me now. He knew Diana was about to leave on a mission and didn’t want her mooning over some Yank. He was trying to help her keep focused. Focused on staying alive. He didn’t know how badly she needed a shoulder to cry on, how desperate she’d been for distraction from her spiraling fear—and shame. All that “one must do one’s duty” stuff had worn too thin after what she’d been through. I hoped I was more to her than just a handy shoulder. I kinda thought I was, but then how would I ever find out with her off sneaking around behind enemy lines? Not too much I could do about that right now.

Daphne downshifted as she took a sharp turn, then punched the accelerator hard enough to snap my neck back. At least she had a machine to take out her frustrations on.

I thought about cold water and its effect on the human body. How did that fit together with maps, spies, suspects, and suspicious British majors? It was all still a jumble, but a few things were beginning to stand out. Unfortunately, other things still lurked—vague images that failed to clarify into answers, or even connections. I looked at my watch.

“Almost there, Billy.” Daphne gave me a weak smile and then downshifted again, passing a farmer on his cart, causing the Imp to growl in low gear as we sped by the country perfume of manure ready to be spread.

“How’re you doing? You OK?”

“Better, yes, thank you. Nothing like a morning drive in the Imp to cheer one up!” she said with a false bravado that was almost convincing. “Look there, Billy, that must be the way to the base.”

Up ahead a column of U.S. Army deuce-and-a-half trucks was turning off the main road. We followed slowly, and as the distraction of fast driving faded, I could see the traces of worry working away at her face, bringing the corners of her mouth down.

“I’m sure she’ll be all right,” I said, trying to reassure both of us. “Diana seems like a tough cookie.”

“That must mean she knows how to take care of herself, which she does indeed. It’s the emotional price she has to pay that worries me. She made it back from France in one piece, but it wasn’t easy for her afterward. She saw so many terrible things.”

“Why do you think she volunteered? And please don’t give me any of that ‘doing one’s duty’ stuff. Why her?”

Daphne took a deep breath and exhaled. “I asked her exactly that. She said she owed it to those men who died when the destroyer sank. She wouldn’t say any more.”

“Think she feels guilty that she lived through it?”

“How would joining SOE help?”

I shrugged, as if it were too much for me to figure out. But I knew. I knew Diana was going to tempt death again. To see if she deserved to live. To see if those men slipping beneath the cold Channel waves would finally stop calling out to her.

We crested a small hill and saw the Southwold base ahead and to our left. The column of trucks was entering the gate. A fence extended in both directions, ending on the left at a river and on the right continuing into a stand of trees. I could smell the salt-water–laden air blowing in fresh off the North Sea. We slowed as we approached the gate and Daphne pulled out her orders, ready for inspection. She stopped next to the white-painted gatehouse, manned by one American and one British soldier. The American, a corporal with “Ranger” stitched on his shoulder patch, approached the car.

“Ma’am, sir. Can I help you?”

“We have orders to enter the base,” Daphne said, offering up a set of official documents, “and we’d like to see the base commander.”

The corporal glanced at the orders and handed them back to Daphne.

“You can try to see him, but he’s pretty busy. Better try the exec, Captain Gilmore.” He lifted the gate blocking the roadway. “Go straight and take your second left. Headquarters building is right there. Big sign on it.”

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, 503rd 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.”