“They can wait. I have a call to make.”
“Then why don’t you give me your orders?” the pilot asked as he handed the captain a nickel.” I’ll get the bureaucracy working.” The captain went into his hip pocket for his orders. As he did so, the pilot saw that he had the old revolver in his waistband. “Thanks,” the captain said.
“The call is important.” The pilot was handed only one sheet, instead of the stack of mimeograph copies he expected. He gave in to his curiosity as he approached the Continuing Passengers counter unfolded it, and read:
SUPREME HEADQUARTERS SOUTHWEST PACIFIC OCEAN AREA BRISBANE, AUSTRALIA Office of the Supreme Commander 28 March 1942
SUBJECT: Letter Orders TO: Captain James M. B. Whittaker 0 1 97644 A-AC (Det CAV) office of the Supreme Commander, SWPOA a n 1. Verbal orders of the Supreme Commander re your relief from 105th Explosive Ordnance Disposal Detachment, Philippine Scouts, in the field, and assigning you to Supreme Headquarters are confirmed and made a matter of record 2.
You will proceed (Priority AAA-A-1) via first available U.S. Government, Allied Powers, or civilian air, sea, rail, or motor transportation from Brisbane, Australia, to Washington, D.C.” for the purpose of personally delivering to the Commander in Chief certain documents herewith placed in your custody.
3. Commanders of U.S. military installations are directed to provide to you whatever facilities and services are needed for the expeditious discharge of your mission, 4. After you have personally delivered the documents now in your custody to the Commander in Chief, you will report to Headquarte U.S. Army, Washington, D.C.” for further assignment.
BY ORDER OF GENERAL DOUGLAS MacArthur:
C4ilx4 A. W@4-ty Charles A. Willoughby Brig. General, USA Official:
Sidney L. Huff Lt. Colonel, GSC “What have we got? Who’s the guy wrapped in the blankets?” the officer on duty behind the counter asked the pilot of the Catalina. The pilot handed him the well-worn set of orders.
“Jesus Christ!” he said when he had read them.
TWO I Chicago, Illinois April 4,194a The City of Birmingham, a Douglas DC -3 of Eastern Air Lines’ Great Silver Fleet, could accommodate twenty-one passengers, two rows of seven seats against the right fuselage wall and a single row against the left. When Mrs. Roberta Whatley, a brunette with 110 pounds arranged attractively about her five feet four inches, boarded the airplane, only an aisle seat halfway up the cabin was unoccupied. Although Mrs. Whatley was pleased to be on the airplane at all-she had a B-3 priority, which meant she had to wait for her boarding pass until all those with higher priorities had been boarded- she was displeased to see that the adjacent seat was occupie y a man. She had hoped to be assigned one of the single seats or, failing that, something next to another woman. Mrs. Whatley carried in her purse a just-issued bill of divorcement and was not at all interested in masculine companionship. But there was nothing to be done.
ANNE She would sit in the one remaining seat and politely but firmly discourage any attempt by the young man to engage her in conversation.
She slipped into the seat, carefully avoiding looking at the man. That went Well, she thought. He didn’t even glance at me. Out of the corner of her eye, Roberta saw that the man-he was a young man, and not at all bad-looking-had a briefcase and a folded newspaper in his lap and was working on something like a crossword puzzle. It was some kind of code, she recalled, where you had to guess a famous quotation. With a little bit of luck, the puzzle will keep him busy for a long time.
The stewardess moved down the aisle making sure everyone had seat belts fastened. The young man ignored her, too. She had to touch his shoulder to get his attention. With a look of annoyance on his face, he raised his briefcase enough for her to see that his seat belt was fastened.
Lowering it, he returned his attention to his puzzle.
He really was sort of good-looking, Roberta decided.
Then she realized that he looked familiar somehow. She had a vague suspicion that she had known him-or at least seen him-at Pensacola. Or maybe Alameda? It will be just my damned bad luck to run into some brother naval officer of Tom’s on the damned airplane. But then she decided she was wrong. For one thing, now that the war was on, officers were required to wear their uniforms; and for another, the hair on this nice-looking young man was much too long for a Naval officer. Naval officers were careful about things like that. Still, this young man was of military age and looked somehow military. Or at least athletic. I wonder why He’s not in uniform? The plane began to move. The young man’s interest in the puzzle didn’t wane until they had taxied to the beginning of the runway, where the pilots tested the engines, or whatever. The noise was bad, and the airplane shook. When the pilot did that, the young man beside Roberta Whatley lifted his eyes from his puzzle, cocked his head, and listened carefully. Then he turned his attention back to the puzzle and kept it there, not even looking up when the plane started to move down the runway. it was only when they were up and making a sharp turn-a bank, Tom had called it-that he raised his head to the window and quickly looked out.