At twenty-six, Ty was still relatively inexperienced with women. He had made it through the University of Virginia and then going on three years in the Army with few female complications. Since Eva, he had not been in a steady relationship. He had been out many times to the London nightclubs, which the Luftwaffe and V-2 rockets had never quite managed to shut down. There was plenty of drinking and dancing, and three times now Ty had experienced what was called a “wall job” in the alley behind a nightclub. Other couples were busy doing the same in the semi-darkness so they found their own space a few feet away. Music spilled out into the alley and they could spell the booze and cigarettes on each other. The English girl pulled down what she called her “knickers” and then tugged at Ty’s belt and the buttons of his fly. A few quick thrusts with the girl pressed against the damp bricks and it was over.
Buying her drinks all night was one thing, but for a wall job a girl expected more — a bit of money, a carton of cigarettes, nylon stockings. The girls weren’t whores. Not exactly. In wartime, Ty understood that a girl did what she must to get by. He was ashamed when he thought about those wall jobs and he wouldn’t have done it if he hadn’t been more than half drunk. He knew very well that he was taking advantage of the girls in a way. And yet he wasn’t so sure that he wouldn’t do it again. Eva would have found his moral dilemma amusing. “A man might think with his head and act with his heart,” she once told him. “But take him by the balls and you can lead him wherever you want.”
A steady girl in England would be better. He supposed he might ask that WAC out for a drink sometime.
Ty stepped outside into the English night. Rain spattered on the paving stones, turning to diamonds as it slanted down in the lamplight. The drivers huddled miserably in the rain, trying to smoke, or else sheltered in their cars. Ike didn’t like them loitering in the doorway. He heard light steps behind him, someone almost skipping, and Kay Summersby bounded up and took him by the arm. Playful as always. Turned up to the rain and lamplight, her longish face was striking rather than pretty. She had plucked eyebrows and carefully red lips. Nonetheless, Ty was reminded of a ripe peach in the rain. There were rumors that she and Ike were lovers; seeing her now, Ty wouldn’t be surprised if the rumors were true. The rumors also made Kay off limits, almost like one of the boys — nobody dared to hit on the general’s girl.
“Have you seen the new driver?” she asked cheerfully.
“No, but if she’s half as good-looking as you, I’ll be volunteering for a lot of trips.”
Kay laughed and punched him lightly on the arm. “Her name is Crandall. She’s down there now with the other drivers.”
It was just like Kay to be one step ahead of him. She had even more energy than Ike, if that was possible. Kay passed herself off as an Englishwoman, but the truth was that she had grown up in Ireland, which added something mischievous to her personality.
Kay skipped back to the relative dryness of the doorway and Ty went out to find the new driver. Almost half the drivers for SHAEF were women. Several drivers huddled at the edge of a tall hedge out of the wind and rain, their cigarettes glowing in cupped hands. It was hard to make out faces in the lamplight and the damp uniforms and overcoats made the figures shapeless, but Ty glanced from driver to driver, looking for a young Women’s Army Corps driver. His eyes settled on a taller figure a few steps away. The balding head and broad shoulders definitely did not belong to a woman. But there was something familiar about the man, right down to the jug ears. For a confused moment, Ty thought Ike had somehow gotten down here before him.
Then the driver turned around. He had the same expressive face as the general, the same dark eyes. Ty stared. It was hard to tell the man’s age. He could have been anywhere from thirty to fifty. In the semi-darkness, he could have passed for the general.
“Can I help you, buddy?” the man asked in a thick Long Island accent.
“I … I’m looking for a woman named Crandall,” Ty stammered.
The other drivers snickered. The man in front of Ty made a scowl that furrowed his tall forehead. Just like Ike. “I’m Crandall. But in case you hadn’t noticed, I ain’t a woman. You want I should put on a wig?”
“Then you’re the new driver?”
“I been drivin’ a long time, buddy. What the hell do you want, anyway?”
One of the other drivers recognized Ty and made an exaggerated show of clearing of his throat, then said, “Does the general need his car now, Captain?”
Crandall blinked at Ty a couple of times and came to some semblance of attention. “Sorry, sir. It’s hard to tell your rank out here in the dark.” He looked Ty up and down with an expression close to disgust. Clearly, he didn’t have much use for bumbling officers.
Ty had learned that in the army, an officer had to demand respect if he was going to be effective. He made his voice hard and snapped, “Crandall, what’s your rank?”
“Sergeant, sir.” He stood a little straighter.
“How long have you been in the army?”
“Ten years. How long you been in… sir?”
“Long enough, Crandall, to know I can have your ass shipped to China if I want. Make sure the general’s car is out front in ten minutes, warmed up and ready to go. Understood?”
“Yes, sir.” Crandall saluted. If he still thought Ty was a fool, he had been in the army long enough to hide it behind an impassive face.
Ty left the drivers and headed toward the doorway. The truth was that Ike might not be leaving for hours, but that was all right. It might do Sergeant Crandall some good to sit there and wait with the car. He stepped back into the headquarters building and stood in the entrance hallway, swiping at the rain on his arms and shoulders. Kay had her hand to her face, trying not very successfully to keep from laughing.
“You got me,” Ty said. “I fell for it. If Crandall is a WAC, I’ll bet he hasn’t shaved his legs in years.”
“And a bald WAC to boot.” Kay giggled. “My God, doesn’t he look like Ike?”
“It’s a little unsettling,” Ty admitted. He suddenly felt tired and drained, annoyed at himself for getting off on the wrong foot with the general’s new driver. He wondered if maybe he should arrange for someone to replace Crandall. But that seemed petty on his part. Not for the first time, he wondered what Ike would do in his place. The answer was that Ike would give the man a chance to do his job.
“Come on, let’s have a cup of tea and warm up.”
“Ugh. You English think tea is the answer to everything,” Ty said. “What I really want is a shot of bourbon.”
Kay smiled. “Oh, I believe that can be arranged.”
Hess kept his rifle trained on the bullet-scarred buildings three hundred feet away. He knew that Russian snipers preferred working from high places. They would be crouched in a blown-out window frame, still as a cat outside a mouse hole, waiting for Hess to show his nose. In turn, he hoped one of the Russian cats might twitch its tail, or that he might get lucky and see the dull winter sun reflect off the lens of a telescopic sight. Then he could kill the Russian. On the battleground between them, machine guns chirped, grenades exploded, but the snipers played a deadly game of cat and mouse that ignored the other fighting like so much background noise.
Hess knew that the Russians wanted him badly. For months now he had shot them down and taken his prizes. There was even a reward for the Russian sniper who killed him — a week in Moscow, a case of vodka, a new rifle. Last summer, some Russian had come close to taking the prize with a lucky shot that left a bloody furrow across Hess’s ribs. Since he had worked this same section yesterday, they would be looking for him here.