9

CROYDON AIRFIELD
LONDON, ENGLAND
2345 HOURS
AUGUST 25, 1942

 
Dick Canidy—who had been sleeping on the fuselage floor most of the way from Portugal—was first down the ladder when the China Air Transport C-46 was led to a remote corner of the airfield and parked.

He walked directly to the London chief of station, who was standing with Lieutenant Colonel Ed Stevens.

“We have one really sick—it may be food poisoning—man aboard, and another one with a cut head and a broken arm,” he announced. “What about an ambulance?”

Stevens pointed wordlessly to a black Anglia ambulance.

Canidy gestured at it impatiently. Two men, one carrying what looked like a medical bag, came trotting up.

“In the plane,” Canidy ordered.

When he looked where he was pointing, he saw Whittaker climbing down the ladder.

“I’ll need a detailed report on everything, Canidy,” the chief of station said. “But I think that can wait until you get some rest. How about first thing in the morning?”

Jesus, what the hell is this concern for my comfort and rest all about?

“We are not, Major Canidy,” Colonel Stevens said, “all of your welcome-home greeting party.”

He pointed to where the ambulance was parked, and then raised his hand in a “come up” signal.

A woman wearing what he first thought was a WAC officer’s uniform came running up.

Who the hell is the WAC?

And then he saw the uniform had a “War Correspondent” insignia on it, and finally realized that Ann Chambers was inside the uniform.

“Jesus Christ, what are you doing here?” he blurted.

“You know what I’m doing here,” she said, and threw herself into his arms.

“Oh, baby, am I glad to see you,” Canidy said.

“Ain’t love grand?” Captain Whittaker asked, and then another female in uniform walked up.

Whittaker shifted into his very good British accent.

“I’ll be dashed if it isn’t Her Grace,” he said. “Fancy meeting you here, Your Grace. Might one inquire what you’re doing here at this unspeakable hour?”

“I knew you would need transportation, Captain Whittaker, and I wanted to make sure you didn’t take the wrong tram, so to speak.”

“Am I going to be needed here, Dick?” Whittaker asked.

The chief of station answered for him.

“I think between Canidy and Captain Fine we can get all we need,” he said. “If we need you, we’ll send for you.”

“In that case, I think I’ll let Her Grace take me out to Whitby House.”

“Get a good night’s rest. We may need you,” the station chief said.

“Yes, Sir.”

He followed the duchess to the stolen Ford and got in the front seat beside her.

“Like bloody hell you will, Jimmy,” Her Grace said.

“Like bloody hell I will what?”

“Get a good night’s rest,” Her Grace said. “Not on this tram.”