The ride into London was damp and chilly, and it wasn’t just the weather. It was almost July, but it felt like a cold April day back home, even when the mist let up and rays of sun peeked out between the clouds. Outside the base we drove past fields of thick, wet grass dotted by sheep that ignored the aircraft roaring above them as fighter engines revved and flaps lowered. We put the base behind us, and houses began to appear along the road, then a village, then rows of houses and shops as we reached the edge of London. The mist began again and I turned up the collar of my trench coat, cold hands fumbling with the button at the neck. I shivered. A combination of dampness and lack of sleep sent a chill through my body. The cool moisture felt good on my face.

Major Samuel Harding didn’t do much to warm things up in the way of conversation. He introduced himself without shaking hands, and made it clear he wasn’t picking me up in order to be a nice guy, in case I was too dumb to figure that out. Maybe that sergeant from OCS had talked to him.

“Ike asked me to get you settled in. I’ll drop you at the Dorchester Hotel. We’ve got a number of officers billeted there, and it’s just a few blocks from headquarters. HQ is at 20 Grosvenor Square. Get cleaned up. I’ll expect you at 1100 hours.”

“OK.”

“The proper response is ‘Yes, sir,’ Lieutenant.”

“Yes, sir.”

Having demonstrated the fact that I was a real quick learner, I searched for another way to impress him. Nothing came to mind, so I kept my yap zipped. He returned the favor, a tight-lipped grimace telling me he wasn’t happy being chauffeur to Ike’s nephew.