Читать книгу Our Only Shield - Michael J. Goodspeed - Страница 12
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Berlin, 12 March 1940
HE LET THE PHONE ring just once. It was late at night and Major Wolfgang Erhlichmann of the Oberkommando der Wehrmacht planning staff wanted to go home. He had already drunk so much coffee that his nerves were on edge and his mouth had that metallic taste. He’d have difficulty again sleeping. Erhlichmann had been working for months on “Case Yellow,” the plan for the invasion of France via the Low Countries and across the Maginot Line. He had been assigned to this one operation for so long now that he could run through every possible move in his head, like a chess prodigy able to play several games simultaneously, blindfolded. He rubbed his bald head and took off his glasses. The voice at the other end of the phone was clipped and to the point.
Erhlichmann put the telephone down and spoke quietly to Major Carl Faber across the desk from him. “They want us to brief them again on the Manstein plan, first thing tomorrow morning. They want us to emphasize the detail of striking through Holland and Belgium, and only provide a broad brush outline for the breakthrough into France. Apparently there’s some concern with those close to the Führer as to whether or not we can do it. This time the task has been given to Colonel Brandt. He’s just finished the weekly planning conference and has to go before the Führer himself at the end of the week. The Führer has announced that he will personally decide which plan we’ll use.”
Major Faber leaned back and put his jackbooted feet up on the desk. He was a quiet individual, a tall, athletic, and perpetually youthful-looking man with a dry wit. “They can use whatever plan they want. No matter how you look at it, we’re going to steamroll through Belgium and the Netherlands.” He laughed and gestured with a grease pencil. “We have two perfectly good plans. Tell the Colonel to inform the Führer that they can choose whichever one they want and let us go home to our families. At this point, we all know how the invasion will turn out. I think the Führer’s aides are all just a bunch of bureaucrats, playing some kind of political game to see who curries the most favour with him. Whatever plan he chooses, we’re going to pulverize the Dutch and the Belgians. The real test is whether or not we can break through the French and then separately defeat the English and French armies. Because in the end, if either the Dutch or the Belgians give us any trouble, we’re just going to bomb them into submission. There’s nothing terribly sophisticated in the preliminary phase of the operation.”
Major Faber began spinning a pencil in the crook of his thumb and forefinger. Abruptly he stopped and looked up with a mischievous smile. “Don’t you find all of this kind of boring? I’ll tell you what: let’s flip things around. Tomorrow, you do the manoeuvre briefing for the Colonel, and I’ll brief the logistics plan with all the options spelled out. I can recite your parts with my eyes closed. You describe the actions of the units in contact with the enemy; I’ll go through all the supply and transport details. I don’t need notes. You’re always telling me the fighting bits are the easy part. We’ve gone over this so many times I could stand in for you without notes. It’s simple. I’ll review in broad detail all the major supply options, give them an assessment of everything: the overall daily tonnage summaries, rail, motor transport, and forage requirements, fuel, rations, ammunition, casualties, go through the unique railroad coordination measures, road requirements, harbour areas, dumping programs, rear area signals, use of civilian telephone exchanges, water points, airfields and airheads, likely points of resistance in the rear, and rear area security plans.”
He looked pleased with himself. “It’s easy. See if the old goat would even notice we were briefing each other’s parts. We both know the detail well enough to do it.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” said Erhlichmann. “The Colonel will catch us out. Besides, he’s so keyed up now he’s going to think we’re making fun of him. Even on a good day, the man has no sense of humour.”
“Okay, better still, let’s do the whole briefing as we always do and then ask him how he thinks we should react in the event of a possible French or British counter-attack north in support of the Dutch. Everybody just presupposes that the French and British will stay put and give us the initiative. He’s so wooden, asking him to think on his feet will throw him off his stride for days.”
“You’re probably right, but he’s sly enough to know how to handle that kind of question without having to think it through.”
Major Faber crumpled a sheet of paper and threw it across the room into the wastebasket. He had a self-satisfied grin. “I know his answer already.” He changed his voice into a high-pitched rasp. “For fear of offending us, neither the French nor the British have even conducted a map exercise of a major offensive movement north into the Low Countries; and neither of them have built in sufficient logistic capacity to conduct large-scale offensive action against us even if they wanted to. They’re tied to a rigid linear defence providing a shield right around the French perimeter, while we’re thinking in terms of a series of sharp spear thrusts into their soft areas.” Dropping back to his normal voice, Faber added, “He’ll tell us it’s going to be like taking an ice pick to a balloon. And you know what? He’ll be right.”
* * *
ANNIKA’S IMPATIENCE with Professor Snijders was beginning to show. “There are a lot of things Pauli Herschel could do, perhaps not in our department, but I know he could teach a course in the law department. He’s well-qualified.”
“Annika, you don’t understand,” said Dr. Snijders. He leaned back and began removing his glasses so that he could polish them on his tie, a gesture the portly gentleman always used when he wanted to buy time. “It’s not that your friend Pauli Herschel isn’t qualified, but there have to be circumstances other than the fact he’s a refugee from Germany before we go ahead and start urging our colleagues here in the university to hire him. There are procedures we have to observe.”
Annika’s inability to conceal her displeasure was never a trait that endeared her to her superiors. Today her exasperation showed in every movement. Snijders had known her since he first hired her five years before, and he wasn’t going to allow her an opening. “Mr. Herschel isn’t the only well-qualified refugee we have, by the way, and you haven’t provided me one shred of evidence that his qualifications are as you and he say they are.”
Snijders stood up quickly and began arranging papers on his desk. “Annika, I don’t doubt that Mr. Herschel is legitimate, but we just can’t jump up and hire someone because we think they’ve had a bad time of it.”
“No, of course, you’re right. But we aren’t talking about a theoretical situation here.” Annika’s voice became louder. “In the last war, the Netherlands took in over a million Belgian refugees. What’s happened to us? We see what’s going on next door and we not only turn our heads, but we make pious pronouncements about our self-interest and the need to maintain balance with our relations. We know we have an entire religious group being persecuted in Germany. These people are suffering. We can’t become officious when they start arriving as refugees. We should assist those who’ve shown up on our doorstep in need of help. You believe in that kind of charity don’t you, Professor Snijders?” Annika’s argument about charity was spoken in a much more conciliatory tone. “Please, please.”
Snijders continued to pretend he was busy with his papers. He looked up momentarily and then lowered his eyes, holding up his right hand in a defensive gesture. “Let’s not be personal about this, Annika. I have every sympathy for your friends from Germany. We can agree to help them, but we can’t go breaking our own rules and putting their interests above the legitimate interests of Dutch citizens. Helping these people doesn’t mean we give them preferential treatment. Besides, the government has set up a camp for such people at Westerbork. That’s where such people should be held. There’s an established procedure in place. The regulations were put in place to keep out communists and dangerous agitators; and I certainly don’t disagree with that. Why are you trying to go around the regulations? That kind of attitude’s not going to help your career here at the university.” Professor Snijders threw the papers he had been shuffling down onto his desk and snatched his reading glasses from his face. “I have a lot to do this morning, so if there is anything else that you want to discuss, do so now.”
Annika lowered her voice. “Where else do you suppose we could find some kind of suitable employment for Pauli?”
“I don’t know. And your friend won’t be the only one. If you make room for him today, there will be twenty more clamouring at us tomorrow. We don’t want German refugees in the Netherlands. We can’t accommodate them, and to attempt to do so will ruin trade relations with our largest partner as well as strain diplomatic relations between our two countries. In case you haven’t noticed, it’s not a good idea to antagonize Mr. Hitler. I’m sorry, Annika, but that’s how it is.”
Outside, in front of the conservatory building, Annika felt stunned. Her cheeks burned as she unlocked her bicycle from the crowded rack. It was as if she had somehow humiliated herself. Now she felt awkward and unsure. This morning when she came here, she thought she would be able to accomplish something positive, that she would make a difference. She didn’t expect to be rebuffed here at the university.
Thinking about it, Annika realized how important her life at the university was to her, especially now that things were so different at home. Saul wasn’t the same. After the party he had been strangely quiet; and whenever they discussed the Herschels’ situation he merely nodded in agreement. She knew him well enough to know that he wasn’t being defeatist, but was deep in thought. It still irritated her when Saul went into one of his uncommunicative moods. There had been far too many of those lately.
For a full minute Annika stood in front of the university buildings holding her bicycle, staring expressionlessly at the cobblestones beyond her front tire. Slowly she began to push the bicycle. Her movements were tentative, almost as if she was reluctant to go somewhere. After walking fifty metres, she swung onto the bike and began pedalling steadily.
For twenty minutes she cycled across Amsterdam, through streets lined with trees, arriving finally in front of a large building surrounded by a high brick wall with a crowded bed of red tulips at its base. At the gate, Annika did her best to sound authoritative when she addressed the young, freckled, blond man of about seventeen who manned the entrance. “I’ve come to see Mr. Van Zuiden. I’m his nephew’s wife.”
“Do you have an appointment?”
“No. It’s very important. I must see Mr. Van Zuiden now.”
It was only then that Annika noticed the small brass nameplate discreetly nailed beside the control booth’s door: Samuël Van Zuiden, Diamond Merchant. Appraisals, Cutting and Sales. The building, with its manicured grounds, was immaculate; there was nothing industrial about it. It could have been a private school or an embassy. The young man looked at Annika suspiciously and indicated that she wait outside on a bench by the wall beneath a large chestnut tree. He picked up the telephone, spoke briefly, then hung up.
“He’ll see you now,” he told Annika. “He’s very busy this morning.”
Annika merely nodded her head in a chilly display of thanks and was led inside to a small, tastefully appointed office with a large desk and two leather armchairs. The pale green walls were lined with framed antique technical charts showing various cuts of diamonds. Samuël Van Zuiden came in a few seconds later. He was in his early sixties, with a grey Van Dyke beard, and dressed in a smartly cut dark suit.
“What can I do for you, Annika? We don’t see you or Saul very often. Is something the matter?”
“No, Uncle Samuël. I know the family should get together more often. You’re busy so I’ll get to the point. Nothing is the matter with Saul or me, and thank you for asking. We have refugees from Germany staying with us, Jewish refugees. They arrived two days ago with nothing but the clothes on their backs. I’ve been trying unsuccessfully to find them work, something to help get them on their feet. Mr. Herschel is a lawyer. I’ve tried at the university, but everywhere I go, I don’t seem to have any luck. I’m beginning to think nobody cares. They’re absolutely destitute and they can stay with us as long as they wish to, but I know they want to be self-supporting. They’re proud people, Uncle Samuël.”
“And so when you have run out of places to go, you come to me. Does Saul know you are here?”
“No.”
“I see.” Samuël rubbed his jaw and said apologetically, “Please sit, Annika. You know what I’m thinking?” The two of them sat beside one another in the leather armchairs.
Annika nodded. “I know, we haven’t seen much of the family since we got married – ”
Samuël interrupted. “It’s good of you to show such concern for these people, Annika. I assume you want me to help you in this search of yours?”
Annika said nothing.
“I can tell you that there isn’t much that I can do for them here in my business. I have no openings, but I know some others who might be able to employ them temporarily.”
“Thank you, Uncle Samuël, this is such a relief.”
“Don’t thank me.” He patted her hand. “These are bad times; we have to do what we can. I wish there were more like you. These people, do they have children?”
“Three – two girls and a boy. All under the age of ten.”
“Well, they’re all better off here than back in Germany. God knows where that will end. I really do have another appointment to go to just now, but Annika, can I call you in a day or two? I’ll find something. It probably won’t be much and nothing like a lawyer’s job, but leave it with me.”
Samuël stood up. As he was showing Annika the door, he turned and touched her elbow. “You know, Annika, we really would like to see you and Saul some time. Families shouldn’t feud like this. Can you speak to him about it?”
“That would be nice,” she said with a smile. “Why don’t you come over some time; in fact, why don’t I call you next week and we can arrange for you to meet the Herschels? You know, for the first time in ages I think that things are going to work out.”
* * *
Northampton, 9 April 1940
COLONEL GEOFFREY HARRIS was in a three-piece suit and wore the striped tie of the Staffordshire Regiment. He chewed his lower lip as he walked across an enormous oriental carpet in the portrait-lined drawing room of Ramsford House in Northampton. He thrust his hand forward in greeting. “Rory, I’m awfully glad you could make it tonight; things are heating up faster than we predicted.” He was breathless. “I don’t know if you’ve heard or not, but the Germans have just attacked Norway late this afternoon. I’m sure you’ve heard that they invaded Denmark this morning. From what I’ve heard, the poor old Danes are capitulating, and there’s scattered but fierce resistance from the Norwegians. Of course, all this changes things substantially for us.”
Rory merely nodded.
“You don’t seem surprised by any of this,” said Harris with a note of suspicion. “What do you make of the news?”
“I don’t think anyone predicted it would happen like you’ve described. Nobody expected they’d go after Scandinavia first. But there’s no question now. Hitler’s going to attack France and Britain next. For now, the Russians get a by.”
“I think you’re right. In fact, no news to you, a lot of the work that your group has been preparing for us seems to support that view. From what we’ve been able to determine, the Germans haven’t moved any divisions, or even so much as a major unit eastward for some time; and they’re still quietly moving equipment and supplies by train in and around their western garrisons and airfields.”
Harris fished in his jacket pockets for his cigarettes. “As you can see, things are changing and I wanted you to see this house.” He was jumping from subject to subject, but despite this, he now seemed less breathless, more in control. “What do you think of the place? So far we’ve got ourselves two of these stately homes. We plan to use them as training schools. This one’s the first. I think you’ll find once Jerry comes at us in earnest the government will be more agreeable about giving us the use of these places. They’ll make ideal training centres: they’re reasonably isolated, lots of bedrooms, a large kitchen, drawing rooms that can be used for lecture rooms, and with their grounds they all have an attached training area. Anyway, come upstairs. Crossley’s waiting for us. We have news for you.”
This was not the first occasion Rory had seen Harris agitated. He was an odd sort of individual. One day he was distant, icily professional and commanding, and the next he seemed tense and unfocused. Rory suppressed a sudden impulse to tell Harris that he thought he was over his head, that he had been wasting his time for months on end, and that he had almost no confidence in him; but he took a breath and consciously restrained himself. That sort of an outburst would be pointless; it wasn’t entirely true; and it would only get him sent back to Canada. He said nothing and followed Harris out of the drawing room. Although he had wondered previously about Harris’s suitability for the job, it was the first time his doubts had erupted so spontaneously in anger. As he rationalized things with himself, and just as suddenly brought himself under control, he wasn’t at all certain if his anger really was directed at Harris, or was simply a vent for so many months of frustration.
Upstairs, one of the larger bedroom suites had been haphazardly converted into an office. The furniture contrasted abruptly with the floral wallpaper and gilt trim. Lost in the corners of the room were two plain wooden desks. By the windows was a government-issue conference table strewn with manila files. Rounding out the room’s improvised military appearance, a large map of Europe was tacked to the wall. Crossley was talking on the telephone. He put it onto its cradle almost as soon as the two men entered the room.
“Hello, Ewen,” Harris said. “Before we go down to dinner, I want to run a few things past Rory. Ewen, please flesh out any details that I might miss. Rory, pull up a chair.”
Rory looked about warily and sat on a wooden office chair. Every sense told him he was going to be offered a change of employment. Ewen was wearing his professional face: expressionless and reserved. Whatever the reason for the meeting, Rory thought his personal preferences wouldn’t trouble Harris. He wondered if Ewen’s comment about Harris’s need for control had been some kind of a warning. With his languages and Great War experience, he suspected he was about to be asked to go to Germany. France seemed unlikely. But something about Harris’s behaviour tonight put him on his guard.
Harris spoke first. For a fraction of a second it appeared as if Ewen raised an eyebrow.
“Rory, let me start from the beginning. We’ve brought you here because of your clandestine work in Germany, your languages, and because you have such splendid police experience. All of these qualifications make you an ideal candidate for running a large operation in either Germany or France. Unfortunately, no one is going into Germany just now, and we haven’t figured out how to fix that.”
He raised his hands in a defeated gesture. “Unless we get some kind of spectacular defections, I’m afraid we’ve missed the boat there. We should have developed that area ten years ago, but back then no one with any influence was thinking in those terms. We had no money and, as you know, we didn’t cultivate any sources within the Nazi Party. Incredibly short-sighted of us when you look back on it, but that’s where we are. Now, and for the foreseeable future, Germany’s a closed shop to us. Their security measures are much too well developed for us to have any reasonable chance of success and any mission there would be a suicidal waste of talent.” Uncharacteristically he shrugged.
“France is another matter. However, in France we have a rich supply of usable agents who speak good colloquial French and know the country well. We don’t anticipate any problems there. You, on the other hand, have the resourcefulness and the experience that makes you suitable for work anywhere on the continent. We need you for the time being to go somewhere else. So, despite the fact that you don’t speak another language – ” He stopped and for a moment almost looked embarrassed. “I’ll get to the point. We want you to work initially in the Low Countries.”
Harris stopped talking and watched Rory closely. Rory exhaled deliberately and imperceptibly, doing his utmost to appear impassive. He didn’t respond. There was a moment’s uncomfortable silence.
“How do you feel about that?” Harris said.
“I’ll withhold comment, for now. I’d like more information.”
Crossley jumped in. “Rory, I know this sounds a bit hasty. But we’ve thought it through, believe me. If the Germans come at us across the Maginot Line and we have a long stretch of stalemated trench warfare like everyone thinks, we’ll pull you out and re-employ you. But if they come from the north and violate Dutch and Belgian neutrality, like we think they will, Jerry will get in behind the French and roll up the country fairly quickly. I don’t have to tell you that’s always been our worst-case scenario.”
“You see, Rory,” Harris interjected, “there are two things we have to reckon with in the Low Countries. Let me begin with the military situation. We don’t think the French army is up to much. They’re well equipped, but our private assessment is that they’re almost certainly going to buckle.” He held up a hand in mock restraint. “No question, they’ve got lots of good units, excellent equipment, but at the senior levels they’re still feuding with one another, and the quality of their army is too uneven. There will be holes in their line. On top of this, civilian morale is extremely low. We fear they don’t have the stomach for a serious fight.”
As Harris paused for a breath, Ewen Crossley added, “It’s even worse than the last time Colonel Harris briefed you on this. The French are going to break, and break early. And the best way for Jerry to make that happen will be with a short, sharp campaign launched from an unexpected direction where they drive deep into the French rear area. If that happens, France will probably buckle and sue for peace in a matter of weeks.”
Harris nodded. “Should that occur, again assuming they strike into France from the Low Countries, like we think they will, we’ll have a British army stranded in France with Jerry occupying all of northern Europe. We’ll need people in the Low Countries. And the way things are going tonight, we’re probably going to need them in position very soon.”
“All right,” Rory said, “so let’s assume that things turn out as you suggest and you send me into … where in the Low Countries?…Holland? Belgium?”
“Holland,” Harris said flatly.
“Okay. What do you expect me to do once I’m in Holland?”
“Nothing’s changed there,” Harris said. “We want you to build a resistance movement. Get things started. Then we want you to come back and put your experience to use organizing an army of agents that we’ll be developing back here.”
Harris stopped talking and looked at Rory for a moment. “I do have something else to tell you about going into Holland, Rory. We’ve had some very bad luck there in the last few months.” He paused. Again Rory thought he sounded like he was making some sort of confession.
“You probably aren’t aware that we had a serious intelligence setback in Holland in November. It’s not common knowledge. We lost two agents. It was a trap and we fell for it hook, line, and sinker. We were in touch with what we thought was a dissident group in the German army. We were led to believe that certain sections of the German Officer Corps were about to attempt a coup, kill Hitler, and stop the country sliding further into war. In fact, this may explain some of the prime minister’s optimism. There have been a number of people who felt that if they pushed the right buttons they could avoid a prolonged war. We were foolish. Well, to make a long story short, two of our agents were lured to the Dutch border town of Venlo. They were captured by Abwehr agents and taken into Germany.”
Crossley took up the story. “It gets worse, Rory. We think that, as a result of this, every one of the sis’s intelligence contacts that we’ve cultivated in Holland has been compromised. We know that following this kidnapping, several of our Dutch contacts were murdered or simply disappeared. We believe Holland is next to be attacked, and we’re now in the position where we have no reliable network sources to work with.”
“It’s not entirely bleak, Rory,” said Harris. “Obviously, one of your first tasks will be to establish a network. There are two positive notes in all of this. The first is that you can go in clean. We’re confident that Jerry will know nothing about you. Even if the Nazis have an agent working here in London on this, you don’t have to worry about that end of things. The second advantage is that our agent who was picked up worked for mi6, not us. That’s another reason we think you have excellent prospects for success. So far, our organization, which doesn’t even have a name at this stage of things, is effectively limited to the handful of men you have already met and the other men I briefed along with you last autumn. I hope to be getting some more people shortly, but you can be certain that when you go in you won’t have been compromised. That’s more than sis can count on these days.”
The colonel pursed his lips, put his hands in his trouser pockets and turned away without speaking.
After a moment, still facing away from Rory, Harris continued. “As I said to you several months ago, we expect to be in this business for several years, and frankly, Rory, right now we don’t know much about it. I’m the first to admit it privately, we’re bloody amateurs. I’m sure it hasn’t escaped your notice that we’ve been making it all up as we go along. The only people who’ve really been in control of events have been the Germans.”
Both Harris and Crossley gave humourless smiles. There was a strained silence. They exchanged awkward looks and Harris turned about and spoke. “I’m sorry we’ve left you in the dark, really since you arrived here. I didn’t expect it to take so long to get to this. And you can imagine, we’ve had political constraints imposed on us.”
The two men looked at Rory for some sort of affirmation. Rory spoke quietly, “Okay, I still want to hear more detail.”
“You’re right,” Harris agreed. “You deserve to know more, but for the time being we can’t tell you too much because you’ll be going into the field. And, if you’re captured, I’m afraid you’re going to have to trust us.” Harris was choosing his words carefully. “The short answer is that you are about to be working for a special committee reporting directly to the prime minister. For funding and administration, we have, as you already know, created a cover organization in the Ministry of Economic Warfare. This committee and whatever we build from it will remain entirely separate from the War Office and the Secret Intelligence Service. You move over to us this week. No one in the armed services or sis knows about us. If they did, they’d find a means of snuffing us out.”
Rory nodded imperceptibly. “Sounds a bit out of character for Mr. Chamberlain, don’t you think? First, you tell me he’s dancing on one foot hoping for the German army to stop Hitler, and now he’s setting up a new clandestine service designed to subvert and sabotage a Nazi-occupied Europe.”
Harris spread his hands. “What can I say? Chamberlain certainly went as far as he could appeasing the Nazis, but I think he sincerely hoped he’d avoid another war. I’m told he’s even given an order for the air force not to bomb German munitions factories or harbours. He’s an enigma, no doubt about it. On the other hand, he’s hedged his bets in a number of areas. He’s a more complicated personality than the papers give him credit for. I don’t think he’ll be prime minister much longer, but this whole resistance movement, believe it or not, is his idea.”
“It’s not just Chamberlain who’s on side, though,” Crossley added guardedly. “We have the backing of some influential politicians. A lot of people are pushing for Churchill to take over the reins. And of course Churchill himself has been pushing strenuously in private for something like this for months now. My guess is that our project is only getting oxygen as a means of appeasing Churchill in cabinet, which answers your doubts about Chamberlain’s support. That would also explain why not even the secretary of war, Oliver Stanley, is aware of what we’ll be doing, but we have been told that he’ll be brought in later when the prime minister thinks the time’s right. Since the war broke out, we’ve been nothing more than a tiny planning cell and we’ve been busy getting the administrative groundwork right. There’s been no need for many people to be in on this; and I’m sorry, but that’s why you’ve been kept working on the sidelines. All this is probably going to change now that the Germans have started to move. But for reasons that I’ll explain to you, it’s viewed as being highly desirable that we remain completely independent from any existing organizations.”
Rory made a sceptical face at this. “I can see problems in that.”
“We know,” Crossley said. “Starting up a separate intelligence and clandestine strike force won’t make us any friends. But we have two advantages by being separate. First, as I mentioned before, we don’t want to be given away if the Germans succeed in penetrating one of the larger organizations – and we aren’t certain yet that they haven’t already done that. And secondly, we believe that nothing bold, imaginative, or innovative is going to come out of the stuffy old hierarchies of either the War Office or mi6. We want to build something different, an organization that will exploit the talents and energy of the entire British Empire, and that’s not likely to come from the regular army or the peacetime intelligence service.”
“The other aspect of this,” said Harris, “is that we don’t have time to wait around for the other security branches to get their act together. The incident at Venlo that we just described to you is proof sis isn’t up to the job of fighting the Nazis. We’re not going to build another incompetent old boys’ club. We need to react quickly and we’ll have to expand rapidly; and to do that we need innovative minds. Our next project is to start recruiting an organization to fight the Japanese, and I’m afraid we just can’t get anything like the numbers or the kinds of people we’ll need in the places where sis and the smart regiments recruit their officers.”
“So, Rory,” said Crossley, “we’ve probably told you more than we should have. We really should get to the point. Are you in?”
Rory rubbed the back of his neck and smiled before answering quietly. “Of course I’m in. I haven’t been sitting around here for the last six months for the fun of it. If that’s what you wanted to know, my answer is yes, definitely; now, let’s go downstairs for dinner.”
