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“They import the steak from Norway,” Ginger said, then with great effort and some grunts, she pushed herself out of her chair.

[FIVE]

The Officers’ Open Mess

11th Constabulary Regiment

Fritzlar, Hesse

American Zone of Occupation, Germany

1830 18 January 1946

Since all German restaurants and bars were off-limits, the officers of the 11th Constabulary Regiment had three choices for their evening meal: They could eat at home, or have a hamburger or a hot dog at the PX snack bar, or they could go to the officers’ open mess. If they wanted a drink, or a beer, they had only their home or the O Club to choose between, as the PX did not serve intoxicants of any kind.

On special occasions, such as “Steak Night,” the O Club was usually very crowded. When Cronley, Dunwiddie, and the Moriartys walked in, there was a crowd of people waiting to be seated.

Among them was a young woman who was just about as conspicuously in the family way as Mrs. Moriarty. When she saw Mrs. Moriarty, she went to her, called her by her first name, kissed the air near her cheek, and announced, “Tommy has a theory.” She nodded in the direction of her husband. Cronley followed the nod and saw a rather slight lieutenant.

“Tommy says,” the woman continued, “the way to get in here quickly is to tell the headwaiter you have a party of eight. Interested?”

Her meaning was clear to Ginger Moriarty. They should merge parties. But then Ginger did the arithmetic. “But there’s only six of us.”

“Tell them we’re expecting two more. We can’t be responsible if they don’t show up, can we?”

Cronley went from Oh, shit, the last thing I need is to sit next to another mother-to-be to quite the opposite reaction in a split second when he saw on Lieutenant Tommy’s chest the silver wings of a liaison aviator.

“Go get the lieutenant, Bonehead,” he ordered. “His wife is right. He has a great theory.”

He went to the headwaiter and said, “We’re a party of eight. Colonel and Mrs. Frade will join us later. When the colonel comes, will you send him and his lady to our table, please?”

“Yes, sir, of course. And which is your table, Captain?”

“I thought you’d tell me,” Cronley replied. “Whichever table you’ve reserved for Colonel Frade. Maybe that empty one over there?”

“If you and your party will follow me, sir?”

“Tom, this is Captain Jim Cronley,” Bonehead said, when they were all at the table. “We were at Texas A&M together. And this is Captain . . . I didn’t get your first name, sir?”

“My friends call me, for reasons I can’t imagine, ‘Tiny,’” Dunwiddie said.

“. . . Dunwiddie.”

“How do you do, sir?” Lieutenant Thomas G. Winters said to Dunwiddie and then to Cronley.

“Why don’t you sit across from me, Lieutenant?” Cronley said. “And we’ll seat Mrs. Moriarty next to your wife?”

“Yes, sir,” Lieutenant Winters said.

“That way she won’t get in Captain Dunwiddie’s way when he reaches for the scotch bottle, which he will do again and again and probably again.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Where is the waiter?” Cronley asked. “Be advised, Lieutenant, that Captain Dunwiddie is picking up the tab tonight, so feel free to order anything.”

“You seem to be in a very good mood,” Dunwiddie said. “Ginger, how much did you give him to drink at your quarters?”

“Just that one,” Ginger said.