brought up.” It didn’t take a Bean-town detective to figure out all that money would probably outlast his heart. I was glad of the change of subject.
Kaz gave me the lowdown on the meetings with the Norwegians. Major Harding was going to Beardsley Hall to give the king and his advisers a top-secret briefing. Kaz was to be his interpreter, although most of the Norwegians spoke English to one degree or another. I was to go as—well, let’s just say I was going, too.
The briefing was about Operation Jupiter. When he mentioned that name, Kaz lowered his voice and looked around as if we were standing on a Berlin street corner. Operation Jupiter was the plan for the invasion of Norway. It had been created by the British, but they hadn’t had the resources to carry it out until we entered the war. Now it was going to be the Allies’ first offensive against the Third Reich. Before winter set in, we were going to invade Norway. British and American forces, along with the Norwegians, were going to take Norway back. This would protect the Murmansk convoys bringing supplies to the Russians, and give the Allies air bases within fighter range of Berlin. It sounded like we were about to win the war.
The Norwegians had been lobbying for Operation Jupiter, and now they were going to be told it was on. We were going to deliver the news jointly with a British delegation headed by a Major Charles Cosgrove. The Norwegians were going to have their government officials there, along with officers from the Norwegian Brigade and commando units. It sounded like we would be heroes.
“Should be a breeze.”
“Breeze?” Kaz asked quizzically.
“He means it should be easy,” Daphne explained.
“Ah! Yes, I understand, but actually it may be more like heavy winds. Ciekie wiatry , my friend.”
There was a knock at the door. The food came in, two carts’ worth of covered plates and bowls. It smelled great, and we never got back to why it wouldn’t be such a breeze.
CHAPTERFOUR
T HE ALARM RANG . I T was 6:00 a.m. Oh six hundred hours, I thought, as I suddenly remembered I was in the army. What a disappointment. It was dark as a dungeon in my little room, and I had to turn on the bedside lamp to make sure I didn’t walk into a wall. It was raining. I could tell by the greasy streaks of water on my tiny dirty window.
Ten minutes later I was dressing and packing for a few days in the country with the Norwegians. I put on a pair of freshly pressed olive drab wool serge pants and a starched khaki shirt with the mohair olive drab field scarf tucked in between the second and third buttons. I bent over to tie my shoes, brown laces on brown oxfords. I was a properly drab soldier, and thought about how dull the olive green and khaki brown were in comparison to police blue. Cops in uniform stood out in a crowd, it said, Here I am, a man in blue. I guess soldiers preferred to fade into the forest instead of standing out. That first day on the job in Boston, my badge had felt solid and weighty as I pinned it on my new blue shirt. It was everything I had ever wanted. Dad had been called out on a homicide during the night, so it was only Mom and little Danny to see me off. Danny had shined my shoes for me, getting more black shoe polish on his hands and nose than on the shoes, but they still sparkled. They both stood at the door and waved, and more than a few neighbors stood on their porches to watch the Boyles send off their second generation to serve with Boston’s finest.
Funny thing, it was the First World War that had gotten Dad and Uncle Dan jobs with the department. After the police strike in 1919, none of the strikers got their jobs back. Governor Coolidge saw to that, and it got him into the White House. The city needed new cops fast, and what better source than the veterans, just back from the war, jobless, trained, and in need of dough? Dad and Uncle Dan signed up, along with plenty of their buddies, and that bunch of recruits stuck
Kaz gave me the lowdown on the meetings with the Norwegians. Major Harding was going to Beardsley Hall to give the king and his advisers a top-secret briefing. Kaz was to be his interpreter, although most of the Norwegians spoke English to one degree or another. I was to go as—well, let’s just say I was going, too.
The briefing was about Operation Jupiter. When he mentioned that name, Kaz lowered his voice and looked around as if we were standing on a Berlin street corner. Operation Jupiter was the plan for the invasion of Norway. It had been created by the British, but they hadn’t had the resources to carry it out until we entered the war. Now it was going to be the Allies’ first offensive against the Third Reich. Before winter set in, we were going to invade Norway. British and American forces, along with the Norwegians, were going to take Norway back. This would protect the Murmansk convoys bringing supplies to the Russians, and give the Allies air bases within fighter range of Berlin. It sounded like we were about to win the war.
The Norwegians had been lobbying for Operation Jupiter, and now they were going to be told it was on. We were going to deliver the news jointly with a British delegation headed by a Major Charles Cosgrove. The Norwegians were going to have their government officials there, along with officers from the Norwegian Brigade and commando units. It sounded like we would be heroes.
“Should be a breeze.”
“Breeze?” Kaz asked quizzically.
“He means it should be easy,” Daphne explained.
“Ah! Yes, I understand, but actually it may be more like heavy winds. Ciekie wiatry , my friend.”
There was a knock at the door. The food came in, two carts’ worth of covered plates and bowls. It smelled great, and we never got back to why it wouldn’t be such a breeze.
CHAPTERFOUR
T HE ALARM RANG . I T was 6:00 a.m. Oh six hundred hours, I thought, as I suddenly remembered I was in the army. What a disappointment. It was dark as a dungeon in my little room, and I had to turn on the bedside lamp to make sure I didn’t walk into a wall. It was raining. I could tell by the greasy streaks of water on my tiny dirty window.
Ten minutes later I was dressing and packing for a few days in the country with the Norwegians. I put on a pair of freshly pressed olive drab wool serge pants and a starched khaki shirt with the mohair olive drab field scarf tucked in between the second and third buttons. I bent over to tie my shoes, brown laces on brown oxfords. I was a properly drab soldier, and thought about how dull the olive green and khaki brown were in comparison to police blue. Cops in uniform stood out in a crowd, it said, Here I am, a man in blue. I guess soldiers preferred to fade into the forest instead of standing out. That first day on the job in Boston, my badge had felt solid and weighty as I pinned it on my new blue shirt. It was everything I had ever wanted. Dad had been called out on a homicide during the night, so it was only Mom and little Danny to see me off. Danny had shined my shoes for me, getting more black shoe polish on his hands and nose than on the shoes, but they still sparkled. They both stood at the door and waved, and more than a few neighbors stood on their porches to watch the Boyles send off their second generation to serve with Boston’s finest.
Funny thing, it was the First World War that had gotten Dad and Uncle Dan jobs with the department. After the police strike in 1919, none of the strikers got their jobs back. Governor Coolidge saw to that, and it got him into the White House. The city needed new cops fast, and what better source than the veterans, just back from the war, jobless, trained, and in need of dough? Dad and Uncle Dan signed up, along with plenty of their buddies, and that bunch of recruits stuck
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