[NS] O.S.S. Recruitment

Note: [NS] before a chapter heading = No Sex
Although it will most likely be necessary to the plot.
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The next morning Taylor reported to the Munitions Building on B Street in the National Mall. Despite being owned by the Navy (as well as the adjacent Main Navy Building), in August of 1939, the Secretary of War had relocated his offices from the overcrowded State-War-Navy Building to the Munitions Building. With the rapid expanding of the U.S. Army in the wake of Pearl Harbor, this building had become cramped as well. When his project feasibility team, led by Major Billingsley, had returned from England, the five officers and three enlisted men had been shoe-horned into four offices.

"Good morning, Higgins," Lieutenant Taylor said to the Staff Sergeant sitting at one of the typewriters in the outer office connect to Major Billingsley's office. The man returned the greeted but when Taylor lifted his eyebrows and pointed towards Billingsley's door, the Sergeant shook his head, saying, "He's with someone."

So Taylor placed his briefcase beside an empty chair and sat down. One thing he had mastered during his three and a half years in the Army, was the art of 'Hurry Up And Wait'. Besides the other two enlisted men working at their desks, there was also another person presumably waiting to see Major Billingsley. She was a female, wearing the khaki uniform of the Women's Army Auxiliary Corps with two gold chevrons on her upper sleeves. The Hobby Hat (named after the leader of the W.A.A.C., Colonel Oveta Hobby), with its stiff visor, semi-stiff crown, and rising eagle insignia rested on top of her blonde hair that was combed straight back and cut so as not to touch her collar. Appearing to be in her twenties, she was cute rather than pretty.

The intercom phone on the Staff Sergeant's desk buzzed, and after answering it, he said, "The Major will see you now." When Taylor and the W.A.A.C. looked at each other and then at the Sergeant, the man grinned sheepishly, realizing the confusion he had caused. "He wants to see you both at the same time."

Although by military etiquette Taylor should have entered first, the W.A.A.C. program was a new phenomena within the Army, so he held the door open for her.

Billingsley was not sitting behind his desk, but in a chair at the side. On the other side was a thin, middle-aged man wearing a civilian, three-piece chalk-stripe suit. Behind the desk, where Billingsley normally sat, was a Colonel whose face Taylor recognized from the newspapers - William 'Wild Bill' Donovan. Billingsley and Donovan stood up when the pair entered; the third man did not.

"This is the Officer we were discussing," Billingsley said to Donovan. "Lieutenant Samuel Taylor. He's the one who actually wrote that report." Billingsley gestured to the several hundred pages bound document on his desk. "And this is Corporal Winthrop. Who, I believe, is seeking something more challenging than being a switchboard operator."

"That's Junior Leader," she corrected. When Billingsley replied with a questioning look, she elaborated by pointing to her chevrons, "We are called Junior Leaders, not Corporals." Then, fearing that she may have over-stepped herself, she gave a bashful shrug and added, "Sir."

Colonel Donovan grinned at Major Billingsley, who concluded the introductions with, "And I assume you both know who this is. Colonel Donovan, Director of the Offices of Strategic Services."

"Please, be seated," Donovan told everyone as he sat down. Patting the top of the report, he commented, "Impressive piece of work, Lieutenant."

"I just correlated the data, Sir," Taylor replied.

"And are paying the price for it, I hear," Donovan grinned again. "This is what, your third day testifying?"

"And hopefully my last," Taylor nodded. "Fortunately Major Billingsley gave me good advice before I went into the committee room. He said that in open hearings, do not take personal anything the Senators say. They are talking to the reporters in the room. Making 'copy' for the local papers back home. It is what is asked and said during closed sessions that count." He shook his head slowly. "It is like some of them are two different people. Attack dogs in public, and decent, reasonable men when no reporters are present."

"Welcome to Washington," Donovan replied. "You've had your first experience that not all front-line combatants wear helmets and are in the trenches. I hope they were not too hard on you. You were just the opening bout." He glanced at Billingsley. "It's the Major that's going to be the main event. He's asking for a lot of money to build a lot of air bases in 'dear old Blighty'."

"And you, Corporal, uh, I mean Junior Leader Winthrop," Donovan turned to the WAAC. "I understand that although you are a college graduate, you did not want to wait for approval of a commission but enlisted?"

"Yes, sir," Winthrop answered. "My fiancee was flying an SBD off the Lexington at Coral Seas." Quickly she added, "Oh, he's alright. A sub picked him up in his raft the next day. But it made me feel that collecting scrap for victory and bond-drives just weren't enough when Bob, er, Naval Lieutenant Madison was risking his life out there. I wanted to do more."

Both Donovan and Billingsley silently nodded their heads at that.

After that, Donovan 'got down to business'. Although the Germans' access to British plans had been eliminated when the U.S. Army's observer in Egypt had been allowed to stop using the compromised State Department Code and employ the M-209 cipher instead, there were concerns that the Germans might have other sources. The O.S.S. could send in a team of seasoned investigators (former career prosecutors and big city cops now wearing Army uniforms due to volunteering/the draft). But that would alert the opposition and probably just cause them to be more careful or to temporarily shut down operations.

On the other hand, he could send in someone in a non-official capacity, using an assumed name. Taylor would become Associate Professor Drake, Egyptologist, of an obscure college in the Mid-West. His uncle had died, leaving him a small inheritance. Rather than just stash it away in bank for a 'rainy day', Professor Drake and his wife decided to visit the place that Drake had spent his whole life studying.

A 'wife' was important, as the permanent residents of Cairo would be more inclined to invite a married couple to their social functions than a single man. It was there that Taylor and Winthrop should keep their eyes open, listen closely, and make new contacts. They were not to ask direct questions and risk 'spooking' a potential source of information.

At the end of thirty days, the two would be contacted. Donovan made each repeat the recognition code he gave them several times to be certain that they had it committed to memory. He also gave them a phone number, which they were also to memorize and then destroy the paper. The number was to be used only in the utmost need, and would probably result in their mission being terminated by the O.S.S. The phone number was a parachute. One chute; one jump.

"I do not want your answers now," Colonel Donovan said as he stood up, signaling that the meeting was over. Major Billingsley followed suit and also arose, but the third man remained seated. And silent. "If you do not want to accept the assignment, that will be fine. Nothing will be said. No hard feelings. In fact, you do not have to say anything, just do not show up tomorrow morning."

"If you do accept the assignment," the Director of the O.S.S. continued, "then be here at zero eight hundred hours and you will be briefed further and we will create your passports, drive licenses, social security cars, draft cards... Oh, by the way, the Professor has an irregular heart rhythm which is why he was classified four-F."

There were the usual pleasantries of parting before Taylor and Winthrop exited the room. Once the door was closed, and Billngsley had re-claimed his seat that Donovan had occupied, the head of the feasibility study team looked back and forth between the other two men. "I understand that you two know alot more about this stuff than I do, but I just can't see anyone buying his cover story. I mean, besides his obvious youth as a Professor, even for a small college, he... he just doesn't strike me as the type."

"Precisely the point," the man in the suit agreed in the iconic Oxford accent of the English upper-class. He then stood up. "His cover being blown is what we are counting on." Turning to Colonel Donovan, he asked, "Ready to go, Bill?"