The Rhinemann Exchange Read Online Free Page B

person. Therefore his progress had to be stymied; the man himself humiliated. He would learn the practical advantages of the odds.
    From smaller, more arrogant men.
    Colonel Edmund Pace “borrowed” from the British commando units the best they had in uniform. They were flown over by the Bomber Ferry Command; three bewildered “specialists” who were subtly introduced to the Fairfax compound and given their instructions.
    “Kick the shit out of Two-Five-L.”
    They did. For many weeks of sessions.
    And then they could not do so with impunity any longer.
    David Spaulding would not accept the humiliation; he was becoming as good as the “specialists.”
    The man for Lisbon was progressing.
    Colonel Edmund Pace received the reports in his War Department office.
    Everything was on schedule.
    The weeks became months. Every known portable offensive and defensive weapon, every sabotage device, every conceivable method of ingress and egress—apparent and covert—was exhaustively studied by the Fairfax trainees. Codes and variations became fluent languages; instant fabrications second nature. And Two-Five-L continued to advance. Whenever there appeared a slackening, harsher instructions were given to the “specialists” in “Seizures, Holds and Releases.” The psychological key was in the observable, physical humiliation.
    Until it was no longer viable. The commandos were bested.
    Everything on schedule.
    “You may make it after all,” said the colonel.
    “I’m not sure what I’ve made,” replied David in his first lieutenant’s uniform, over a drink in the Mayflower Cocktail Lounge. And then he laughed quietly. “I suppose if they gave degrees in Advanced Criminal Activities, I’d probably qualify.”
    Two-Five-L’s training would be completed in ten days. His twenty-four-hour pass was an irregularity, but Pace had demanded it. He had to talk with Spaulding.
    “Does it bother you?” asked Pace.
    Spaulding looked across the small table at the colonel. “If I had time to think about it, I’m sure it would. Doesn’t it bother you?”
    “No.… Because I understand the reasons.”
    “O.K. Then so do I.”
    “They’ll become clearer in the field.”
    “Sure,” agreed David tersely.
    Pace watched Spaulding closely. As was to be expected, the young man had changed. Gone was the slightly soft, slightly pampered grace of inflection and gesture. These had been replaced by a tautness, a conciseness of movement and speech. The transformation was not complete, but it was well in progress.
    The patina of the professional was beginning to show through. Lisbon would harden it further.
    “Are you impressed by the fact that Fairfax skips you a rank? It took me eighteen months to get that silver bar.”
    “Again, time. I haven’t had time to react. I haven’t worn a uniform before today; I think it’s uncomfortable.” Spaulding flicked his hand over his tunic.
    “Good. Don’t get used to it.”
    “That’s a strange thing to say.…”
    “How do you feel?” said Pace, interrupting.
    David looked at the colonel. For a moment or two, the grace, the softness—even the wry humor—returned. “I’m not sure.… As though I’d been manufactured on a very fast assembly line. A sort of high-speed treadmill, if you know what I mean.”
    “In some ways that’s an accurate description. Except that you brought a lot to the factory.”
    Spaulding revolved his glass slowly. He stared at the floating cubes, then up at Pace. “I wish I could accept that as a compliment,” he said softly. “I don’t think I can. I know the people I’ve been training with. They’re quite a collection.”
    “They’re highly motivated.”
    “The Europeans are as crazy as those they want to fight. They’ve got their reasons; I can’t question them.…”
    “Well,” interrupted the colonel, “we don’t have that many Americans. Not yet.”
    “Those you do are two steps from a penitentiary.”
    “They’re not army.”
    “I