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It was now about 04:30 hours, and the meeting with the Canadian Armed Forces senior line officers had finally been adjourned. Over the next 24 hours each of the RCN and RCAF commanding officers would be returning to their units. The regimental commanding officers would remain for another day, in an attempt to finally come to some kind of agreement before the Chief of the Defence Staff put his combat boot down and dictated which of their soldiers would be in the first tranche permitted to volunteer for service with the Armed Forces of the Confederacy.The Officers' Club should have been closed for hours, but when officers of this high rank and number needed refreshments, exceptions could be made. A handful of sleep-deprived mess stewards ran around seeing to it that alcoholic libations were quickly made available.In a corner of the cavernous yet well-appointed room, three infantry colonels sat nursing tankards of lager. Their shoulder tabs identified the trio as being from Canada's. The temperature was near freezing so our wet hands were soon hurting from the cold. By the time we got the tent set up, our clothes were were completely soaked and neither of us had a dry spot on us. Wet to the bone, cold and shivering, we ducked into the tent and collapsed on the tent floor. In this downpour, there was no way that we were going to be able to start a fire, to warm up and dry out. That’s when we discovered that, in our frenzy to get the tent set up, mom’s sleeping roll came up missing. I ducked outside and did a quick look-around but it must have been washed down the hillside. Now there was only mine and it was the only thing we had that was remotely dry.In a shivering voice, mom said “Turn around for a minute, honey. I’m going to strip these wet clothes off and get into the sleeping bag to try and warm up.” I swiveled around and listened as she undressed and plopped her wet clothes in a pile in the corner of the tent. Any other time, I’d haveloved sneaking a peek at.
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