Well there are enough 'Golden Pheasants' driving around in plush cars who do a damn sight less towards the war effort than Cox and his like does.
Also I know he takes Reuben back to Hamburg every time we get home, with as much rations and other goods he can scrounge to a poor family hiding in an attic in my own home town.
Hiding from fellow Germans like me. Or at least I thought we were all fellow Germans. I can't understand it. In any case, Cox can have a Rolls Royce and a Bentley and an Alfa Romeo and a whole fleet of Wehrmacht trucks for all I care (he probably does). He's basically a decent man doing a good thing. And he certainly takes care of us.
Cox's magic isn't so bad either. The last time we got back he begged me to stop short at the town at the mouth of the river. I indulged him and he ran ashore with some ship mates and returned carrying their booty with them.
So when we sailed into Saint Nazaire and the waiting band, we had a full barbecue going on the deck, with Kuki turning the bratwurst, and Cox handing out the french beers underneath a string of white pennants.
As Christian and I saluted the astonished Senior Flotilla officers, with our papers and log book in hand, a stream of nurses and other female staff orderlies were being invited down the gangplank for a party around the deck gun.
My First Officer got to do all the paperwork and reports that day. Heidi was waiting too.
LS
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