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“The overfly permission has come, Señor Frade. But only as far as Frankfurt am Main.”
“We are supposed to go to Berlin,” Frade challenged.
“I know,” the ambassador said more than a little lamely.
“What does Buenos Aires have to say about this?”
“About this specifically, nothing.”
“And about things in general?” Frade pursued. “What about the assurance of either the Foreign Ministry or the President that no attempt will be made to smuggle Nazis to Argentina on SAA’s airplane?”
“There has been no response to that specifically, Señor Frade.”
“Then we’re not going,” Frade said.
“There was a message from el Coronel Perón, routed
via the embassy, to Señor Nulder, which Señor Nulder shared with me.”
“And are you going to tell me what it said?”
“It said that the Foreign Minister was doing everything he can to get the necessary overfly permissions, as the president is very anxious to relieve the diplomatic contingent in Berlin as soon as possible.”
“We already knew that, didn’t we?” Frade said.
Frade then took an appreciative sip of the Altano Douro, sighed audibly, and announced: “Well, if the secretary of Labor and Retirement Plans tells us that General Farrell is anxious to relieve the diplomatic contingent in Berlin as soon as possible, I don’t see that we, as patriotic Argentines, have any choice. Have the passengers at the airfield no later than five-thirty tomorrow morning, Mr. Ambassador.”
“That early, Señor Frade?”
“We have already lost more than a full day, haven’t we, Mr. Ambassador, waiting for you to come up with the flyover permissions? I don’t want to lose any more time.”
“I’ll pass that to Señor Nulder right away,” Ambassador de Hernández said. He then stood and excused himself.
When the ambassador had gone, Delgano softly asked, “Half past five in the morning, Cletus?”
“I didn’t say we would be there at that unholy hour. I think we should try to get off the ground at, say, nine.”
[TWO]
Aboard Ciudad de Rosario Approaching Frankfurt am Main, Germany 1235 19 May 1945
When Clete Frade had announced that Peter von Wachtstein would fly Ciudad de Rosario from Lisbon to Frankfurt am Main in the left seat, and that he would fly as copilot, the faces of the three SAA pilots showed they didn’t like it at all.
Frade remembered what he had learned in the Marine Corps: When there is dissension in the ranks, try explaining your reasons.
He told them: “Von Wachtstein has flown all over Spain, France, and Germany. None of us has. And we don’t have reliable charts. We’re going to have to fly by the seat of our pants, looking out the window to see where we are. And Peter is the only one of us who’ll know what the hell he’s looking at.”
“But, Cletus,” Gonzalo Delgano protested, “von Wachtstein has less time at the controls of a Constellation than anybody else.”
Rule Two: If reasoning doesn’t work, apply a two-by-four with great force to the temples of the dissenters.
“Actually, Gonzalo, there’s an even more important reason von Wachtstein will fly in the left seat.”
“Which is?”
“I said so. Any further questions?”
Delgano’s face reddened, but he didn’t argue further.
