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[ TWO ]
U.S. Army Airfield H-7
Eschborn, Hesse
American Zone of Occupation, Germany
1120 30 October 1945
“Eschborn, Seven-Oh-Seven understands Number Two to land on Niner-zero behind the C-47,” Cronley said into the microphone.
He looked at his wristwatch and saw that he was ten minutes early.
A minute later, he saw that Colonel Robert Mattingly was also ten minutes early; he was leaning against the front fender of his Horch, which was parked next to what had to be Base Operations.
Did he come early to be a nice guy?
Or has Gehlen called him and complained about my behavior—and he can’t wait to put me in my place?
A minute after that, the Storch was on the ground. A Follow me jeep led it to the visitors’ tarmac in front of Base Operations.
As he was shutting down the Storch, Mattingly walked up to the airplane and waited for him to climb down from it.
He smiled and offered his hand.
“Right on time, Jim. Ready to go?”
I guess Gehlen did not complain.
“Sir, I have to see about getting it fueled, and I want to check the weather.” He pointed to the Base Operations building. “It won’t take a minute.”
“Fine,” Mattingly said with a smile, but Cronley sensed he was annoyed.
There were two signs over the Flight Briefing Room. One read FLIGHT PLANNING/WEATHER. The other read PILOTS ONLY.
Mattingly nevertheless followed Cronley into the room.
Why not? Full bull colonels get to go just about anyplace they want to.
Cronley studied the weather map, and then caught the eye of an Air Force sergeant.
“It doesn’t look good for the south this afternoon, does it?”
“Not good unless you’re a penguin. Penguins don’t fly.”
“When do you think that front will move through southern Bavaria?”
“Very late this afternoon.”
“You think it will be clear in the morning?”
“Probably.”
“Who do I have to see to get fuel?”
“Me,” the sergeant said, and produced a clipboard with a form on it. “Name, organization, type of aircraft, tail number, and fuel designation. And signature.”
Cronley filled in the blanks and the sergeant examined the form.
