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“Twenty-third CIC, huh?” the sergeant said, pronouncing it “Ex Ex Eye Eye Eye See Eye See.”
“Guilty,” Cronley said.
“And what the hell is a Fieseler Storch?”
Cronley pointed out the window.
“Funny-looking,” the sergeant opined.
“It flies that way, too.”
“Kraut?”
“Not anymore.”
“I’ll have your tanks topped off in half an hour.”
“No rush. I’m not going to fly into that weather. I’ll try to get out in the morning. Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.”
Cronley looked at Colonel Mattingly and gestured toward the door.
When they were out of the building, Mattingly said, “I gather you have to spend the night?”
“Yes, sir. There’s a front moving across Bavaria that I don’t think I should fly into.”
“I defer, of course, to your airman’s judgment. But what I had in mind was that I don’t like leaving that airplane here overnight. Questions might be asked.”
“What would you like me to do, sir?”
“Well, if you can’t control something, don’t worry about it. You might wish to write that down.”
He saw Cronley smile. “Did I say something funny, Captain?”
“No, sir. But that’s a paraphrase of what Major Orlovsky said to me. He quoted a Roman poet named Ovid. ‘Happy is the man who has given up worrying.’ Something like that.”
“You’ve been discussing Roman poets with an NKGB officer?” Mattingly asked incredulously.
“It came out during my interrogation of him, sir.”
“Your interrogation of him?” Mattingly asked even more incredulously.
“Yes, sir.”
They were now at the Horch.
“Get in,” Mattingly ordered.
“Sir, where am I going to stay tonight?”
When Mattingly didn’t immediately reply, Cronley said, “I’ve got an overnight bag in the plane. Should I get it now?”
“Get your bag,” Mattingly ordered.
—
Immediately after they had left the airfield, Mattingly explained what was going to happen.
