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And he concluded that the repetition had not been either coincidental or innocent.
IX
[ONE]
U.S. Army Airfield B-6
Sonthofen, Bavaria
American Zone of Occupation, Germany
1320 16 January 1946
Ground Control had ordered Army Seven-Oh-Seven—Cronley’s Storch—to take Taxiway Three Left to the Transient parking area, but before he got there, a checkerboard-painted Follow me jeep pulled in front of him, and the driver frantically gestured for Cronley to follow him.
He did so and was led to a hangar, where a sergeant signaled him to cut his engine, and then half a dozen GIs pushed the Storch into the hangar and closed the doors once it was inside.
Lieutenant Colonel William W. Wilson appeared, and stood, hands on his hips, looking at the Storch.
Cronley climbed down from the airplane.
“Good afternoon, Colonel,” he said.
“You’re not going to salute?”
“I’m a civilian today,” Cronley said, pointing to the triangles. “Civilians don’t salute.”
“They’re not supposed to fly around in aircraft the Air Corps has grounded as unsafe, either,” Wilson said.
“Are you going to turn me in?”
“No, but I am going to ask what the hell you’re doing here?”
“I need a large favor and some advice.”
“You picked a lousy time.”
“I saw all the frantic activity. What’s up, an IG inspection?”
“Worse, much worse,” Wilson said. “Well, let’s go somewhere where no one will be able to see me talking to you.”
He led Cronley to a small office he’d been to before, the day Wilson had turned the Storchs over to him, and then waved him into a chair.
“Okay. What sort of advice are you looking for?”
Cronley didn’t reply, instead handing Wilson his DCI credentials.
“Okay,” Wilson said, after examining them and handing them back. “Colonel Mattingly told me about this, but I am nevertheless touched that you’re sharing this with me. And, of course, am suitably impressed with your new importance.”
“I’m not important, but what I need your advice about is very important.”
“And highly classified? I shouldn’t tell anybody about this little chat?”
“Especially not Colonel Robert Mattingly.”
“Sorry, Cronley. I can’t permit you to tell me to whom I may or may not tell anything I want. And that especially includes Colonel Robert Mattingly, who is, you may recall, both a friend and the deputy chief of CIC-Europe. Is our conversation over?”
“No. I’ll have to take a chance on your good judgment.”
