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“I need to get the Storchs fueled and on their way as soon as possible.”
“On their way and out of sight?” the major asked.
“That, too.”
“That I can do. I’ll have a fuel truck come out here.”
“And then I have to be in that crowd welcoming General White back to Germany.”
“Quite a crowd,” the major said, gesturing around the field at all the L-4s. “I would say that every other colonel and lieutenant colonel in the Constabulary is here to watch General White get off the plane.”
“So I see. But the skies will fall and the world as we know it will end if we’re not standing there when the general gets off the pla
ne.”
He pointed to Dunwiddie in the Storch.
“Well, I wouldn’t want that on my conscience. I’ll make you a deal. I’ve never been close to a Storch before. If you can arrange a tour for me of one of those airplanes, I’ll take you over there in my jeep.”
“Deal,” Cronley said.
He waved at Max Ostrowski to get out of his Storch, and then called, “Captain Dunwiddie, you may deplane.”
“Yes, sir?” Ostrowski asked.
“The major is going to take Captain Dunwiddie and me over there. He’s also going to get a fuel truck sent here. When he comes back, show him around the Storch. Then as soon as you’re fueled, you and Kurt head for home. I’ll get word to you there what happens next.”
“Yes, sir.”
Cronley saw the major had picked up on Ostrowski’s British accent. But he didn’t say anything.
The major motioned for Cronley to get in the jeep. Cronley motioned for Dunwiddie to get in the jeep.
“After thinking it over,” Dunwiddie said, “I’ve decided you’re entitled to the benefit of the doubt.”
Cronley nodded, but didn’t say anything.
Almost as soon as the jeep started moving, the radio in the jeep went off:
“Attention, all concerned personnel. The VIP bird has landed.”
“I’m not surprised,” Cronley said. “I am famous for my ability to make the world follow my schedule.”
The major laughed.
As they got close to where the VIP bird would apparently be, they were waved to a stop by a sergeant of the U.S. Constabulary. He was wearing a glossily painted helmet liner bearing the Constabulary “Circle C” insignia, and glistening leather accoutrements, a Sam Browne belt, to which was attached a glistening pistol holster, and spare magazine holsters.
“End of the line,” the major said.
“Thanks,” Cronley said, offering his hand.
When he got out of the jeep, he remembered to salute.
A lieutenant and a sergeant marched up to them. They, too, wore the natty Constabulary dress uniform, and the sergeant held a clipboard.
The lieutenant saluted crisply.
“Good morning, gentlemen,” he said. “May I have your names, please?”
