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“Great!” the major said.
“Just don’t talk about them being here to anybody, okay?”
“The word I got was ‘Just give them what they ask for and don’t ask questions.’”
“Major, I didn’t hear you ask any questions.”
“That’s right. And I really wondered about the guys in the back.”
“They’re Special Service soldiers. We’re going to put on a soldier show for the Constabulary troopers.”
“The hell you are!”
“They sing gospel songs. You know, like ‘What a Friend We Have in Jesus,’ ‘When the Roll Is Called Up Yonder,’ songs like that.”
“That’s why they need those Thompson submachine guns, right? ‘Repent, or else?’”
“No. They’re for use on Air Force officers who can’t resist the temptation to go in the O Club and say, ‘Guys, you won’t believe what just flew in here.’”
“My lips are sealed,” the major said, and then added, “Really.”
“Good,” Cronley said.
A dozen or so Air Force mechanics in coveralls were waiting in front of the hangar. One of them, a tough-looking master sergeant, signaled for Cronley to cut his engine.
Cronley did so, and as soon as the propellers stopped turning, the men started to push the C-45 tailfirst into the hangar.
“I’ll need this thing fueled,” Cronley said to the Air Force major.
“Consider it done. When are you leaving?”
“I’m usually the last person they tell things like that. But I was a Boy Scout and like to be prepared.”
Once they were inside the hangar, it seemed even larger than it did from the tarmac. Cronley saw three jeeps and two three-quarter-ton trucks lined up, all bearing Constabulary insignia. He asked the two questions on his mind:
“How come this place is intact? What did the Germans use it for?”
“The story I heard is that the Krauts used it to train night fighters, and to convert airplanes to night fighters. They ran out of material to convert airplanes, and then they ran out of fuel for the night fighter trainer planes they had. How it avoided being bombed—or even strafed—I don’t know. Maybe, when our guys flew over it, there were no planes on the ground, so they looked elsewhere for something to shoot up. That’s what I would have done. What’s the point in shooting up a hangar when you can shoot up planes on the ground? Or locomotives? When you shoot up a locomotive, that’s something. You get a great big cloud of escaping steam.”
“Sounds like fun.”
“It was, except when they were shooting back. And sometimes they did.”
“The Constabulary is here on the airfield?”
“Yeah. The airbase and the kaserne are one and the same thing.”
They were now inside the hangar. The left of the double doors closed, and the closing right door stopped, leaving a ten-foot opening.
So those Constabulary vehicles can get out, obviously.
The C-45 stopped moving.
The Air Force major rose from the copilot’s seat and stood in the opening to the passenger section. Cronley remained seated until he saw the major stepping into the passenger section, and then he stood up.
When he looked down the aisle, he saw that Tiny and Tiny’s Troopers and one of the two ASA sergeants had already gotten off the airplane. As soon as the second ASA sergeant had gone through the door, the Air Force major went through it.
Cronley looked out the door and saw there were maybe twenty Constabulary troopers in formation facing the aircraft. They wore glistening helmet liners, white parkas, and highly polished leather Sam Browne belts, and were carrying Thompson submachine guns slung over their shoulders.
