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He turned and went down the stair doors backwards.
Someone bellowed, “Ah-ten-hut!”
Oh, shit, some senior officer, maybe the Eleventh regimental commander, is here. That explains all the troopers lined up.
We’re not the only people in this hangar.
Cronley turned from the stair doors for a look.
A massive Constabulary officer—almost as large as Tiny—marched up to Cronley, came to attention, and raised his hand crisply in salute. Cronley saw a second lieutenant’s bar glistening on the front of his helmet liner.
“Sir,” the second lieutenant barked, “welcome to the Eleventh Constabulary Regiment!”
Mutual recognition came simultaneously.
“Jimmy?” the second lieutenant inquired incredulously.
I’ll be goddamned, Cronley thought, but did not say aloud, that’s Bonehead Moriarty!
Second Lieutenant Bruce T. Moriarty and Captain James D. Cronley Jr. were not only close friends, but alumni and 1945 classmates of the Agricultural and Mechanical College of Texas, more popularly known as Texas A&M.
At College Station, Moriarty had experienced difficulty in his first month having his hair cut to the satisfaction of upperclassmen. He had solved the problem by shaving his skull, hence the sobriquet “Bonehead.”
Captain C. L. Dunwiddie, who would have been Norwich ’45 had he not dropped out so as not to miss actively participating in World War II, and who was standing in front of the line of eight of his troopers, saw the interchange between the Constab Second John and Cronley and had a perhaps Pavlovian response.
“Lieutenant!” he boomed.
He caught Lieutenant Moriarty’s attention. When he saw that the command had come from Captain Dunwiddie and that the captain was beckoning to him with his index finger, he performed a right turn movement and marched over to him, wondering as he did, Who the hell is he? I’m six-three-and-a-half and 255, and he’s a lot bigger than me.
Bonehead came to attention before Tiny, saluted, and inquired, “Yes, sir?”
“Listen to me carefully, Lieutenant,” Captain Dunwiddie said to Second Lieutenant Moriarty. “You do not know Captain Cronley. You have never seen him ever before in your life. Any questions?”
“No, sir.”
“Carry on, Lieutenant.”
“Yes, sir.”
Lieutenant Moriarty saluted. Captain Dunwiddie returned it. Lieutenant Moriarty did a precise about-face movement, and then marched back to Captain Cronley, where he executed a precise left turn movement.
“Sir, Colonel Fishburn’s compliments. The colonel would be pleased to receive you, sir, at your earliest convenience. I have a jeep for you, sir. And men to guard your aircraft.”
“Captain Dunwiddie and I also have men to guard my airplane,” Cronley said. “And two other non-coms who’ll need a place to sleep. I suggest we leave that for later, while Captain Dunwiddie and I make our manners to Colonel Fishburn. I presume Captain Dunwiddie is included in the colonel’s invitation?”
“Yes, sir, I’m sure he is.”
“Well, then, I suggest you leave one of you
r sergeants in charge of your men, I’ll leave one of my sergeants in charge of mine, and we’ll go see Colonel Fishburn.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Captain, can I have a word?”
Cronley turned and saw that he was being addressed by Technical Sergeant Jerry Mitchell of the ASA.
Mitchell, a lanky Kansan, was the senior of the ASA non-coms Major “Iron Lung” McClung had loaned to DCI-Europe.
