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The waiter appeared.
“You speak English, I hope?”
From the waiter’s reply in English, it was clear he did not speak the language well.
“We’ll start off with a bottle of Haig & Haig Pinch,” he said in German. “And then bring us the menu.”
“Jawohl, Herr Kapitän,” the waiter said, and marched off.
“That’s very kind of you, sir,” Lieutenant Winters said. “But I’m not drinking.”
“You don’t drink?”
“Not tonight, sir. I’m flying in the morning.”
“I thought the rule there was that you had to stop drinking eight hours before you flew.”
“Sir, the Army rule is twelve hours before you fly.”
Cronley looked at his watch.
“It’s 1815,” he said. “That means, if you took a drink now, you could take off tomorrow morning at, say, 0630 and still follow the rule. So what do you say?”
“Sir. Thank you, sir, but no thank you.”
“You must take your flying very seriously.”
“Yes, sir. I do.”
“And exactly what kind of flying do you do?”
“Whatever I’m ordered to do, sir.”
“Jimmy, what the hell are you up to?” Lieut
enant Moriarty asked.
“Put a cork in it, Bonehead,” Cronley said.
“Same question,” Dunwiddie said. “Lieutenant, Captain Cronley is known for his unusual—some say sick—sense of humor. Don’t take him seriously.”
“Yes, sir,” Winters said, visibly relieved.
“I’m dead serious right now,” Cronley said. “Answer the question, Lieutenant. Exactly what kind of flying do you do?”
“Sir, I do whatever is expected of me as an Army aviator.”
“Like flying the Hesse/Thuringia border?”
Winter’s face tightened, but he did not reply.
“With a photographer in the backseat taking pictures of the picturesque Thuringian countryside?”
Winters stood up.
“The captain will understand that I am not at liberty to discuss the subject he mentions. The lieutenant begs the captain’s permission to withdraw.”
“Sit down, Lieutenant,” Cronley ordered. When Winters remained standing, Cronley said, “That was not a suggestion.”
