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“Anything else?”
“A couple of things. When I speak with General Greene, I’m going to ask him to transfer to DCI-Europe not only the six ASA guys he’s loaned me, two of whom I brought here with me, but also to get Second Lieutenant Bruce Moriarty of the Eleventh Constabulary Regiment transferred to me. Us.”
“Not ‘us,’ Cronley,” Wallace said. “Transferred to you, in your role as chief, DCI-Europe. As you know, I have nothing to do with DCI-Europe.”
“Sorry.”
“But since the subject has come up, what’s this all about? Start with the ASA men,” Wallace ordered. “And the last time I looked, Brunhilde is not a guy.”
“Freddy had already arranged for Brunhilde to be transferred to DCI. I’m talking about the radio guys. They’re smart. Freddy told me that at the Reception Center, when they enlisted or get drafted, they all scored at least 110 on the Army General Classification Test and were given their choice of applying for Officer Candidate School or going into the ASA.”
“And these guys didn’t want to be officers?”
“They didn’t want to serve four years if they could get out of the Army after two,” Cronley said. “The point is, they’re smart. That has its ups and downs. Because they’re smart, they do their jobs well. That’s the up. The down is that if somebody else needs them, and Greene transfers them, they’ll walk away knowing too much about DCI-Europe, and that makes me uncomfortable.”
“Okay. Point taken. But how do you know they want to leave the ASA?”
“Because I offered them an immediate one-stripe promotion if they did, and a second three months after that.”
“You can do that?”
“According to Fat Freddy, I can. I promoted him to staff sergeant.”
“Okay. What about the lieutenant? Who is he?”
“An A&M classmate of mine. He’ll be given command of Company C, 203rd Tank Destroyer Battalion and the Polish guards.”
“That’s a lot of responsibility for a second lieutenant,” Wallace said.
“He can handle it. And we need somebody to handle it.”
“Anything else?”
“I told Brunhilde to look for some clerical help among the WACs in ASA. We’re going to need all kinds of help in that department.”
“It looks like you’re building quite an empire, Cronley,” Wilson said. His tone suggested he didn’t approve.
Cronley’s temper flared and his mouth went on automatic, and as usual, he regretted the words as soon as they came out of his mouth.
“Sir, I’m doing what I believe to be the right thing to do. If my superiors in the DCI decide I’m not doing the right thing, or doing more than I should, they’ll relieve me.”
Not smart. Not smart. Rubbing what Wallace said to him in his face was not smart.
And that “my superiors” crack sounded as if I’m daring Wallace to relieve me. Not smart.
Stupid.
“I’m sure that would happen,” Wallace said.
“We saw one of the black birds as we came in,” Cronley said. “Are they both here?”
“The second came in just before you did. They’re being serviced. I brought the mechanics I gave you with us.”
“I should have thought of that, of servicing the Storchs.”
“Yes, you should have,” Wallace said, “but nobody’s perfect, right?”
“Yes, sir.”
