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An hour out of Munich, the answer came: Don’t go to Munich. Go to Kloster Grünau. Have a couple of drinks and a steak. Go to bed. And in the morning, get in the Kapitän and drive to Pullach.
He picked up the intercom microphone.
“General, would you have any problems if we spent the night at the monastery?”
“As far as I know, there’s absolutely nothing waiting for me in Munich.”
“Next stop, Kloster Grünau.”
Technical Sergeant Tedworth, his cavalry-yellow scarf not quite concealing the bandages on his neck, was waiting for them in the ambulance. Cronley was not surprised to see Ostrowski was behind the wheel.
Cronley had something to tell him, and this was as good a time as any.
“Tedworth, Sergeant Hessinger—”
“Sir, he wants you to call him as soon as possible,” Tedworth cut him off. “He says it’s important.”
“Sergeant, it’s not polite to cut your commanding officer off in the middle of a sentence.”
“Sorry, sir.”
“Not only impolite, but the wrong thing to do, since what I was going to say had I not been rudely interrupted, was that Sergeant Hessinger has informed me that while I do not have promotion authority in normal circumstances, I do in extraordinary circumstances. I have decided that First Sergeant Dunwiddie, having created a vacant first sergeant position by becoming a commissioned officer, is such an extraordinary circumstance. I was about to tell you I am sure that Captain Dunwiddie will be happy to sell you the first sergeant chevrons he no longer needs at a reasonable price.”
“I’ll be damned,” Tedworth said. “Thank you.”
“You will of course be expected to pay for the intoxicants at your promotion party, which will commence just as soon as we get to the bar.”
“First Sergeant Tedworth,” Tedworth said wonderingly. “I will be damned!”
“You will be aware, I’m sure, First Sergeant Tedworth, that henceforth you will be marching in the footsteps of the superb non-commissioned officer who preceded you and will be expected to conduct yourself accordingly,” Dunwiddie said solemnly.
“Captain Dunwiddie and First Sergeant Tedworth,” Tedworth went on. “Who would have ever thought, Tiny, when we joined Company ‘A’?”
And then he regained control.
“Captain, I think you better call Fat Freddy,” he said. “He said it was really important.”
“Immediately after I take a leak—my back teeth are floating—and I have a stiff drink of Scotland’s finest,” Cronley said.
—
“Twenty-third CIC, Special Agent Hessinger.”
“And how are you, Freddy, on this miserable December evening?”
“When are you coming here?”
“That’s one of the reasons I called, Freddy, to tell you Captain Dunwiddie and myself—plus two others whose names I would prefer not to say on this line while some FBI numbnuts are listening—will be celebrating First Sergeant Tedworth’s promotion in the country and will not be returning to Munich until tomorrow.”
“I don’t think Colonel Parsons is going to like that.”
“What? What business is it of his?”
“He called here and said General Greene had suggested he and Major Ashley take you to dinner to get to know you. He said he made reservations here in the Vier Jahreszeiten for eight o’clock and he expects to see you there.”
That’s disappointing. I thought Greene was going to maintain complete neutrality. But what he’s obviously doing—or trying to do—is help this bastard Parsons take over Operation Ost for the Pentagon.
Why should that surprise me? Greene, ultimately, is under the Pentagon G2. They don’t like the Directorate of Central Intelligence and they really don’t want Operation Ost being run by a very junior captain. Greene knows on which side of the piece of toast the butter goes.
