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Ashton nodded his understanding.
“. . . was all over the accident. And he told me that’s what it was, an accident. A truck pulled in front of Patton’s limousine. His driver braked hard, but ran into the truck anyway. Patton slid off the seat and it got his neck, or his spine. He was paralyzed. Greene told me when he saw Patton in the hospital, they had him stretched out with weights. Greene said it looked like something from the Spanish Inquisition.”
“And what does General Gehlen have to say about it?” Ashton asked.
“I think if he had anything to say, Cronley would have passed it on. Why do you think it could be something other than an accident?”
Before Ashton could reply, Admiral Souers added, “Dumb question. Sorry.”
Ashton answered it anyway.
“Well, sir, there are automobile accidents and then there are automobile accidents.”
“Accidents happen, Max,” Souers said.
“Sir, what happened to me was no accident,” Ashton said.
“No, I don’t think it was. And Frade agrees. But accidents do happen.”
Ashton’s face showed, Souers decided, that he thought he was being patronized.
“For example, sort of close to home, do you know who Lieutenant Colonel Schumann is? Or was?”
Ashton shook his head.
“He was Greene’s inspector general. I met him when I was over there. Good man.”
Ashton said nothing, waiting for the admiral to continue.
“More than a very good IG,” Souers continued, “a good intelligence officer. He was so curious about Kloster Grünau that Cronley had to blow the engine out of his staff car with a machine gun to keep him out.”
“That’s a story no one chose to share with me,” Ashton said drily.
“Well, we didn’t issue a press release. The only reason I’m telling you is to make my point about accidents happening. The day Patton died, Colonel Schumann went to his quarters to lunch with his wife. There was apparently a faulty gas water heater. It apparently leaked gas. Schumann got home just in time for the gas to blow up. It demolished the building.”
“Jesus!”
“Literally blowing both of them away, to leave their two kids, a boy and a girl, as orphans.”
“Jesus Christ!” Ashton said.
“Quickly changing the subject to the good news,” Souers said. “Let’s have the box, Jim.”
“Yes, sir,” Lieutenant Allred said, and handed the admiral a small blue box.
Souers snapped it open and extended it to Ashton.
“Would you like me to pin these to your jammies, Colonel, or would you rather do that yourself?”
“These are for real?” Ashton asked.
“Yes, Lieutenant Colonel Ashton, those are for real.”
“In lieu of a Purple Heart?” Ashton asked.
“Prefacing this by saying I think you well deserve the promotion, the reason you have it is because I told the adjutant general I desperately needed you, and that the only way you would even consider staying in the Army would be if your services had been rewarded with a promotion.”
Ashton didn’t reply.
