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“Where do you want us, Jack?” the admiral said again.
“You by the colors, sir, with Tommy standing beside you. Colonel Wallace on the other side, and Cronley in the middle.”
Cronley now saw that Jack had a Leica camera.
What the hell is going on?
The admiral motioned for everyone to follow Jack’s instructions.
Colonel Wallace pinned the “I Was There” ribbons to Cronley’s chest, and then hung the Distinguished Service Medal above them.
“Okay,” the admiral ordered, “go ahead, Tommy.”
“Attention to orders,” the admiral’s aide barked. “‘The White House, Washington, D.C., seventeen February, 1946. By direction of the President, the Legion of Merit is awarded to Captain James D. Cronley Junior, Cavalry, Army of the United States. Citation: Captain Cronley was called upon to assume command of the Directorate of Central Intelligence–Europe when circumstances did not permit the assignment of an appropriately senior officer to that position. During his tenure as chief, DCI-Europe, Captain Cronley demonstrated characteristics of leadership and professionalism far above those to be expected of someone of his rank and length of service. He also proved his willingness to risk his life above and beyond the call of duty on many occasions when carrying out his duties. His outstanding performance and his valor reflected great credit upon the Directorate of Central Intelligence and the Office of the President of the United States. By Order of Harry S Truman, President of the United States and commander in chief of its Armed Forces.’”
What that sounds like is that I am no longer chief, DCI-Europe.
“Wipe that confused look off your face and try to look serious while I pin this thing on, Cronley,” the admiral said. “The pictures are for President Truman.”
Cronley did his best to comply with the order.
“You got enough, Jack?” the admiral asked of the man with the Leica.
“Yes, sir.”
“Okay. Now I suggest someone pour Cronley a drink before he starts asking questions.”
He walked back to the table, sat down, and motioned for Cronley to take the seat beside him.
“Scotch or bourbon, Captain?” the admiral’s aide asked.
“Scotch, please.”
The drinks were poured.
The admiral raised his glass.
“To Captain James D. Cronley, DSM, LM,” he said.
Everyone raised their glasses. There was a chorus of “Hear! Hear!”
“The chair will now entertain any questions the captain may have,” the admiral said.
“Why wasn’t I just relieved? And you know I don’t deserve the Legion of Merit.”
“You mean, son, that you did come down with the clap?”
There was laughter.
“Okay, serious answers. You ever hear, son, what Eisenhower replied when someone asked him the secret of his success at Supreme Headquarters Allied Expeditionary Forces?”
“No, sir.”
“Ike said, ‘I think it’s my knack of getting people who, with reason, hate each other to work together.’
“Ike came to see me. Somehow, he had learned of us going to G-2 at the War Department with those movies you had made with those two Peenemünde Nazis. The Blackmail Movie, as Jack put it. Lay off DCI or we’ll show these movies to the President.
“Ike said, ‘Sid, you—we—won this one, but the war between your man Cronley and General Seidel has to be called off. General Seidel is not going to quit until he buries Cronley. His ego is involved. And in trying to bury your young captain, he’s likely to do something that will cause Operation Ost to blow up in our face, which means the President’s face, and our primary obligation is to protect him.’
