Part 52 (1/2)
”The h.e.l.l you are!”
”They sing gospel songs. You know, like 'What a Friend We Have in Jesus,' 'When the Roll Is Called Up Yonder,' songs like that.”
”That's why they need those Thompson submachine guns, right? 'Repent, or else?'”
”No. They're for use on Air Force officers who can't resist the temptation to go in the O Club and say, 'Guys, you won't believe what just flew in here.'”
”My lips are sealed,” the major said, and then added, ”Really.”
”Good,” Cronley said.
A dozen or so Air Force mechanics in coveralls were waiting in front of the hangar. One of them, a tough-looking master sergeant, signaled for Cronley to cut his engine.
Cronley did so, and as soon as the propellers stopped turning, the men started to push the C-45 tailfirst into the hangar.
”I'll need this thing fueled,” Cronley said to the Air Force major.
”Consider it done. When are you leaving?”
”I'm usually the last person they tell things like that. But I was a Boy Scout and like to be prepared.”
Once they were inside the hangar, it seemed even larger than it did from the tarmac. Cronley saw three jeeps and two three-quarter-ton trucks lined up, all bearing Constabulary insignia. He asked the two questions on his mind: ”How come this place is intact? What did the Germans use it for?”
”The story I heard is that the Krauts used it to train night fighters, and to convert airplanes to night fighters. They ran out of material to convert airplanes, and then they ran out of fuel for the night fighter trainer planes they had. How it avoided being bombed-or even strafed-I don't know. Maybe, when our guys flew over it, there were no planes on the ground, so they looked elsewhere for something to shoot up. That's what I would have done. What's the point in shooting up a hangar when you can shoot up planes on the ground? Or locomotives? When you shoot up a locomotive, that's something. You get a great big cloud of escaping steam.”
”Sounds like fun.”
”It was, except when they were shooting back. And sometimes they did.”
”The Constabulary is here on the airfield?”
”Yeah. The airbase and the kaserne are one and the same thing.”
They were now inside the hangar. The left of the double doors closed, and the closing right door stopped, leaving a ten-foot opening.
So those Constabulary vehicles can get out, obviously.
The C-45 stopped moving.
The Air Force major rose from the copilot's seat and stood in the opening to the pa.s.senger section. Cronley remained seated until he saw the major stepping into the pa.s.senger section, and then he stood up.
When he looked down the aisle, he saw that Tiny and Tiny's Troopers and one of the two ASA sergeants had already gotten off the airplane. As soon as the second ASA sergeant had gone through the door, the Air Force major went through it.
Cronley looked out the door and saw there were maybe twenty Constabulary troopers in formation facing the aircraft. They wore glistening helmet liners, white parkas, and highly polished leather Sam Browne belts, and were carrying Thompson submachine guns slung over their shoulders.
He turned and went down the stair doors backwards.
Someone bellowed, ”Ah-ten-hut!”
Oh, s.h.i.+t, some senior officer, maybe the Eleventh regimental commander, is here. That explains all the troopers lined up.
We're not the only people in this hangar.
Cronley turned from the stair doors for a look.
A ma.s.sive Constabulary officer-almost as large as Tiny-marched up to Cronley, came to attention, and raised his hand crisply in salute. Cronley saw a second lieutenant's bar glistening on the front of his helmet liner.
”Sir,” the second lieutenant barked, ”welcome to the Eleventh Constabulary Regiment!”
Mutual recognition came simultaneously.
”Jimmy?” the second lieutenant inquired incredulously.
I'll be G.o.dd.a.m.ned, Cronley thought, but did not say aloud, that's Bonehead Moriarty!
Second Lieutenant Bruce T. Moriarty and Captain James D. Cronley Jr. were not only close friends, but alumni and 1945 cla.s.smates of the Agricultural and Mechanical College of Texas, more popularly known as Texas A&M.
At College Station, Moriarty had experienced difficulty in his first month having his hair cut to the satisfaction of uppercla.s.smen. He had solved the problem by shaving his skull, hence the sobriquet ”Bonehead.”
Captain C. L. Dunwiddie, who would have been Norwich '45 had he not dropped out so as not to miss actively partic.i.p.ating in World War II, and who was standing in front of the line of eight of his troopers, saw the interchange between the Constab Second John and Cronley and had a perhaps Pavlovian response.
”Lieutenant!” he boomed.
He caught Lieutenant Moriarty's attention. When he saw that the command had come from Captain Dunwiddie and that the captain was beckoning to him with his index finger, he performed a right turn movement and marched over to him, wondering as he did, Who the h.e.l.l is he? I'm six-three-and-a-half and 255, and he's a lot bigger than me.
Bonehead came to attention before Tiny, saluted, and inquired, ”Yes, sir?”
”Listen to me carefully, Lieutenant,” Captain Dunwiddie said to Second Lieutenant Moriarty. ”You do not know Captain Cronley. You have never seen him ever before in your life. Any questions?”
”No, sir.”
”Carry on, Lieutenant.”
”Yes, sir.”
Lieutenant Moriarty saluted. Captain Dunwiddie returned it. Lieutenant Moriarty did a precise about-face movement, and then marched back to Captain Cronley, where he executed a precise left turn movement.
”Sir, Colonel Fishburn's compliments. The colonel would be pleased to receive you, sir, at your earliest convenience. I have a jeep for you, sir. And men to guard your aircraft.”
”Captain Dunwiddie and I also have men to guard my airplane,” Cronley said. ”And two other non-coms who'll need a place to sleep. I suggest we leave that for later, while Captain Dunwiddie and I make our manners to Colonel Fishburn. I presume Captain Dunwiddie is included in the colonel's invitation?”
”Yes, sir, I'm sure he is.”
”Well, then, I suggest you leave one of your sergeants in charge of your men, I'll leave one of my sergeants in charge of mine, and we'll go see Colonel Fishburn.”
”Yes, sir.”