Stratford walked quickly to Dunwiddie, started to offer his hand, then changed his mind and hugged him. Dunwiddie hugged him back, which caused him to lift Stratford at least eighteen inches off the ground.
“These two, Colonel Bristol,” Cronley said drily, “were once confined to the same reform school in Vermont. The large one is my Number Two.”
Cronley thought: They’re pals. Great!
Stratford is going to be very useful. And not only with the ambulances.
“Be advised, Cronley,” Bristol said sternly, “that I find derogatory references to Norwich University, the nation’s oldest and arguably finest military college, from which Lieutenant Stratford and I are privileged to claim graduation, totally unacceptable.”
Oh, shit!
Bristol’s cold glower turned into a smile.
“Relax,” he said. “Stratford warned me that I should expect — and have to forgive — such behavior from a graduate of Texas Cow College.”
He walked over to Stratford and Dunwiddie with his hand extended.
“Jack Bristol, Dunwiddie. Class of 1940. You’re Alphonse’s little brother, right? We were roommates.”
Oh, am I on a roll!
During the next two hours, while he learned more about Norwich University, its sacred and sometimes odd customs, and its long roster of distinguished graduates, than he really cared to know, Cronley also had reason to believe that he was indeed on a roll.
It took him less than a half hour to conclude that the stories he’d heard that Norwich graduates could give lessons in ring-knocking to graduates of West Point — and for that matter to graduates of Texas A&M, the Citadel, and VMI — were all true. They really took care of each other.
That first came up when Tiny asked Colonel Bristol about the Polish DP guard force. Colonel Bristol told Dunwiddie they had been assigned to him for as long as he thought they’d be necessary. And he immediately asked Dunwiddie if he wished to dispense with their services when the rest of his men arrived.
“No, sir. I’d like to keep them as long as possible,” Tiny replied.
“That shouldn’t be a problem,” Bristol said without hesitation. “What I’ll do is leave a squad, or maybe a platoon, here to keep the place up. I think General Clay would expect me to do that. And they’ll need the DPs to guard them, of course. That’ll give you a couple of months to figure out a justification to keep them permanently.”
After that, Cronley, who had already decided that the situation required that he bend the Need to Know rules out of shape insofar as Lieutenant Stratford was concerned, decided they were also going to have to be bent almost as far for Colonel Bristol.
The first step there was to explain to Bristol exactly what was going to take place in the South German Industrial Development Organization compound, who was going to be inside it, and then to ask his recommendations about providing the necessary security.
Bristol was happy to sketch out on the plywood map what he thought should be done. His plan essentially required the installation of more chain-link fences. The outer line of fences would surround the whole village. It would be guarded by the Polish DPs. They would be housed in buildings between the outer fence line and the second line of fences.
Anyone driving past the Pullach compound would see only them and the SÜD-DEUTSCHE INDUSTRIELLE ENTWICKLUNGSORGANISATION signs posted on the fence. But not the black American soldiers guarding it with heavy machine guns.
They would be there, of course, but out of sight from the road. They would control passage into the second security area. They would be housed in the area between the second fence and the third. And this area would contain not only the refurbished houses in which they would be housed, but their mess and their service club as well.
As this was being discussed, Cronley was reminded that Mrs. Anthony Schumann handled enlisted morale for the ASA/CIC community. He had quickly dismissed her from his mind. He would deal with her later. Right now, he was on a roll.
Like the first two fences, the third fence, two hundred yards in from Fence Line Two, had already been erected. It, too, would be guarded by Tiny’s Troopers. Colonel Bristol sketched in, with a grease pencil, where he thought additional fences should go. There should be a new, inner compound, housing only the headquarters of the Süd-Deutsche Industrielle Entwicklungsorganisation and five refurbished houses.
One of these would be for General Gehlen and another for Ludwig Mannberg, and their families. A third would be for visiting VIPs — such as General Greene, Colonel Mattingly, and Lieutenant Colonel Schumann. The fourth would house Lieutenant Colonel Parsons and Major Ashley, the Pentagon’s G-2 representatives, and the fifth the Military Government Liaison Officer. That meant Cronley now and, when Major Ashton arrived from Argentina, Polo and Altarboy.
The Vatican ASA listening station and quarters — all in one refurbished house — would have sort of a compound of its own in the area between Fence Line Two and Fence Line Three.
“Setting those few fences shouldn’t take long,” Colonel Bristol said. “Not with the White Auger.”
“The what, sir?” Cronley asked.
“The White Auger. The truck that we had to move off the strip so you could land.”
Cronley still seemed confused, so Colonel Bristol provided a further explanation.
“That White Model 44 truck. It has an auger mounted. Drills a hole five feet deep in a matter of seconds.” He demonstrated, moving his index finger in a downward stabbing motion and making a ZZZZZ, ZZZZZZ, ZZZZZ sound.
“Yes, sir. The sooner you can get to this, the better.”
“I’ll get right on it. I’ll have all the fences up in two days, tops.”
Colonel Bristol was even more obliging when it came to extending the runway, putting up a shed large enough to get both Storches out of the weather, and doing something about getting them a means to refuel the airplanes.
“I think a jeep-towable regular gas truck would work just fine,” he said. “And I’ve got a couple of them I can spare.”
Things went even better when Bristol was showing Gehlen the house he would occupy. It gave Cronley the chance to take Tiny and Lieutenant Stratford next door to the house that would be occupied by the Military Government liaison officer “to show Dunwiddie where you installed the SIGABA system.”
As soon as they walked into the room, Sergeant Mitchell of the ASA handed Cronley a SIGABA printout.
“This came in not sixty seconds ago, sir,” he said.
Cronley read it:
PRIORITY
TOP SECRET LINDBERGH
DUPLICATION FORBIDDEN
FROM VINT HILL TANGO NET
1250 GREENWICH 5 NOVEMBER 1945
TO VATICAN ATTENTION ALTARBOY
COPY TO BEERMUG ATTENTION ALTARBOY
POLO ATTENTION POLO
FOLLOWING BY TELEPHONE FROM TEX 1235 GMT 5 NOV 1945
BEGIN MESSAGE
THANKS TO OLD MAN BANKING PROBLEMS SOLVED EARLIER THAN EXPECTED STOP DEPARTING MIDLAND CASH IN HAND 1300 GMT STOP TEX
END MESSAGE
END
TOP SECRET LINDBERGH
Cronley handed the message to Dunwiddie, then did some arithmetic aloud: “It’s six thousand miles, give or take, from Midland to Buenos Aires. At three hundred knots, give or take, that’s nineteen hours. Factor in two hours in Caracas for refuel and another two hours for maybe a bad headwind, that’s twenty-three hours. That’ll put them into Jorge Frade at twelve hundred Greenwich — fourteen hundred our time — tomorrow.”
“Thank you for sharing that with us,” Dunwiddie said.