The Assassination Option Part 51

"Isn't that wishful thinking?" Wallace asked.

"What was it Patton said, 'Do not take counsel of your fears'?"

"He also said," Oberst Mannberg interjected, "'In war, nothing is impossible provided you use audacity.'"

"Now that we understand the military philosophy behind this operation," Wallace snapped, "let's talk specifics. Starting with why the Storchs?"

"It's a much better airplane than either the L-4 or the L-5."

"And you feel qualified to fly one of them onto what's almost sure to be a snow-covered and/or icy back road? Or onto a snow-covered field?"

"Well, Schrder has a lot of experience doing just that. I think Colonel Mannberg will vouch for that. And I have a little experience doing that myself."

"The snow-covered pastures around Midland, Texas?" Wallace challenged.

"I never flew a Storch in the States," Cronley said. "But I did fly one off of and onto the ice around the mouth of the Magellan Strait in Patagonia. Trust me, there is more snow and ice there than there is anywhere in Texas or Germany."

"You flew a Storch down to the mouth of the Strait of Magellan?" Wallace asked dubiously.

"No. Actually I flew a Lockheed Lodestar down there. I flew Cletus's Storch while I was down there. I also flew a Piper Cub when I was down there." He paused and looked at Wallace. "Look, Colonel Wilson told you I'm competent to fly this mission. Isn't that enough?"

"I'll decide what's-"

"Jim," Mannberg interrupted, "you said, I think, that you and Ostrowski would fly in one Storch?"

It was a bona fide question, but everyone understood it served to prevent another angry exchange between Cronley and Wallace.

Cronley looked at Wallace.

"Answer the man," Wallace said.

"We land. Me first," Cronley said. "Ostrowski gets out and goes to Seven-K, or whoever is with Mrs. Likharev and the boys. He says, 'Mrs. Likharev, we'll have you over the border-'"

"Ostrowski speaks Russian?" Wallace challenged.

"He does, and better than Schrder," Cronley said. "Let me finish. Ostrowski says, 'Mrs. Likharev, we'll have you and the boys over the border in just a few minutes. And the way we're going to do that is put you and him'-he points to the smaller boy-'in that airplane'-pointing to the Storch Schrder has by now landed-'and I will take this one in that airplane'-he points to the Storch I'm flying.

"He leads Mrs. Likharev to Schrder's Storch . . ."

"What if she doesn't want to go? What if she's hysterical? What if Seven-K has already tranquilized her?" Wallace challenged.

". . . where Schrder says, in Russian, with a big smile, 'Hi! Let's go flying.' They get in Schrder's plane and he takes off. Ostrowski and the older boy get in my airplane, and I take off," Cronley finished.

"What if she doesn't want to go? What if she's hysterical? What if Seven-K has already tranquilized her?" Wallace repeated.

"I thought you wanted my best-case scenario?" Cronley replied, and then went on before Wallace could reply. "But, okay. Let's say she's been tranquilized-let's say they've all been tranquilized-then no problem getting them into the planes. If she's hysterical, then Ostrowski tranquilizes her, and the boys, too, if necessary."

"And how are you going to get all of them into the planes?"

"The boys are small."

"How do you know that?"

"Because when Tiny and I were working on Likharev, he told us his son was too young to get in the Young Pioneers. That makes him less than twelve."

"There are two boys . . ."

"If one of them was old enough to be a Young Pioneer, he would have said so. That makes both of the boys less than twelve." He paused, then added: "Feel free to shoot holes in my scenario."

Wallace looked as if he was about to reply, but before he could, Mannberg said, "Not a hole, but an observation: When we were doing this sort of thing in the East, whenever possible, we tried to arrange some sort of diversion."

Wallace looked at him for a moment, considered that, but did not respond. Instead he said, "Tell me about you being able to fly a C-45."

"My father has one," Cronley said. "I've never been in a C-45, but I'm told it's a Beech D-18. What they call a 'Twin Beech.'"

"And Daddy let you fly his airplane?"

"Daddy did."

"How often?"

"The last I looked, often enough to give me about three hundred hours in one."

"You are licensed to fly this type aircraft?" Wallace asked dubiously.

Cronley felt anger well up within him, but controlled it.

"I've got a commercial ticket which allows me to fly Beech D-18 aircraft under instrument flight rules," Cronley said calmly.

"So why is it you're not an Army aviator?"

Cronley's anger flared, and his mouth went on automatic.

"I wanted to be an Army aviator, but my parents are married and that disqualified me."

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he regretted them.

But the response he got from Army aviator Wilson was not what he expected.

Wilson smiled and shook his head, and said, "Harry, if his flying that C-45 is important, I can give him a quick check ride. To satisfy you. I'm willing to take his word. Actually, he has more time in the Twin Beech than I do."

"You're telling me, Cronley," Wallace said, "that if I told you to get in that C-45 and fly it to Fritzlar, you could do that?"

"I could, but I'd rather have the check ride Colonel Wilson offered first."

"Bill, how long would that take?"

"Thirty, forty minutes. No more than an hour."

"Do it," Wallace ordered. "I've got some phone calls to make."

"Now?"

"Now," Wallace said. "To coin a phrase, time is of the essence."

[TWO].

U.S. Air Force Base Fritzlar, Hesse American Zone of Occupation, Germany 1615 18 January 1946 "Fritzlar Army Airfield, Air Force Three Niner Niner, a C-45, at five thousand above Homberg, estimate ten miles south. Approach and landing, please," Cronley said into his microphone.

After a moment, there was a response.

"Air Force Three Niner Niner, this is Fritzlar U.S. Air Force Base. By any chance, are you calling me?"

"s.h.i.+t," Cronley said, and then pressed the TALK b.u.t.ton. "Fritzlar, Niner Niner, affirmative. Approach and landing, please."

When he had received and acknowledged approach and landing instructions, Cronley replaced the microphone in the clip holder on the yoke.

Captain C. L. Dunwiddie, who was sitting in the copilot's seat, asked, "Why do I suspect your best-laid plans have gone agley?"

"I thought this was going to be a Constabulary landing strip. It's an Air Force base, and I think the Air Force is going to wonder what two cavalry officers are doing with one of their airplanes."

"Fritzlar, Three Niner Niner on the ground at fifteen past the hour. Close me out, please."

"Niner Niner, you are closed out. Take Taxiway Three Left and hold in position. You will be met."

"Niner Niner, Roger," Cronley said, and then turned to Tiny and pointed out the window. "Not only an Air Force base, but a big one."

There were three very large hangars, a control tower atop a base operations building, and other buildings. Too many to count, but at least twenty P-47 "Thunderbolt" fighters were on the tarmac or in one of the hangars.

"And one that seems to have avoided the war," Dunwiddie said. "I don't see any signs of damage-bomb or any other kind-at all."

"Here comes the welcoming committee," Cronley said, pointing at a jeep headed toward them down the taxiway.

The jeep drove right up to the nose of the C-45.

An Air Force major, who was wearing pilot's wings and had an AOD bra.s.sard on his arm, stood up in the jeep, pointed to the left engine, and then made a slas.h.i.+ng motion across his throat, telling Cronley to shut down that engine. He then made gestures mimicking the opening of a door.

Cronley gave him a thumbs-up and started to shut down the left engine.

The jeep turned and drove around the left wing, obviously headed for the C-45's fuselage door.

"I don't suppose you know how to open the door?" Cronley asked Dunwiddie.

Dunwiddie got out of his seat and headed toward the door.

"Welcome to Fritzlar, Captain," the Air Force major said, as he stepped into the c.o.c.kpit.

Well, if he's seen the railroad tracks, he's seen the cavalry sabers. And the blank spot on my tunic where pilot's wings are supposed to go.

Now what?

"Thank you," Cronley said.

"The word we got is to get you out of sight. And the way we're going to do that is have you taxi to the center one of those hangars"-he pointed to the row of three large hangars-"where we will push you inside, and where your people are waiting for you."

"Your people"? Who does he mean?

"Fine," Cronley said. "Actually, we don't care who sees the C-45. But very early tomorrow morning there will be two Storchs we really don't want anybody to see."

"We'll be ready for them," the Air Force major said.

Cronley advanced the throttle and began to taxi.

"I'm not supposed to ask questions . . ." the major said.

"But?"

"You just said 'Storchs,' didn't you?"

Cronley nodded.

"That funny-looking German light airplane?"

"There are those of us who love that funny-looking German light airplane."

"I've never actually seen one."

"Well, you'll have your chance in the morning. And I'll bet you could play I'll-show-you-mine-if-you-show-me-yours with the pilot of one of them. He used to fly Spitfires for the Free Polish Air Force, and I know he'd like a good look at one of those P-47s."

"Great!" the major said.

"Just don't talk about them being here to anybody, okay?"

"The word I got was 'Just give them what they ask for and don't ask questions.'"

"Major, I didn't hear you ask any questions."

"That's right. And I really wondered about the guys in the back."

"They're Special Service soldiers. We're going to put on a soldier show for the Constabulary troopers."