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??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 brassard on his arm, stood up in the jeep, pointed to the left engine, and then made a slashing 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 cockpit.

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.”