Death at Nuremberg (Clandestine Operations 4) - Page 25

“Keep in touch, Jim,” Greene said, and hung up.

Cronley replaced the handset on its base and retrieved his DCI credentials from Cohen’s desk.

“Thank you for receiving me, Colonel.”

“My pleasure. And please let me know if there is anything else, anything at all, that I can do for you,” Cohen said.

That’s the kind of sarcasm that can knock down a brick wall.

Cronley walked out of Colonel Cohen’s office.

[TWO]

Headquarters, 26th Infantry Regiment

The International Tribunal Compound

Nuremberg, American Zone of Occupation, Germany

1355 21 February 1946

The office of Colonel James T. Rasberry, commander of the 26th Infantry Regiment of the 1st Division, was, like that of Colonel Mortimer Cohen, close to the door of the Kaserne. The reception Cronley received was far more cordial than the one he had just received from Colonel Cohen.

“Come on in, Mr. Cronley,” Colonel Rasberry welcomed him. “I’m just sitting here watching my soldiers demolish the vehicles in my motor pool.” He put out his hand. “Tell me what I can do for the CIC while we have a cup of coffee.”

Cronley saw the only thing pinned to the chest of Rasberry’s tunic was the Combat Infantry Badge.

I think I’m going to like this guy.

“Colonel, I’m sort of here under false pretenses,” Cronley said, and handed him his DCI credentials. The colonel examined them carefully.

“Jesus H. Christ! If I read this correctly, your chain of command is straight up to this admiral, and he answers only to President Truman. Right?”

“Yes, sir. That’s it.”

“Should I stand to attention and salute?” Colonel Rasberry asked.

“Please don’t, Colonel.”

Almost immediately, Rasberry, looking out his office window, said, “Oh, shit! One of my six-by-sixes just ran head-on into one of my ambulances. One of the drivers, if not both, has just flunked, probably for the third or fourth time, How to Drive 101.”

Cronley laughed and asked, “That bad?”

“You ever hear what the average age of enlisted men in the Army of Occupation is?”

“Eighteen point something.”

“And thirty-point-something percent of them are from New York City and other major metropolitan areas, where they don’t teach their young to drive. And of that thirty point something, the repple depple sends ninety percent to units like the 26th, where they really need to know how. Despite what Napoleon said about armies moving on their stomach, this army moves on trucks. Six-by-sixes, like the one that just moved to the ‘Out of Service for Collision Damage Repair’ column.”

“That bad?” Cronley asked again.

“Worse. We are now back to what can the 26th do for you, Mr. Cronley?”

He walked to a coffee thermos, poured two mugs, and handed one to Cronley.

“I just got here with a small detachment to provide security for Justice Jackson, and I’m here to make my manners.”

“I was afraid, when Sergeant Fuller said, ‘The CIC is here,’ that you were bearing more complaints from Colonel Cohen. You know who I mean?”

Tags: W.E.B. Griffin Clandestine Operations Thriller
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