Schröder seemed surprised to see him. Maksymilian Ostrowski looked as if he had been caught with his hand in the candy jar.
“We’ve got a frayed cable, not serious, but I thought I’d replace it,” Schröder said.
“And drafted Lieutenant Max to help you?”
“I hope that’s all right, sir,” Ostrowski said.
“Fine with me, if it’s okay with Kurt.”
Cronley’s half-formed wild idea about the Pole popped back into his mind.
Where the hell did that come from?
And now that it’s back and I’m entirely sober, I can see it’s really off the wall.
Or is it?
Why the hell not?
Who’s going to tell me no?
None of us are supposed to be flying the Storchs, so what’s the difference?
“Tell me, Max,” Cronley said, “what’s the name of your guy who served with the Free French?”
“Jaworski, Pawell Jaworski, sir.”
“Could Pawell Jaworski take over the guard detachment?”
Ostrowski thought it over for a long moment.
“Yes, sir. I’m sure he could.”
“Okay. On your way to bed, wake him up and tell him that as of 0600 tomorrow, that’s what he’ll be doing,”
“Yes, sir,” Ostrowski said. “Captain, may I ask what this is about?”
“Oh, I guess I didn’t get into that, did I?”
“No, sir, you did not.”
“Presuming, of course, that Kurt can get that vertical stabilizer assembly back together and working, what he’s going to do at 0600 is start checking you out on the Storch.”
“Checking me out?”
“They didn’t use that term in the Free Polish Air Force?”
“Yes, sir. I know what it means.”
“Try not to bend my airplane, Max. I’ve grown rather fond of it.”
Cronley turned and walked out of the tent hangar.
That was probably a stupid thing to do.
Colonel Mattingly would almost certainly think so.
But since I’ll be running, as of January 2, DCI-Europe, I don’t have to worry about what that bastard thinks.