WE WOKE up to faultless weather the following morning, and on
the way down to the Königsplatz with Craig I was in an offensively
optimistic frame of mind. All ten of my trucks were there. This
was more like it--no tiresome mechanical delays. We were all
set to go. Leclancher had even had the foresight to bring along an
extra driver, just in case anything happened to one of the ten.
That was a smart idea and I congratulated him for having thought
of it.

It wasn't till I started distributing the rations that I discovered
our two packers were missing. But that shouldn't take long to
straighten out. Craig's office was just across the way. I found them
cooling their heels in the anteroom. They looked as though they
had come right out of an Arthur Rackham illustration--stocky
little fellows with gnarled hands and wizened faces as leathery as
the Lederhosen they were wearing. Each wore a coal-scuttle hat
with a jaunty feather, and each had a bulging bandanna attached
to the end of a stick. There was much bowing and scraping. The
hats were doffed and there was the familiar "Grüss Gott, Herr Kap-
itän," when I walked in.

Craig appeared and explained the difficulty. Until the last min-
ute, no one had thought to ask whether the men had obtained a
Military Government permit to leave the area--and of course they
hadn't. With all due respect to the workings of Military Govern-
ment, I knew that it would take hours, even days, to obtain the

-80-