Without knocking to give warning, Mansfeld opened the door and stared at General Holk. The pudgy general sat at his desk, with his tie undone, his hat on the floor and his thin hair messy on his head as if he’d been running his hands through it.
“General Mansfeld,” Holk said, obviously startled. “This…this is a surprise.”
Mansfeld had received a strange communication this morning. It had come from a colonel on Holk’s staff. The man said General Holk had become increasingly listless and indecisive throughout the past few days. Mansfeld could hardly believe such a thing, as it was a tossup as to who was the better offensive general: Holk or Zeller. How could such an excellent commanding officer lose self-control at such a critical juncture? Still, it was best to check and see for himself, which was why he was here.
Mansfeld closed the door behind him, cutting off the keyboard noises of the situation room. He had much to do today and a thousand things to oversee. The offensive had reached one of its most decisive stages. At Rochester, Zeller had peeled off two corps from Twelfth Army, sending them toward Buffalo sixty-five miles away. Twelfth Army headed toward Syracuse, seventy-five miles away from Rochester. Everything now depended on speed, on surprise and aggression.
“What is the meaning of this?” Mansfeld asked. “I checked, but found that Fourth Army has failed to make any attack yet against US Fifth Army this morning. Were my orders unclear?”
Holk blinked at him, and almost appeared unable to answer.
“This is undignified,” Mansfeld said. “Put on your hat, sir, and straighten your tie.”
For a moment, Holk looked confused. Then he spied his hat on the floor. He reached, and his swivel chair creaked as he bent down and picked it up. First smoothing his hair, he put the hat on his head.
“Hurry,” Mansfeld said. “Tighten your tie. What’s the matter with you?”
Holk appeared to think about it before finally tightening his tie.
The slowness angered Mansfeld. “On your feet, sir!” he snapped. “Stand at attention when I’m speaking to you.”
Something seemed to spark in Holk’s eyes, a touch of belligerence perhaps.
Holk stood slowly and then came to attention.
Mansfeld understood that he’d been pushing his generals hard, but he’d chosen Holk and Zeller for a reason. War demanded strong nerves. Sending men into battle where those soldiers died took a certain kind of officer. Holk had been making difficult decisions for many weeks now. His enemies had outnumbered him almost all along the line. Yet each time Holk had maneuvered and fought brilliantly. Had the man used up his inner reserves? Mansfeld had thought Holk made of sterner stuff. Was the general a weakling after all?
“Why hasn’t Fourth Army begun its attack?” Mansfeld repeated. “My orders were explicit on that account.”
“I understand, sir,” Holk said.
“If you understand, why hasn’t it happened?”
Holk just stood there.
“Is the pace of the campaign too fast for you?” Mansfeld asked.
Holk stiffened, and the fire in his eyes increased.
Mansfeld had to know whether Holk could continue to act decisively or if he needed to find a replacement for the general. Putting a scathing tone in his voice, Mansfeld said, “I come here and what do I find? You sit with your hat on the floor. You run your hands through your hair as if you’re bewildered by the pace of events.”
“You are wrong, General.”
“Then what’s the matter with you? Tell me.”
“Herr General,” Holk said. “With all due respect—”
“No!” Mansfeld snapped. “Get to the point.”
The words seemed to flick a switch in Holk. He quit standing at attention. With a shift of the neck, he regarded Mansfeld. Holk spoke now in a crisp, clear voice, “Sir, we’ve bitten off too much of a bite.”
That caught Mansfeld by surprise. He almost turned around and shouted for the staff officers to assemble. It looked as if he would have to sack Holk after all. The only thing that caused him to hesitate was uncertainty as to who could take Holk’s place. The general had operational flair. Such men did not grow on trees.
“My time is limited, sir,” Mansfeld said. “Get to the point.”
“I’ll do exactly that, General,” Holk said, with the fire entering his voice. “You’ve flung my army group as a man flings a spear, caring nothing as to whether it shatters or not, as long as it impales the enemy.”
“What does any of that have to do with your failure to attack Fifth Army?”
“Everything,” Holk said. “My soldiers are grossly outnumbered and still you force me to hurl them at the enemy.”
“You’re fond of historical parallels. Did not British General O’Connor drive the Italians before him in North Africa in 1941?”
“Sir?” Holk asked.
“Bah,” Mansfeld said. “You study German military history. I study all military history. Let me make it easier on you. Didn’t Rommel drive the British pell-mell before him in the desert later in 1941?”
“The Americans aren’t Italians or British,” Holk said. “And we’re fighting on their home soil.”
“In point of fact,” Mansfeld said, “we are not. Zeller is fighting on their home soil, and he’s driving them before him. You’re facing Americans in Canada.”
“Zeller faces minuscule resistance,” Holk said. “I face the bulk of the enemy. There is a great difference.”
“By your tone, I believe you still have fire in your belly,” Mansfeld said. “I want to know, therefore, why you’re sitting in your office fretting over my commands.”
Holk opened his mouth, and he closed it.
“Come, come, sir,” Mansfeld said.” I don’t have time to dally. Get to the point while you’re still able to do it.”
“Is that a threat, sir?” Holk asked.
Mansfeld refrained from answering. He’d pushed the general to find out whether the man had lost his nerve or not. It didn’t seem as if the commander had, not yet anyway. He needed to get to the root of this and do it
Holk held the stare for a total of two seconds before looking away. He scowled so lines appeared in his forehead. “Sir, my command withers away around me. The Americans rain artillery at us, turning this into an attritional contest, one that I cannot afford to play. The area where we battle is too small, leaving me without room to maneuver. That’s our specialty and mine in particular. Now you want me to smash against Fifth Army. You know they’re heavily entrenched in the Niagara Peninsula and fortified to resist me. The enemy will meet any breakthrough on my part with suicidal counterattacks led by their penal battalions.”
“My only question for you, General,” Mansfeld said, “is this: so what? That doesn’t tell me why you’ve failed to obey a direct order.”
“There may come a point very soon now when the Americans begin to drive
“Hold it right there,” Mansfeld said. “I’m beginning to suspect the real reason for your petulance. And it has nothing to do with what you’re saying.”
Holk stiffened, and two red spots appeared on his cheeks.
“You’re an attacker, sir,” Mansfeld said. “It appears you do not have an appetite for defending. Yes, for now, at this place and at this time in Southwestern Ontario, you are on the defensive. Yet you must attack Fifth Army in the Niagara Peninsula in order to fix them in place. The Americans have foolishly put their men in the wrong places, at least in the numbers that they have. The Niagara Peninsula is a trap, but only if you can keep the Americans on your end from pulling out too many excess troops to turn around and face east. The enemy will need those extra soldiers to stop Zeller’s III Armored Corps and IV Corps heading for Buffalo. You must fix the Americans in place and cause them to use all their soldiers to stop you breaking into the peninsula from the west.”
