coagulating blood inside. “More patches,” Jack muttered grimly.
Stoddard walked over and put his hand on Jack’s shoulder.
“Colonel, I screwed up royally. There weren’t any tanks. What I saw were wooden dummies, mock-ups. We wasted a lot of ammunition and nearly got Leach and me killed in the process.”
Stoddard grimaced. “We learn something about the krauts, and then they try something new. All we can do is continue to learn from it, Morgan. This is going to be a helluva long war.”
General Dwight Eisenhower stared glumly at the mass of documents on his desk. He’d crossed the Channel with a small group of several hundred men who would be the core of his headquarters, while several thousand more SHAEF personnel awaited their turn in London. Most were visibly annoyed that they weren’t deemed important enough to go with the vanguard into the liberated portion of France.
Ike and the others were temporarily situated in the French town of Bayeux, the home of the Bayeux Tapestry. The tapestry was almost nine hundred years old and commemorated the Norman invasion and conquest of England in 1066. The irony was not lost on Ike. He’d just led a reverse invasion from England to Normandy.
He hadn’t planned on taking direct command so early, but he felt that his so-called Allies were acting like complete shits. It had seemed logical and politically correct to give early command of the invasion force to British Field Marshal Bernard Law Montgomery. However, the arrogant and insulting Monty had delusions of grandeur and wanted to continue as ground commander forever, even though that question had already been decided by FDR and Churchill. The Americans were providing the overwhelming majority of the men and the equipment; therefore, the Americans would command and the hell with Bernard Law Montgomery.
Worse, Monty suffered from what some Americans referred to as a case of the slows. He was a good enough general, but methodical to a fault. Ike and many American, even some British, generals were convinced that Monty had frittered away too many opportunities to grab the Germans by the throat because he wasn’t quite prepared to move. Hell, Ike thought, Monty would never be fully prepared and he was incapable of being flexible. Everything had to be just right before he’d move.
Even as he thought it, Ike knew the comment was unfair. Monty was trying to avoid the horrific losses suffered by England in the First World War by avoiding undue risks. England had lost nearly a full generation of her youth and the English people wanted nothing to do with bloodbaths and wars of attrition. America’s losses in that war had been minuscule by comparison. There was the real fear that the British people might force their government to settle for a negotiated peace if the blood price got too high.
And, when given the opportunity, Monty truly was the master of the well-planned set-piece battle. He’d proven it at El Alamein in North Africa, the battle that had stopped the Nazi advance to Alexandria, saved the Suez Canal, and sent Rommel packing.
But now the situation called for Monty to move rapidly and decisively, and he simply wasn’t doing it. This meant that Bradley, to Montgomery’s south, had to slow down so as to not expose his flanks to potential German counterattacks. Bradley was meticulous enough himself, but Monty was ten times more so.
Worse, Montgomery considered himself to be the resident military genius and thought that the Americans were little more than well-intended but inept trainees, and he didn’t mind telling this to anyone who would listen. His British public was charmed while the Americans wanted to strangle him. Ike had thought about firing Monty, but he was a hero to the British people and would have to be tolerated for the sake of the alliance.
The flamboyant but brilliant Lieutenant General George Patton commanded the Third Army under Bradley and was screaming to anyone who would listen that he should be turned loose to chase the Germans instead of waiting for Montgomery and the rest of Bradley’s army group to do something. Patton’s ego was as great as Montgomery’s and they despised each other. And these, Ike thought grimly, were supposed to be his friends. Once upon a time, he and Patton had indeed been friends, but Ike now realized Patton’s serious flaws as a leader, and their relationship was strained.
The Germans were retreating slowly and devastating a helpless France as they did. Fortifications were being built for the Nazis by hundreds of thousands of French slave laborers, which created a dilemma for Ike. He could request the Eighth Air Force bomb the works under construction, which would result in tens of thousands of French casualties, or he could let them build and suffer untold American casualties when the attacks began.
“Beetle,” Ike called. “What’s the word from de Gaulle?”
Charles de Gaulle, the self-appointed head of France, had given reluctant permission for the Americans to bomb strategic sites before the Normandy invasion. As a result, thousands of French civilians working and living near the tracks, bridges, and marshaling yards had been killed or wounded. Even de Gaulle considered it a necessary cost of war. But would he agree to bomb much larger targets, and at another huge cost in French lives?
Smith entered, glowered, and took a seat. “Le Grand Charles gives his permission, but only if we let the French Second Armored strike towards Paris and be the first to liberate it.”
“Wonderful,” Ike said.
“According to de Gaulle,” Smith said, “only the French can liberate Paris. And, oh yeah, he wants the Germans out of Paris as soon as possible. Yesterday, if we can do it.”
“With allies like these, who needs enemies?” Ike muttered, paraphrasing himself. He was becoming convinced that the French didn’t really want to totally defeat Germany. They wanted the Germans out of France and, above all else, they wanted to liberate Paris. After that, their corner of the world would be in order. Paris was their goal. All French efforts and thoughts were focused on Paris and not necessarily on eliminating the Nazis.
French losses in the First World War had been even greater than Great Britain’s. If pushing Germany into unconditional surrender meant excessive French casualties, who could blame them for wanting to stop?
Ike lit a cigarette. He smoked too much, but who the hell cared? Mamie might chastise him, but Mamie was back in the States. Kay Summersby, his vivacious thirty-eight-year-old British driver, however, would soon be joining him in France. She was more than a driver, she was his confidante and to hell with those who saw more in it than friendship. Kay would never tell him to stop smoking.
What really concerned him was the fact that the German withdrawal to the east was working so well for them. The Germans always had good soldiers and even better leaders, and were dragging out their retreat to the Seine. Even with overwhelming superiority in the air and despite the Allies outnumbering the Germans in infantry, armor, artillery, and supplies, the Germans wouldn’t quit and wouldn’t break. Christ, they were good. He reluctantly admitted to himself that the average German soldier and NCO was better than his American or British counterpart. And their equipment was better as well. Their tanks were a damn sight better than the Sherman, America’s best. Thank God they didn’t have all that many of them.
Worse, the krauts were on the move everywhere. Intelligence reported massive relocations of German infantry and armor as whole armies shifted between his forces and those opposing the Russians. It seemed the Germans were doing a good job adjusting to life after Hitler and that did not bode well.
Field Marshal Walter Model now had overall command of the forces confronting Ike. He replaced von Rundstedt, who now ran the entire German military from Berlin. Von Manteuffel and Kesselring, the latter recently brought from Italy, were Model’s subordinate army group commanders in France, and both were getting everything they could and then some from their troops. The days of Hitler’s erratic and sometimes stupidly incompetent behavior were over. Hitler, the bitter joke now ran, was no longer on the Allies’ side. At least Rommel was out of the picture. He’d been badly wounded in a strafing incident.
On the American side, Ike’s army was also divided into two army groups. In the north, the Twenty-first was commanded by Montgomery, while the Twelfth, farther south, was commanded by Bradley. The Sixth, under Devers, was scheduled to land in southern France in a couple of weeks. That invasion, however, now looked redundant. The Germans were doing a masterful job of pulling their troops out of that area of southern France as well. Devers might well land in a military vacuum. At least, Ike thought, it would liberate the much needed port of Marseilles.
If the Nazis weren’t so goddamned evil, Ike thought, it wouldn’t be difficult at all to admire the way the German Army fought. But they were evil, he reminded himself. And however long it took, the Allies would continue to press them and wear them down. That is, if he could ever get Montgomery off his ass and back into the war.
