The Steel Wave (16 page)

“General Montgomery was just here, sir. So very sorry you missed him. He ladled on the praise, if I do say so. We’re mighty proud of our work here.”

Patton didn’t look at the man, couldn’t remember his name, major something. Idiot. “You’re proud of this?”

“Oh, quite, sir. We’ve given Jerry a tough banger to chew on, that’s for certain. They can’t observe any of this and not be convinced.”

Patton heard the familiar whine of airplane engines, a formation of four British Spitfires, coming in low over the trees. He could feel the major flinching beside him, a common instinct. Patton ignored it. “What the hell are they doing here?”

To one side, another man moved closer, an older man, the one Patton was actually supposed to talk to. “Patrolling regularly, sir. We’re doing the same thing in Scotland. The idea is to keep the Jerries at high altitude, give their observers only a rough look. Can’t have anyone dipping in too close, so the RAF boys stay down here, making a good show of prowling low altitudes.”

It made sense. Patton glanced at him, saw a brief smile, Patton’s own lips twitched, the man’s joviality reaching him despite his best efforts to keep it away. “Sounds like they’ve thought of just about everything, Colonel.”

“Just about, sir.”

The older man was Rory MacLeod, and where Patton’s fictitious command encompassed southeastern England, MacLeod held a similar ficticious post in Scotland. The deception plan had a name now, Operation Fortitude, and British intelligence officers were already aware that the details they had planted of Patton’s new “army” had become well known in Germany. To add to the legitimacy of the deception, Colonel MacLeod had been named to command the northern wing of Fortitude, one more part of the show, designed to convince the Germans that while Patton would invade France at Calais, MacLeod would deliver the massive British Fourth Army into Norway. Just like Patton’s First U.S. Army Group, MacLeod’s Fourth Army didn’t really exist.

Patton moved toward the tanks, studied them, shook his head. “What are they, rubber? Looks like something at a county fair.”

The major came close again. Patton could feel the man’s annoying burst of energy. “Oh, they’re quite convincing from the air, sir. Would you care to touch one up close? They’re really not much more than large balloons.”

The word stabbed Patton. Good God, I command a field of balloons! “Inflated no doubt by a flock of your politicians.”

“Oh, yes, jolly good, sir.”

“Skip it, Major. Those trucks out there, they look more substantial. Can’t be steel. What are they, plywood?”

He didn’t wait for the response but moved into the field, the others scampering to keep up with him. He walked quickly past the tanks—couldn’t bear to look at them, poor fakes of the armor he so loved. The trucks were in a short row, others beyond, scattered; when he looked down he was surprised to see tank tracks in the soft dirt.

The annoying major was there again. “Amazing, isn’t it, sir? They thought of everything. Tracks all across the field, the illusion of constant movement. Any Jerry flying above would see those tracks, one more reason to believe these are the genuine article.”

Patton tried to ignore the major completely, saw motion along the far row of trees, a line of cows emerging. They ambled into the field, a ragged line working through the artificial trucks. Patton watched them coming. What would the Jerries think they were, armored cars? One cow stopped, moved away from the others, and Patton could see it was not a cow at all but a large bull. The major began to talk again, annoyingly cheerful, and Patton, still ignoring him, watched as the bull began to paw the ground. Patton put a hand on one of his pistols, thought, All right, Ferdinand, you decide you want to take a closer look at me, you better think again. The bull made an audible snort and lunged forward, the major suddenly aware.

“Oh, my word!”

The bull rammed into the side of a plywood truck, sheets of wood and timbers coming apart and falling all around him, the counterfeit truck now unrecognizable. Oblivious, the bull stumbled his way through the wreckage, and Patton began to laugh, high and hard, his hands resting on his pistols. “Well, now. Seems this damned army has been exposed for what it is.”

There was only a scattering of laughter behind him.

Patton laughed for a long moment, but the humor was sliding away, so he wiped a tear from one eye and looked toward MacLeod. “A mighty fine show, eh, Colonel? We’re in command of the most idiotic plan ever devised. Hell of a way to waste your career.”

The scowl returned, the humor gone completely. Patton turned away.

“I’ve had enough of this. What moron thinks anyone will be fooled by this stupidity? Tanks you can bust up with a BB gun? Empty tents? The only one deceived is that damned bull. Excuse me, gentlemen, but I’ve not known many cattle that possessed vastly superior intellect.”

He walked quickly away from the others, back toward the one solid building on the grounds, realizing MacLeod was keeping pace with him.

The colonel said in a low voice, “If I may speak with you privately, General?”

Patton stared straight ahead, would not look at the rubber tanks, the long rows of tents. He knew MacLeod to be a good man and could not just ignore him. Glancing over his shoulder, he said, “They have lunch around here, or is that fake too?”

“
T
he radio traffic out of my headquarters has been steady, and frankly, sir, we’re pretty impressed with the results. We know Jerry is listening, and there has already been one air raid against one of our transmitting stations. That was a very pleasing result, especially since no one was injured.”

Patton listened, took a bite from a sandwich, tried to find some flavor in the nondescript meat. MacLeod continued.

“We’ve been broadcasting all manner of innocuous snippets, including requisitions for cold-weather gear, ski fittings, snow boots, everything an army would need to prepare for a landing in Norway.”

Patton swallowed. “You really think it’s working, don’t you?”

“Yes, sir, I do. With all respect, sir, there is one enormous advantage in our favor. The Jerries
want
to believe this. They want to believe we are going into Norway and Calais. It makes logical strategic sense. We know Hitler has kept Norway occupied by more than a quarter million troops, and every indication is that they’re staying put. That’s a stunning accomplishment, sir, stunning. Consider if those troops were suddenly moved to Normandy, how events might be turned, the scale be tipped. They believe they have discovered our real intentions because it fits with what they want us to do. That’s why Fortitude will work. If I didn’t believe that, I would feel very much as you do. I don’t especially relish wasting what remains of my career commanding ghosts.”

Patton finished the sandwich and swirled cold coffee in his mouth. He knew MacLeod was a veteran of the First World War and had been heavily decorated, something Patton had to respect. He pointed to the man’s head. “I hear you carry some metal around with you.”

MacLeod seemed frustrated at the distraction. “Yes, sir. Steel plate in my skull. Pretty extensive actually, a rather serious wound.”

“This is a hell of a way to reward a hero. You don’t feel they’re just sticking you out to pasture?” Patton thought of the bull. “So to speak.”

“I was already out to pasture. There wasn’t much for a beat-up old soldier to do. Frankly, I thought they had forgotten about me. This assignment is an honor. If it works, it may change the entire war.”

“If it works.”

“Dammit, General!”

Patton was surprised, MacLeod showing a flash of temper. The colonel calmed himself, and Patton thought, He’s sticking up for himself. Good. He saw that MacLeod had ignored his lunch and pushed his own plate away.

“Listen, Colonel. I thought Ike brought me to England so I could kick some Kraut asses. Every day I hear promises about, yeah, well, all that will come later. First I have to stand in a field watching bulls hump phony trucks. Ike knows I should have stayed in Italy. I could have done a whole lot more at Salerno or Anzio than Clark or anyone else. So instead we’re stuck in molasses down there, getting chewed up every day because no one knows how to take a fight
to
the enemy! But I can’t bitch too much about that because I know Ike’s out on a limb for me. There’s a bunch of Brits and a few Americans who’d love to see my ass hanging in the breeze. All right, fine. I know how to follow orders, so here I am, following them. But I don’t have to like it. And I don’t. I have no idea if this plan will work.”

He paused, saw a grim angry stare on MacLeod’s face, felt suddenly scolded. Dammit, he thought, I can’t just bellyache like this, not to this man. He’s seen more combat than I have, and he’s paid a hell of a lot greater price for it. Steel in his skull, for God’s sake.

Patton looked down, a moment of quiet between them, then said, “You really think this is working, Colonel?”

“I am certain of it, sir. So far, anyway. There is always the danger that the enemy will discover the deception. A great many things can go wrong. But when is that not the case? Consider Overlord. My God, if the invasion fails, we may lose this war. I have been given an opportunity to help, and by damn, I’m helping. You have the same opportunity, sir. I should think—with all respect, sir—I should think you would show some enthusiasm for that. We’d all like to be killing Jerries, and for you anyway, that time could come. For me—well, my combat days have passed.” He paused. “Napoleon said it:
Glory is fleeting, but obscurity is forever.
I’ve had my glory on the battlefield, but I’m not ready to disappear into obscurity. This is the best war I can fight, and, forgive me, sir, but if it turns out it’s the best war
you
can fight, why not give it a go?”

“Leave it alone, Colonel. I still hate this. But we’ll make it work.”

KNUTSFORD
APRIL 25, 1944

Patton sat in silence, the car passing small farms, bare brown fields, some just planted. He could not help thinking of MacLeod. He’d been curious about the man’s wound, how the doctors knew to put steel in a man’s skull, how much, where, how it was fastened. Have to watch that sometime, he thought. Find a surgeon who will let me have a look. Hell, if he’s one of mine, I’ll just order him to let me watch. They put screws in or what? Maybe they use a regular old screwdriver. Damn strange stuff.

MacLeod had returned to Scotland, to his counterfeit headquarters beneath Edinburgh Castle. Patton had appreciated the man’s frankness. MacLeod had given him far more details about the northern half of the operation than Patton had known before. Despite MacLeod’s seriousness and his optimism, Patton still believed it was pure stupidity. This had to be a British idea, he thought. Ike going along full tilt because he loves them, thinks they know everything about fighting a war. All they’ve done so far is lose. If we hadn’t shown up, they’d still be in North Africa: Montgomery, that loud-mouthed jerk; Brooke; all of them. Ike’s crawling into bed with them, and why? Marshall tell him to? Can’t be, just can’t. Maybe it’s MacArthur. There has to be one major tug-of-war in Washington, MacArthur leaning hard on every senator he knows to get us to send everything to the Pacific. Damned stupid mistake, if that happens. So, all right, go along with the damned Brits, lick the Krauts first. Blow Hitler all to hell, and then keep the Russians from taking over Europe. God, I hate politics. There’s a hell of a lot of problems in this world that could be fixed with a couple of tank divisions. But don’t anybody ask me about that.

He stared out the window, saw children, a village, larger homes, a cluster of shops. Ike knows I scare hell out of the Germans, he thought, so they find a way to make sure I don’t actually
fight
them. Third Army, sure. I’ll believe that when it happens. If Monty gets tossed back into the ocean, the Third Army will be guarding our asses as we limp back to New Jersey. His mind wandered, absorbing the signs: a small bake shop, another beside it, a large sign that said simply SHOES. I wonder, he thought, if I’m as good as people think I am. He smiled, shook his head. Or as good as
I
think I am. Damn it all, I may never get a chance to find out.

The car was slowing to a stop. He saw a crowd, a large banner: WELCOME AMERICANS. He grimaced, had not wanted to be here at all, had turned down the official invitation to speak. But his appearance was at the special request of the Ministry of Information, and Patton appreciated the flattery. The gathering was a celebration for the opening of an official welcome station for American troops, a gesture of thanks as well as a morale booster for any units stationed in the area around Knutsford.

He leaned forward. “We late, Sergeant?”

His aide checked his watch. “Just a few minutes, sir.”

He tapped the driver on the shoulder. “Good going. But you could have gone slower still. Maybe it will take me a few minutes to get out of the damned car. Sergeant, hold up some papers or something, let’s make it look like we’re busy as hell in here. Take your damned time about it, then come around and open the door. Gotta make a good show.”

“Yes, sir.”

Patton sat back, forced himself not to look at the waiting throng, focused on his aide. You’re a good man, Alex, damned good man. I’d love to see a bar full of British drunks try to corner you. He had chosen Sergeant Alex Stiller to serve on his staff in Sicily, primarily as his bodyguard. Stiller, an unpolished and rugged stick of a man, had come through the service in Patton’s tanks. Now he traveled everywhere Patton went, whether the job was dangerous or not. Patton couldn’t help looking at the gathering civilians, saw photographers, made a silent groan, thought, What could be more dangerous than this bunch?

“Okay, Alex. Lemme at ’em.”

He waited for Stiller to open the door, took his time, stood tall, pulled at his jacket. The photographers pressed toward him, and he held up his hands.

“Hang on, boys,” he said in a loud voice, “I’m not here officially. You can’t print anything I say or do, and no pictures for the papers. You got that?”