The Steel Wave (54 page)

“Go! My chef has prepared something, I am certain of it.”

Rommel waited for more, some sign that Hitler intended to speak to him privately. But Hitler ignored him and stared at the map, rocking on his heels, his hands clasped behind his back, the pencils still clicking. He had not paid any attention to von Rundstedt at all.

“Come, lunch awaits,” von Rundstedt said. “We shall resume this afterward.”

Hitler turned abruptly and marched out of the room. Rommel waited still for some kind of instruction, some hint that this meeting might have actual meaning.

Von Rundstedt moved closer to him. “Lunch,” he replied.

They moved through thick wet walls, stale air, and climbed a short flight of steps. The mess was brighter, a hint of warmth, but there was no sun, the room lit by a row of lightbulbs. On all sides they were held in by thick wet concrete; Rommel saw guards manning machine guns along a parapet high up on three sides of them. The table had been set, servants scurrying quickly, under the deadly gaze of a colonel, a particularly fierce-looking man Rommel knew as Stürtz.

Hitler sat himself quickly, the others tentative, the usual custom. No one would presume to sit at Hitler’s right hand, the chair often left vacant. Several chairs away from Hitler, Rommel watched the routine he had seen before. Hitler’s plate appeared, a mix of overcooked vegetables, surrounded by a dozen pills of various shapes and colors and, alongside the plate, four small sherry glasses, each one filled with various shades of dark liquid. Rommel thought of the pungent odor of Hitler’s breath and rolled the word around in his mind:
medicine.
Alongside the plates of the others, wineglasses sat empty, ashtrays conspicuously absent. It was another custom. Hitler allowed no one to smoke in the presence of his food, and no officer would dare to risk any sign of alcohol impairment.

A man stepped forward, familiar to Rommel: Hitler’s doctor. The man leaned low beside Hitler, a fork in his hand, scooped a piece of something yellow from Hitler’s plate, and tasted it. He seemed to enjoy the ritual. He made a pronounced swallow and then stood back, keeping a mothering stare on Hitler’s back. Hitler ignored him, but Jodl and the other members of Hitler’s staff watched the man, as though expecting some horrible result. Rommel couldn’t help glancing at Speidel, saw his own chief of staff looking purposefully at the empty plate in front of him, avoiding the doctor altogether. Rommel felt uneasy now, thought, What do you know, Hans? He looked again at the doctor, who kept his pose.

Hitler seemed to know how long to wait, then leaned over close to his plate and scooped up a handful of food with his right hand. He kept his face close to the plate, stuffed the food into his mouth in audible slurps, and then repeated the motion. Around the room, food appeared, plates of meat and more vegetables set on the table, Hitler’s staff officers helping themselves with as much silence as they could muster. Rommel did the same, stabbed a piece of dark brown beef, dropped it on his plate, then studied a bowl of what seemed to be peas, a dull green mass of paste. Settle for the beef, he thought. Hitler sat upright, looked at the others, motioned with his left hand, said something in a full-mouthed mumble. He leaned low again, his right hand scooping more of the mushy food into his mouth. It was the signal the others seemed to wait for, and they began to eat as well. Rommel pushed the piece of meat around the plate and felt a wave of sickness at the hopelessness of the exercise. This is the man our army is dying for.

“My Führer,” Rommel said, “if you will allow me to add to what I said earlier—”

Hitler glared at him, food on his chin, and shook his head. “Enjoy your meal, Field Marshal.” Hitler sat up now, ignored the napkin, his spirits suddenly changing, a broad smile. “Have you heard about our new weapons? It is a glorious triumph for us. We shall destroy any will to fight that the English still possess.”

“Yes, we have heard,” von Rundstedt said. “The launchers are in our command sector.”

“Ah, yes, of course. It is our greatest achievement of the war! Launch a bomb into the sky, and the enemy has no way to stop it, no way to know where it will come down. Total surprise! Devastating! It is truly a wonder. It is our scientists who will win this war. I have no doubt of that.”

Rommel watched von Rundstedt eating his meal, the old man not commenting at all now. Fine. Someone has to say something.

“My Führer, would it not be of some benefit to direct such weapons onto the enemy troops? It could be a most effective way to damage their supply system, their support. The shock value could be very effective in turning his morale to our favor.”

Hitler sat back from the table. “Are you familiar with General Heinemann of the Artillery Command? He has earned our respect for his study of the best use of the V-1. General Heinemann says that because the V-1 has a random target radius of fifteen kilometers, we cannot choose a precise target. Launching this weapon toward enemy troops would offer no guarantee that any targets would be hit, and there is a danger they could harm our own people. However, when launched against a large city, such randomness is the perfect advantage. There will most certainly be targets hit! That is the genius of it!”

“But why target civilians? We attempted to do that once before, and it did not drive the British out of the war.”

Rommel stopped, saw an open mouth on Jodl, knew he had trodden dangerously. But Hitler seemed unaffected and strangely cheerful still.

“Do not concern me with such musings. Your responsibility is the battlefield. The V-1 is a masterful weapon that is perfect for destroying the will of a people to support their army. I should thoroughly enjoy observing Herr Churchill’s face as the bombs fly over his head. The uncertainty, the fear. That is how wars are won!”

The doctor leaned close and said something in Hitler’s ear, and Hitler reached for one of the small glasses and drank one of the concoctions, his face twisting in response.

“I am not certain we can prevent the enemy from cutting the Cotentin Peninsula,” Rommel said. “Perhaps the V-1 could be used to hold back his push in that sector. Precision is not as critical in that kind of tactic.”

Hitler shook his head. “The peninsula itself is not my concern. Our priority is Cherbourg. We shall pick the best man possible for the job and place him in that city with instructions for the garrison there to hold to the last. It is already a fortress, Field Marshal, a mighty wall against which the enemy shall bash out his brains. If we deny him Cherbourg, he will have no way to support his army in the field. We shall starve him. All we require is that Cherbourg remain in our hands for another month or two.”

“My Führer, the enemy is resupplying himself now, on the very beaches where he made his landings. Perhaps I can convince you to come to the front with me, to make an inspection yourself. The morale of the men would be enormously bolstered by your presence. Marshal von Rundstedt and I assure your safety, and you can see for yourself the conditions our men must confront and what the enemy is bringing to this fight.”

Hitler seemed amused by the suggestion and glanced at Jodl, who smiled in turn. Then he looked at Rommel again.

“I am well aware of conditions in your front. Be clear about this. I know your concerns about the enemy’s air superiority. I promise you, Field Marshal, we will soon have available many times more aircraft than we have had before. Our factories are concentrating precisely on those tools that you require. There has been increased production of Tiger tanks and long-range artillery pieces. In a few short weeks, these weapons will begin to arrive in your sector. The navy is now engaged in a plan to greatly expand our minefields off the French coastline, with special attention to the port at Cherbourg. We will soon begin a significant operation to drive away or destroy those battleships which concern you so. I assure you that such things will greatly bolster the army’s morale. I also assure you that once the might of our scientists and our factories is put into line against the starving enemy, you and I will have no further need of these discussions.”

MARGIVAL, NEAR SOISSONS
JUNE 18, 1944

It had come well before dawn, a thunderous blast that could only be a bomb. The impact had shaken the bunker itself, and Rommel had sat up in his bed, staring into darkness, waiting for more. But there had only been the single blast, and very soon guards had come, Hitler’s staff officers spreading the word, no cause for alarm, no one injured. Then the explanation reached the bunker, furious apologies pouring in from launch sites to the west. It had been an accident, an errant V-1 whose gyroscope had likely been faulty. As Rommel dressed, a guard had come to him with an unsealed note from Hitler. The note had been brief, to the point, and entirely expected.

You will hold fast to every square meter of soil.

But for now there would be no more meetings about the matter, no more of the discussions that so annoyed the Führer. The guard relayed word that Hitler had gone, well before dawn, shortly after the bomb had exploded.

Rommel had waited for daylight, and after a brief farewell to von Rundstedt, had boarded his own car with Speidel, for the trip back to La Roche-Guyon. As his car bounced slowly past blasted bridges and pockmarked countryside, Rommel absorbed the obvious: The stray V-1 had done what his own generals would not dare to do, awakened Hitler from his drugged sleep. But Rommel knew as well that the timing of the Führer’s departure was not coincidence. As his car finally rolled into the grounds of his palatial headquarters, Rommel understood with perfect clarity that the Führer had no stomach for the sounds of war. He would never choose to visit the front, would never
see
the condition of his withering army, would never bother to gaze upon the fantasy of his mighty Atlantic Wall.

33. ADAMS

JUNE 17, 1944

A
s the American push across the base of the Cotentin Peninsula continued, many of the German forces who had so brutally confronted the paratroopers seemed to give up the fight, even hard-core regulars realizing that, with their backs against the wall of ocean behind them, their priority should be to preserve themselves. The German divisions that had faced the Eighty-second Airborne had for the most part been decimated, their commands dissolving under the increasing pressure of American infantry, artillery, and air assaults. With the inevitability of the American advance to the western seacoast, some of the Germans escaped southward, withdrawing deeper into France. Despite Hitler’s absurd demand that his troops yield no ground, the generals under Rommel’s command accepted the reality of their situation. Many of those units who had survived continuous combat with the Americans were ordered northward, to add their numbers to the garrison at Cherbourg.

The American advance toward the port city was inevitable to the men on both sides, and Adams had wondered about it: how strong the city was, how heavy the fortifications and the weaponry, how many men held the place. But the paratroopers were still facing a challenge in front of them, the last remnants of the German efforts to keep the Americans away from the crossroads at Saint-Sauveur-le-Vicomte. Before anyone could think about Cherbourg, they first had to complete the punch westward to the sea.

The 507th had driven close to the town, but now Matthew Ridgway had ordered the 505th to make the final assault. On their right flank, infantry, the American Ninth Division, would add to the punch. The Ninth, under Major General Manton Eddy, brought the experience of Sicily and the swagger they had earned. Though their advance was predictably more aggressive than that of the poorly trained Ninetieth, some units of the Ninth were populated by a great many replacements, new arrivals from the States, who had not yet seen combat. As had happened to the Ninetieth, units of the Ninth bogged down, reacting badly to German firepower. Despite the Ninth’s swagger, the Eighty-second Airborne would continue to be the spearhead.

EAST OF SAINT-SAUVEUR-LE-VICOMTE
JUNE 17, 1944

They were moving slowly through hilly grasslands when Adams saw Scofield give a quick wave, the order to lie low. He looked back toward his own men, saw them obeying, and knelt, his head just above the grass, saw nothing in front, flattened out himself. He was breathing heavily, coughed, the dust from the grass in his lungs. Good hills. Like Sicily. Hard for us to be seen. He looked toward the place Scofield had dropped; Okay, we’re gonna talk about this. Adams began to crawl, his own men staying put. Good, he thought, catch your breath. He pushed forward on his elbows, cradling the Thompson, saw boots, toes up, Scofield, lying on his back.

“Hey, Captain! You asleep?”

Scofield raised his head and peered at Adams from beneath the rim of his helmet. “Smart mouth, Sergeant. You’re not running this show yet. Corporal Coleman has a radio, got a call from Company C that the Krauts have mortars all over the place beyond that next draw. Not sure what they’re waiting for. Anybody in a tree could see us. Might be saving their ammo. I’d rather stay in this grass than go marching in a parade. Problem with that?”

Adams shook his head. “Not a one, sir.”

That’s why he’s the captain, he thought. The veterans had learned to hate mortars, knew that the only hint of a mortar attack came from a distant
thump
that most of the men wouldn’t hear. Then the shells would come in a high arc, no sound, none of the whistle or whine of the artillery, the shells suddenly dropping in your lap. The mortars could be anywhere, a hundred yards away or half a mile, a single bush hiding the crew.

“Hey, Captain, how about we keep moving?”

“Yep. We’ve had enough rest.” Scofield was up on his elbows. “Lieutenant Feeney! Sergeant Tobin! Corporal Coleman!”

“Sir!”

“Here, sir!”

The men moved close, pushing through the grass; Adams saw Coleman, crawling with the radio on his back.

When they were within feet of Scofield, the captain said, “On my order, double-time to that draw in front of us, move down, find cover wherever we can. There could be Krauts anywhere, so hit the ground hard if anybody starts shooting.”