The Steel Wave (63 page)

Eisenhower still felt awkward.

Tedder seemed to sense it and said, “Bradley’s operation could be the tonic everyone needs. Monty’s cheering him on like he’s America’s last great hero. He knows that if Bradley breaks through, the enemy in front of Monty will probably dissolve away. Not sure I agree with that. Rommel’s too smart to let himself get surrounded.”

“I wish I knew what Rommel was thinking. We know Hitler keeps telling everyone to hold every inch of ground. If Rommel had his way, they’d already be back behind the Seine, with enough armor in place to keep us here for years. He probably wishes Hitler would drop those damned V-1s on our troops instead of London shopkeepers.”

“I respect Rommel as much as you do, Ike. No matter what Ultra tells us, there’s a lot more going on than we’re hearing about. If Hitler has some new secret weapon, Rommel’s job might be just to hold us in place as long as he can. He’s done a pretty good job of that so far.”

Eisenhower shook his head. “No, Rommel’s job is to win. He hasn’t been able to do that, and every day we’re stronger. You’re right, there has to be more going on than we’ll ever know about. But I’m a lot more worried about our operations right here. I’m pushing Brad as hard as I’m pushing Monty, and Patton’s bouncing off the walls of his HQ, wondering how hard he can push
me.
The newspapers think the war should have ended yesterday, and Churchill wants it to end tomorrow. What about you? What can I do to make
you
happy?”

Tedder slipped the pipe into his shirt pocket and smiled. “Right now, you can take a nap. Bradley and Monty have every wheel in motion. Churchill is home. And Rommel…I’m guessing Rommel has problems enough of his own.”

38. ROMMEL

LA ROCHE-GUYON
JULY 15, 1944

R
ommel waited patiently while von Kluge read his letter. To one side, Speidel watched, seeming far more nervous than Rommel himself. Von Kluge stopped reading, glanced at Speidel, and said, “You approve of this, of course.”

Speidel stiffened at the question. “Yes, Field Marshal. Most emphatically.”

“Your loyalty to Marshal Rommel is a virtue. The Führer would agree with that, whether or not he agrees with…
this.
”

Von Kluge continued to read, and the words echoed through Rommel’s mind, words he had written in the frustrating urgency of trying yet again to convince Hitler that the war was not the Führer’s private board game.

The situation in Normandy is growing worse every day and is now approaching a grave crisis…. Our casualties are so high that the fighting power of our divisions is rapidly diminishing.

Von Kluge looked up from the paper, eyes wide. “Are these numbers truly accurate? We have suffered ninety-seven thousand casualties, and the replacements—”

“The replacements total ten thousand, as of today, and many of those have either not yet reached the front or are not fit for combat. We have lost at least two hundred twenty-five tanks, and for those I have seen seventeen replacements.”

“My God.”

Von Kluge returned to the paper, his frown deepening.

The newly arrived infantry…are in no state to make a lengthy stand against major enemy attacks…. Supply conditions are so bad that only the barest essentials can be brought to the front. These conditions are unlikely to improve, as enemy action is steadily reducing the transport capacity available….

On the enemy’s side, fresh forces and great quantities of war matériel are flowing into his front every day. His supplies are undisturbed by our air force. In these circumstances we must expect that in the foreseeable future the enemy will succeed in breaking through our thin front…and thrusting deep into France. The unequal struggle is approaching its end. It is urgently necessary for the proper conclusion to be drawn from this situation.

Von Kluge lowered the paper. “What would you have me do?”

“Endorse my signature and allow me to send this to Hitler. Jodl and Keitel will ignore anything that comes only from me, but they cannot ignore you.”

Von Kluge began his routine; the slow pace, stared at the floor. “It could be the end for both of us.”

Rommel felt himself rising in the chair. “The end is already here! There is no exaggeration in that letter, none of what those idiots refer to as my mindless defeatism! Those numbers are real, the description of conditions here is accurate! My predictions for the outcome of this absurd drama are entirely correct!”

Von Kluge stopped, looked at the letter again. “I know that. Calm yourself.”

Rommel lowered himself into the chair again, sagged, and watched as von Kluge placed the letter on the desk. Von Kluge stepped back, seeming to weigh the obvious, and Speidel moved forward silently, already prepared with a pen.

Rommel nodded toward him, and Speidel said, “If you require a pen, sir.”

Von Kluge did not look at him, took the pen, bent close to the letter, scratched quickly. Rommel felt a brief burst of energy, a small glimmer of gratefulness. The man has some spine, he thought. Von Kluge picked up the letter and said to Speidel, “You will courier this to the Führer today. He should see both signatures.”

“Yes, sir.”

Rommel nodded again to Speidel, who took the letter and made a quick silent exit. Von Kluge moved to a chair. He did not sit but leaned one arm down on the back, supporting himself.

“Thank you,” Rommel said.

“It should not be like this. It should
never
have been like this. You should have been given the tools.”

“Were we ever given the tools? Did you have everything you required at Moscow?”

Von Kluge shook his head. “I will not discuss the past. Our duty now is to preserve this army and strike the enemy where it will do him the most harm.”

“He will strike us first. I am motoring out to see General Eberbach, and I will confer as well with General Dietrich. The armor is strong at Caen, and that must still be our priority.”

Von Kluge looked toward one wall, draped with a map. “You still believe we should defend the city, try to regain what they have taken from us?”

“I am not concerned with buildings. The city is lost, but the infantry has been pulling back slowly, and we are hurting the British with every step. That is more valuable than how many street corners we control. We still hold the south bank of the river, and we must prevent Montgomery from cutting through our position there and driving farther inland. I must be certain that Eberbach knows that.”

Von Kluge nodded, looked again at Rommel. “He should know what he has to do. I knew him well in Russia. Fine officer.”

Rommel shrugged. “He was ordered to replace Geyr. I had nothing to say about that. The High Command still does not believe I am capable of exercising command over the panzer group. If you say he is a good man, I shall offer him the chance to prove it. He must keep Montgomery from breaking through.”

“He will. If he has the tools.”

“He has Dietrich and he has Meyer.”

Von Kluge pulled his jacket tight, a signal he was preparing to leave. Rommel saw age in the man’s face: Sixty, I guess, he thought. Looks older today.

Von Kluge looked at Rommel with tired blue eyes. “He also has you.”

Rommel was suddenly uncomfortable, avoided the compliment, heard weakness in von Kluge’s words. He glanced at the papers on his desk. “Our best hope is that the Americans delay. If we are fortunate, they do not know our precise weaknesses there, the thinness of our lines. That entire front is difficult ground, and it is our best advantage. But they are coming as well. It is only a matter of time.”

Von Kluge seemed preoccupied and nodded slowly. “I will travel up that way as quickly as I can, speak to Hausser. Perhaps you should do the same.”

“My first priority is Eberbach, the armor at Caen.”

Von Kluge moved absently toward the door, his mind somewhere else. He gathered himself and pulled again on the jacket, finding control, the good show for the staff outside. He looked back at Rommel, a silent stare, then said, “Go to Eberbach. Drive some steel into him. Into all of them. It is…all we can do.”

NEAR LIVAROT, SOUTHEAST OF CAEN
JULY 17, 1944

The defenses near the river were strong, the panzer commanders digging in south and east of Caen for the inevitable push they knew Montgomery was preparing. The generals had been upbeat, confident; new reports gathered from the claims of captured soldiers suggested that the British and Canadians who faced them were rapidly losing their will to fight. Rommel paid little attention to that kind of optimism. He had heard too much talk from enemy prisoners before, men whose war had ended with their hands in the air. It was common for prisoners on both sides to speak of the collapse of morale in their army, as though it justified their own failure to fight to the death. But Rommel knew too much of Montgomery, knew the Allied commanders were pushing their men through the streets of Caen, massing them close on the north side of the Orne River. They had one intention, and it had nothing to do with surrender.

Rommel rode in a large open-topped Mercedes, the glass windscreens fully raised around him as protection from the dust of the primitive roads. Captain Lang was in his usual perch in the front seat, with Sergeant Daniel at the wheel. There were two other aides as well, one a fierce-looking corporal named Holke, whose sole duty was to keep watch on the skies behind them for any sign of enemy aircraft. The car bounced and tossed from the miserable necessity of keeping to the farm lanes and side roads. Rommel had a firm grip on the door beside him, glancing out through the glass at thick patches of trees and the occasional encampment, artillery supply depots mostly bare of anything but empty crates and guns in need of repair.

He had not yet received any response to his letter to the Führer. The question rolled through his mind. Had the letter produced a flurry of activity around a furious Hitler, his staff officers making the hurried effort to choose a successor for Rommel’s command? They could remove von Kluge as well, he thought. But surely Hitler would see that as utter foolishness. The man was chosen to replace von Rundstedt because he was a good man for the job. Hitler knows von Kluge is capable and effective and loyal. If they replace him, it will be pure stupidity, the manic scampering of so many blind mice. And then what? Rommel knew how so many of these decisions were made. Each of Hitler’s armchair generals would have his own favorite. Jodl will suggest someone, offer Hitler that same moronic seriousness, his oh-so-very-earnest advice that
this
new man will not only do the job, he will not complain, not like the misfit Rommel. Who would that be? Hausser, perhaps. Papa Hausser. He’s older than von Kluge, but he might be the best man for the job. I wonder if Dollmann would have been considered, one more of Hitler’s
good choices.

Rommel had named the aging veteran Paul Hausser to replace Friedrich Dollmann at the head of Rommel’s Seventh Army. Dollmann had been elderly as well, in his mid-sixties, a tall, elegant man who had done as much as anyone could to prevent the enemy’s success on the Normandy beaches. As the Allies increased their pressure and drove inland, those failures had taken a toll on Dollmann that Rommel did not expect. Word had come that the old man had died after suffering a heart attack, but Dollmann’s staff officers had finally revealed the truth: General Friedrich Dollmann had committed suicide. It was an unnerving piece of news and few would speak of it, even now. What good is loyalty if you don’t have the stomach for a hard fight? Suicide is just another form of desertion.

Rommel pushed the thoughts away and focused on von Kluge, still grateful for von Kluge’s endorsement of his letter to Hitler. He came here expecting glory, Rommel thought, the grand reward for his good service. Now he has put his neck on the chopping block alongside mine. I should not forget that. Hitler certainly won’t.

The car turned down a narrow lane, a white gravel road so common in the farm country. Rommel glanced at his watch: After four, he thought. We should reach La Roche-Guyon by dark. I need to speak to Speidel about the artillery—

“Aircraft! Behind us!” The voice was Holke’s.

Lang did not hesitate, shouting to Sergeant Daniel, “Quickly! Those trees up ahead! Turn in behind them!”

The car surged forward. Rommel twisted in his seat, saw two planes coming toward them, fast and low over the distant trees. He felt cold in his chest, began to duck, but there was no time; his eyes were frozen on the nearer plane, the screaming roar of the engine, bursts of smoke from the wings. Streaks of fire hit the rear of the car with punching force: a fiery explosion. Rommel tried to lean over but the glass shattered beside him, a blast that blew hard into his face and neck. The car swerved, and Rommel tried to hold tight, grabbed at the man beside him, but the pain was ripping through his head, and he felt wetness in his eyes, blindness, heard the roar of the planes swirling above him, the echoing shouts of his men. The car swerved, a sudden jolt, rolling on its side, and Rommel was falling, landing hard on his face and arm. He gasped into dirt, tried to cough, but there was no air, no sight, and now the sounds were gone, darkness, his brain carrying him to some silent place very far away.

C
aptain Lang and Corporal Holke escaped from the wreckage and kept Rommel and Sergeant Daniel in hiding until another staff car rolled past. Still unconscious, the two men were carried to the village of Livarot, but there was no facility, no adequate place for the wounds to be treated. Desperate, German officers transported them to a larger town nearby, Bernay, where the Germans had a field hospital. The officers who carried them expected the worst, reacting with sickness and tears to the bloody wounds to Rommel’s head, a cracked skull and shattered cheekbone, wounds every man thought to be mortal. Though Rommel remained unconscious, the doctors at the field hospital were able to stabilize him. But their other patient was in far worse condition. Within an hour, Sergeant Daniel was dead.

Word was quickly sent to the senior commanders and to La RocheGuyon, where Hans Speidel received the message with a soft cry of hopelessness.