Armageddon_ A Novel of Berlin - Leon Uris [23]
Greenberg smiled slightly. “My father was smart enough to get out of Germany before Hitler took power. However, it was never far enough back for a Jew in Germany. Anti-Semitism is not a later-day phenomenon. It has been going on for a thousand years, Major.”
“Then it must give you a vicarious thrill knowing Germany is being dismembered by the bombing raids.”
“The same vicarious thrill it gives you, Major. We are both Americans.”
“Do you have any pleasant recollections of Germany?”
“Of course. I spent my childhood there, became a young man there.”
“What language do your parents speak at home?”
“German.”
“What kind of punishment do you feel the Nazis should receive?”
“That is in your province. I am an engineer. I deal in mathematics.”
Sean liked Greenberg, liked his thick skin and deliberate attitude. Yet, there was something about Greenberg he could not put his finger on. Something about him that said there was still a lot of German in the man. Was this so strange? After all, nearly one fifth of the American population is of German ancestry and emigration. And what of his own father? Still Irish to the core of his soul. Despite Greenberg’s facade Sean believed there was a love-hate duel within him.
There was one key man missing from the pilot team. Someone with practical experience in government. From the records, Captain Maurice Duquesne of the Free French Forces had all the obvious qualifications. He was an elected official of an area similar in size to Rombaden/Romstein; sous-préfet of an arrondissement of the Department of Belfort, Province of Lorraine. Duquesne had lived on the German border, opposite the Black Forest, and spoke impeccable German.
But he was arrogant and from the instant of meeting let Sean know the American was a Johnny-come-lately. France knew how to handle Germany. Americans knew nothing.
The decision on Duquesne was his most difficult. Obviously the Frenchman believed he should command his own team. Yet, despite trouble signs, Sean could not let him go.
Sean remembered the first time he saw General Hansen and sized him up as a foul-mouthed, sawed-off blowhard. He learned bit by bit that Hansen was neither crass nor stupid. Hansen had the thing he lacked—experience. There was much to be learned from the man.
Duquesne had practical government experience. Through day to day intercourse he knew more about the Germans than Sean’s scholastic theorizing from a distance of thousands of miles.
He gambled with Maurice Duquesne.
There were others on the pilot team—Americans and British and French. With Blessing’s enlisted man’s police force and the clerks and medics, he brought fifty officers and men back to Queen Mother’s Gate.
General Hansen reasoned that Sean had a good team on paper, but, next to Dante Arosa, Sean was the youngest officer. Could he gain the respect of the older and wiser men? Would he be able to breathe life and fire into the plaster models of Rombaden? Could he change complacency into the spirit of a mission?
Hansen’s doubts soon faded. Sean attacked Rombaden/ Romstein with a zeal that turned the pilot-team studies into something of a crusade.
Even the arrogant Maurice Duquesne showed traces of respect for the energy of the man and called a truce. For now, Major O’Sullivan was a dynamo, but these maps and questions and problems in theory were far removed from the field of battle. Duquesne knew that most battle plans go awry when the first shot is fired, and he reserved his final judgment for that day....
The pilot team was knitted into an exclusive, proud unit. Sean O’Sullivan had mastered a page from Andrew Jackson Hansen’s textbook. He was able to muster uncommon loyalty from his men by letting a man know he was needed. At the same time he let him know he could do without him also.
Chapter Eleven
SEAN ENTERED HANSEN’S OFFICE. Nellie Bradbury and Henry Pringle sat chalky-faced on the big leather couch. Hansen’s expressive face was wrinkled in pain.
Sean’s palms became wet and his throat caked dry. Oh God! I’m dreaming! Sean tried again and