Eye of the Needle - Ken Follett [119]
Rundstedt swallowed a mouthful and coughed into his hand. “There are two things: one new piece of information and one new line of reasoning,” Rundstedt began. “First, the information. The latest summaries of Allied bombing in France show without doubt that their principal aim is to destroy every bridge across the river Seine. Now, if they land at Calais the Seine is irrelevant to the battle; but if they land in Normandy all our reserves have to cross the Seine to reach the zone of conflict.
“Second, the reasoning. I have given some thought to how I would invade France if I were commanding the Allied forces. My conclusion is that the first goal must be to establish a bridgehead through which men and supplies can be funneled at speed. The initial thrust must therefore come in the region of a large and capacious harbor. The natural choice is Cherbourg. Both the bombing pattern and the strategic requirements point to Normandy,” he finished. He picked up his glass and emptied it, and the footman came forward to refill it.
Jodl said, “All our intelligence points to Calais—”
“And we have just executed the head of the Abwehr as a traitor,” Hitler interrupted. “Krancke, are you convinced?”
“I am not,” the admiral said. “I too have considered how I would conduct the invasion if I were on the other side—but I have brought into the reasoning a number of factors of a nautical nature that our colleague Rundstedt may not have comprehended. I believe they will attack under cover of darkness, by moonlight, at full tide to sail over Rommel’s underwater obstacles, and away from cliffs, rocky waters, and strong currents. Normandy? Never.”
Hitler shook his head in disagreement.
Jodl then said, “There is another small piece of information I find significant. The Guards Armored Division has been transferred from the north of England to Hove, on the southeast coast, to join the First United States Army Group under General Patton. We learned this from wireless surveillance—there was a baggage mix-up en route, one unit had another’s silver cutlery, and the fools have been quarreling about it over the radio. This is a crack British division, very blue-blooded, commanded by General Sir Allen Henry Shafto Adair. I feel sure they will not be far from the center of the battle when it comes.”
Hitler’s hands moved nervously, and his face now twitched in indecision. “Generals!” he barked at them, “either I get conflicting advice, or no advice at all. I have to tell you everything—”
With characteristic boldness, Rundstedt plunged on. “My Fuehrer, you have four superb panzer divisions doing nothing here in Germany. If I am right, they will never get to Normandy in time to repel the invasion. I beg you, order them to France and put them under Rommel’s command. If we are wrong, and the invasion begins at Calais, they will at least be close enough to get into the battle at an early stage—”
“I don’t know—I don’t know!” Hitler’s eyes widened, and Rundstedt wondered if he had pushed too hard—again.
Puttkamer spoke now for the first time. “My Fuehrer, today is Sunday—”
“Well?”
“Tomorrow night the U-boat may pick up the spy. Die Nadel.”
“Ah, yes, someone I can trust.”
“Of course he can report by radio at any time, though that would be dangerous—”
Rundstedt said, “There isn’t time to postpone decisions. Both air attacks and sabotage activities have increased dramatically. The invasion may come any day.”
“I disagree,” Krancke said. “The weather conditions will not be right until early June—”
“Which is not very far away—”
“Enough,” Hitler shouted. “I have made up my mind. My panzers stay in