The Steel Wave - Jeff Shaara [21]
“What the hell do you want?”
Butcher looked at Smith but knew not to ask questions. He had seen too many of Eisenhower’s bad moods. “Sorry to interrupt, chief, but General Patton has been waiting for a while.”
Smith laughed. “Killed anybody yet? Old George isn’t the most patient man in this army.”
“Shut up, Beetle. Let me talk to George alone. This day is only going to get worse.”
Smith started toward the door. “Sure thing, Ike. I have to meet with some of Monty’s people in a half hour. Some bitching about gasoline.”
“Don’t tell me about it until the problem is solved.”
Eisenhower was alone now, a brief gasp of calm. He leaned his head back and stared up through the dull white of the ceiling. You know, he thought, if this ever ends, I think I’ll go grow corn in Kansas.
“I saw Bomber Harris outside. Not such a pleasant sort. Okay for a Brit.”
Eisenhower knew Patton would have plenty to say, no matter what the topic. He looked at the man’s belt and saw the two pistols. “George, why in hell are you armed? I haven’t seen a single damned German in these offices yet.”
Patton shrugged, unfazed. “Good for the men, Ike. Those guards out there, they understand. All these damned staffers, clerks, secretaries. Inspires them, lets them know what we’re about. Makes every one of them want to join the fight, find out what it really takes to win this thing.”
“Where the hell did you get the pearl handles?”
Patton seemed to inflate, his eyes wide. “Dammit, Ike, not you too! Who in hell would carry a pearl-handled revolver? Pimps in whorehouses and tinhorn gamblers! They’re ivory! The real stuff, finest around. I’d have killed the elephant myself if I had to.”
Eisenhower had no energy for this. “Wouldn’t have had to, George. He’d have rolled over at your feet for the honor of giving you the damned tusks.”
Patton calmed, stuck out his chin, and nodded. “Damn right. Some Kraut bastard sticks his head out, and I’ll show him why.”
Eisenhower looked down toward his desk drawer. Whatever you say, George, he thought. Just keep those damned things holstered for now. He reached into a drawer and pulled out a folder of papers.
“You’ve been briefed on your new assignment? Beetle fill you in?”
Patton seemed to grunt at the mention of the name, and Eisenhower knew it was one more cross he had to bear. Patton might have harsh opinions for every officer in the war, but he especially seemed to hate Bedell Smith. Patton squared himself in the chair. “I know my job. The Third Army will make you proud, Ike. I told you. I always knew if you just had faith, I’d come through.”
“You don’t make it easy.”
Patton seemed suddenly subdued, a transparent show of humility that Eisenhower saw through. He knew what was coming.
“I owe you, Ike. Always will. You stuck behind me, you and Marshall both. When I heard you had been put in command of this whole operation, I told…well, everyone. No better man. None. You’re going down as one of the best in history, better than Napoleon. The enemy hasn’t got a prayer in hell with you at the wheel. I won’t let you down, I promise you that, Ike.”
Eisenhower held up his hand. He felt buried in molasses. “Stop! Look George, just keep your mouth shut, all right? No talking to the press, no speeches, no big damned tours. And stay the hell out of hospitals.”
“Absolutely, Ike. You can count on me.”
“We’re all counting on you.” The words were useless, Eisenhower falling into Patton’s trap. Yes, we all count on everyone. We’re all one big damned football team. Rah, rah.
“Bradley’s a fine choice, Ike. First class. Always thought highly of him. He’ll come through. It’s a pleasure to be in his command.”
It was a gesture from Patton. Eisenhower looked hard at him and thought, Is it really?
“How about Monty?”
Patton sniffed, shrugged. “Monty’s okay. You’ll have to prod him though, keep on his ass. Too damned methodical for my taste. Waits until every damned duck is in a row before he moves. I could have nailed down Sicily by myself, you know, if you’d let me.”
“Knock