The Steel Wave - Jeff Shaara [29]
Though all these mixed commands fell under von Rundstedt’s umbrella, the old man himself seemed unwilling to keep a tight grip on any of his subordinates. It was a curse Rommel had suffered through in North Africa: divided authority, boundaries determined by the forces of personality and politics and ego, with little regard for sound military strategy. Rommel knew this had cost the Germans the North African campaign, and it certainly led to continuing disaster in Russia.
Throughout all the frustrations of the diluted authority, Rommel still had Hitler’s ear, had been instructed to report directly to Hitler if there were concerns Rommel felt an urgent need to address. Whether von Rundstedt resented the obvious slight, he showed little concern, one more sign that the old man was merely biding his time until he finally slipped into retirement.
Rommel had always had a strange and unpredictable connection to Hitler. Despite the failures in North Africa, Hitler still seemed willing to refer to Rommel as Germany’s great warrior, and the Propaganda Ministry was well aware that the German people still regarded Rommel as a genuine hero. Since the defeat in North Africa, Rommel had been very much the outcast in Berlin and had fallen completely out of Hitler’s favor, but now the bruised relationship seemed to be healing. Rommel had seen that the Führer’s grasp of the reality of the war was shaky at best. Hitler had personally given Rommel assurances that the Atlantic Wall had become a high priority. Within a few short weeks, Rommel knew better.
“Have you completed your inspections?” von Rundstedt asked.
“I have inspected most of the entire coastline, from Copenhagen to the Pyrenees. I thought you might have read my reports.”
Von Rundstedt didn’t flinch at Rommel’s barb, but there was a silent pause. Rommel regretted the small indiscretion and glanced around the room, unable to avoid the opulent luxury, artwork and antique furniture in every corner. Von Rundstedt had planted himself in a château that bristled with finery, too close to Paris, too close to distractions that would tempt anyone to lose focus on his priorities. Rommel had always been disgusted by this spectacle, and though he found von Rundstedt to be charming and generally pleasant to be around, it was one more reason why he knew the old man was simply wrong for the job.
“So, what are your recommendations?” von Rundstedt said.
Rommel swallowed the word, had already made too many recommendations. He had notes in his pocket, brought them always to any meeting with von Rundstedt, prepared always to answer the question.
“Besides the numerous requests I have made for barbed wire, steel posts, and concrete, I have now determined that we require as many as twenty million land mines. In time I should like that number increased ten times.”
Von Rundstedt laughed. “Two hundred million land mines? Ah, yes, I understand. You request a ridiculous number, hoping you might get what you really want. But really, Erwin, twenty million? Do you expect anyone in Berlin to take you seriously?”
“I expect you to take me seriously. We must create a coastal barrier no army can cross. And we require much more. I have already begun to install aircraft barriers to the west, in the bocage country in Normandy, tall posts in a random pattern in the open fields. Any airborne units attempting to land will be broken to pieces.”
“Ah, yes. Rommelspargel, Rommel’s asparagus. I have heard talk, of course. Quite amusing, actually.”
“I do not find it amusing at all. When the Allies come, they will come with enormous strength, including quite probably airborne landings. They have learned from their failures and their successes.