The Steel Wave - Jeff Shaara [30]
Von Rundstedt sat up straight now, a hard frown on his face. “Enough of your demands, and enough complaining. You are the one who speaks to the sympathies of the little corporal. Speak to him now. I can get nowhere. You have been given more than anyone else in my command, and I do not hear such complaining from the others.”
Rommel felt the old rage returning; he could never keep it hidden for long. “Perhaps it is because no one else is facing an enemy invasion.”
“How do you know that? How do you know where they will come, or when, or even if? There are no intelligence reports I am aware of that reveal any plans to attack Holland or Calais or Normandy or Brittany.”
“There are no intelligence reports because there is no intelligence.”
Von Rundstedt slapped the table. “You will stop this!”
Rommel leaned back in his chair. There were boundaries he could not cross with the old man.
“Erwin, there is considerable discontent among your subordinates. Several of your generals are critical of how hard you are working the men.”
“Salmuth.” Rommel felt his stomach tighten.
“Well, perhaps, but there are others.”
Rommel had heard the griping before, and was suddenly furious that von Salmuth had gone over his head. Hans von Salmuth commanded the Fifteenth Army. Along with the Seventh, it comprised the bulk of Rommel’s troops. Von Rundstedt continued.
“General von Salmuth is one of those who believes you are asking too much of the men, that by employing so many soldiers as construction workers you will exhaust them. Should there be an invasion, the army might be too worn out to resist it. The officers are often working as hard as their men.”
Rommel stood suddenly, fighting to control his temper. Von Rundstedt seemed to know he had primed the explosion.
“I have already had this discussion with General von Salmuth. I will have it again, if necessary. I work the men too hard? Perhaps, sir, you should go out in the field yourself and look at these men. We have entire regiments made up of prisoners of war, foreigners who now fight for us so they do not have to go to a prison camp. Russians!”
“They are not prisoners, Erwin, they are refugees. They are grateful to be fighting against our shared enemies.”
“In Russia, perhaps! Any Russian soldier worth a rifle should have the opportunity to turn that rifle against the communists. But here? Who is their enemy here? What will happen when we ask them to face the guns of the Americans and die for us? How much loyalty will they show for our Führer?”
There was no answer from von Rundstedt. Rommel continued.
“The Western Front has become one enormous recuperation center. I have entire divisions that are at half strength, bled down by the fighting in the east, and so they are sent here to rest and refit, although refit with what, I do not know. Now, we must tell them to conclude their pleasant seaside vacation and prepare to fight again, this time against the Americans. How many fights do these men have left?”
“You have merely repeated the complaints of your generals, Erwin. Why must you work these men so hard?”
“Because if we do not, if our Führer’s mythical Atlantic Wall is not reinforced and strengthened and made as invincible as the German people have been led to believe, this war is over right now. We have one hope: to meet an attack with a more powerful attack of our own. Keep the enemy on the beaches and prevent him from establishing a landing.”
Von Rundstedt held up his hands. “Stop it. I have heard too much of this from you. Every other commander here believes we can trap the Allies into a landing that will serve us perfectly. We have the mobility to move panzer divisions as quickly