The Steel Wave - Jeff Shaara [32]
By God, it did not have to be! We were winning this war, should have won it two years ago! But we squandered away the victory, on…what? Russia? Yes, surely. One mistake among so many. Hitler surrounds himself with imbeciles, men who make him feel good because he controls them so completely.
He kicked through the snow, moved away from the animal tracks, saw smoke above the trees, the fireplace warming his home. He pushed hard at the thoughts, the doubts, the cracks in his armor. If we had crushed the Russians, truly crushed them, what would we have won? No, that cannot be a question for soldiers, not for this soldier, anyway. I have one job to do, and if I am stubborn about it—well, perhaps I will get the job completed.
He had a flash of light in his brain and thought of the fields in the bocage, the hedgerow country, where aircraft barriers had been installed. He smiled, enjoying the description from the troops: Rommel’s asparagus. Fine, if that inspires you, make all the jokes you want. But his mind would not rest. Even here, in the soft snow above his home, he could not escape the vision of those fields. Aerial reconnaissance over England had revealed the existence of gliders, and the clarity of that information had energized him even more. Rommel had begun to consider how to confront an airborne assault. Ideas blossomed in his mind as to how the poles could be made more effective. Of course, I should have thought of this in the beginning. The posts should be tied together, cable perhaps, steel wire. Every open field could become a spiderweb, destroying any craft that tries to land there. Deadly for paratroopers too. And install mines on those posts, or small artillery shells, detonating on impact, just like the beach obstacles. Tie the whole thing together, one giant bomb…
He forced his mind to quiet. Yes, another request, send me thousands of artillery shells, so that I may attach them to fence posts in open fields. One more reason for them to dismiss my concerns. I cannot get them to send me artillery pieces, why should I expect them to send shells? He had already suffered the infuriating bafflement from Berlin about the beach barriers, all the variety of methods he had devised to disrupt an invasion. Even von Rundstedt didn’t understand. The old man had questioned him why others before him had not suggested such plans, constructing barricades in the sand, mined poles, steel hedgehogs. Von Rundstedt had answered his own question with an observation that perhaps it was because, before Rommel, no one had ever thought of doing this before. The idea seemed to amuse von Rundstedt, but to Rommel it was only one more frustration and produced yet another question in his own mind. Why? Why had no one ever thought to protect the beaches, to prevent a landing instead of responding to one?
He was walking quickly, energized by the idea, lists of materials forming in his mind, numbers he would add to the pile of notes on his desk. He stepped down through the snowy trees, breathing hard, saw the house in front of him—and in front there was a car, unfamiliar. He kept moving, shook his head; he had no patience for visitors now. Damn. Can they not leave me alone? He studied the car, long and black, civilian. He tried to recall his schedule. Have I forgotten about some appointment? Well, we shall see.
The man stood, a hat in one hand, and to one side Manfred was standing too, the boy’s uniform starched, his back straight. Rommel knew the civilian well.
“Dr. Strölin! I did not expect—”
The man held up his hands. “I apologize deeply, Field Marshal. I have a matter of some importance to discuss with you, and I only learned yesterday that you had come home. I hope you do not mind; I have been conversing with your son. He is already quite the soldier, I hear.”
Rommel was distracted for a moment. “Yes, Luftwaffe Auxiliary. He was inducted only a few months