The Steel Wave - Jeff Shaara [49]
He sat back in the chair, his eyes closed for a moment. Dammit, I am only a soldier. He blinked hard, looked again at Speidel, the man seeming to avoid his gaze, the shuffle of paper continuing. Rommel could not stop the questions in his mind. How many are you? Who shares these conversations? How many are generals? He thought of von Rundstedt and his ever-ready insult, the little corporal. Is he a part of this? He was growing angry at himself now. Enough of this. He wanted so much to know more but could not ask, pushed hard against the questions, fought for words, something to ease his own tension. He could not avoid a feeling of affection for Speidel; he was more comfortable with him than he had ever been with any subordinate before.
His fingers stopped their nervous dance, and after a long moment he said, “Tell me, Hans, what will you do? When all this is over.”
Speidel tilted his head to one side, eyeing Rommel. “I would like to teach, I suppose. I love history, you know that, sir.”
“Yes, of course. You would be good at it. I hope you have the opportunity.”
“If I may ask, sir…what about you? This war will end, and perhaps there will be the opportunity for you to do many things for Germany in the peacetime.”
Rommel rubbed the dull pain in his side, forgotten for a moment but always there. He pondered Speidel’s word, peacetime. It seemed odd, foreign. Was there ever peace? Well, of course, for twenty years. Rommel stared down, searching his mind for flickers of memories. It is so hard to recall anything from those days, he thought. Two entire decades when there was no war. Everything is now. He stared toward the window, saw nothing beyond the glass, his mind beginning to flood with thoughts of Lucie, his son, their home, the hills, hard winters and snow, and then spring and flowers. He was suddenly homesick, a throbbing ache in his brain. God, how I miss it all, he thought, holding her, walking in the gardens….
“Sir, are you all right? Forgive me, but you concern me. If you wish to be alone, we can go through these numbers later. Perhaps you should take a walk. The rain is not so bad. I can summon the bodyguards.”
Rommel focused, pleased by Speidel’s concern.
“You are…how old?”
“Forty-seven, sir.”
“Yes, that’s right. Plenty of time for you. Make good use of it, Hans.”
“You as well, sir. We are not so different in age.”
Rommel stood again, moved toward the window. “We shall see. I’m not certain there would be a place for me…in that world.”
Speidel said nothing, and Rommel stared outside, a loud voice in his brain. What is wrong with you? Get control of yourself. There is no room for this kind of self-pity, for moaning about your future. There is no past either, no usefulness in pondering what used to be. What there is…is now. He took a long breath, looked at Speidel, ignored the schoolmaster’s glasses.
“We have work to do. When is Guderian coming?”
“He should arrive early this evening. General Geyr will accompany him, of course.”
“Of course. Geyr would not miss any opportunity to drive his inane strategies down anyone’s throat, even Guderian’s.”
Rommel put his hands up, felt the cool of the window glass. “I have no choice, do I? I must plead my case one more time. Heinz Guderian is a good man, one of the best in the army at understanding tactics. He invented the blitzkrieg, for God’s sake. Every success of our panzers belongs to his ingenuity. I should not have to convince him that I am right.”
“It will not be like that, sir. Surely.”
“Why not? And tell me, Hans, why