The Steel Wave - Jeff Shaara [55]
He paused, saw a grim angry stare on MacLeod’s face, felt suddenly scolded. Dammit, he thought, I can’t just bellyache like this, not to this man. He’s seen more combat than I have, and he’s paid a hell of a lot greater price for it. Steel in his skull, for God’s sake.
Patton looked down, a moment of quiet between them, then said, “You really think this is working, Colonel?”
“I am certain of it, sir. So far, anyway. There is always the danger that the enemy will discover the deception. A great many things can go wrong. But when is that not the case? Consider Overlord. My God, if the invasion fails, we may lose this war. I have been given an opportunity to help, and by damn, I’m helping. You have the same opportunity, sir. I should think—with all respect, sir—I should think you would show some enthusiasm for that. We’d all like to be killing Jerries, and for you anyway, that time could come. For me—well, my combat days have passed.” He paused. “Napoleon said it: Glory is fleeting, but obscurity is forever. I’ve had my glory on the battlefield, but I’m not ready to disappear into obscurity. This is the best war I can fight, and, forgive me, sir, but if it turns out it’s the best war you can fight, why not give it a go?”
“Leave it alone, Colonel. I still hate this. But we’ll make it work.”
KNUTSFORD
APRIL 25, 1944
Patton sat in silence, the car passing small farms, bare brown fields, some just planted. He could not help thinking of MacLeod. He’d been curious about the man’s wound, how the doctors knew to put steel in a man’s skull, how much, where, how it was fastened. Have to watch that sometime, he thought. Find a surgeon who will let me have a look. Hell, if he’s one of mine, I’ll just order him to let me watch. They put screws in or what? Maybe they use a regular old screwdriver. Damn strange stuff.
MacLeod had returned to Scotland, to his counterfeit headquarters beneath Edinburgh Castle. Patton had appreciated the man’s frankness. MacLeod had given him far more details about the northern half of the operation than Patton had known before. Despite MacLeod’s seriousness and his optimism, Patton still believed it was pure stupidity. This had to be a British idea, he thought. Ike going along full tilt because he loves them, thinks they know everything about fighting a war. All they’ve done so far is lose. If we hadn’t shown up, they’d still be in North Africa: Montgomery, that loud-mouthed jerk; Brooke; all of them. Ike’s crawling into bed with them, and why? Marshall tell him to? Can’t be, just can’t. Maybe it’s MacArthur. There has to be one major tug-of-war in Washington, MacArthur leaning hard on every senator he knows to get us to send everything to the Pacific. Damned stupid mistake, if that happens. So, all right, go along with the damned Brits, lick the Krauts first. Blow Hitler all to hell, and then keep the Russians from taking over Europe. God, I hate politics. There’s a hell of a lot of problems in this world that could be fixed with a couple of tank divisions. But don’t anybody ask me about that.
He stared out the window, saw children, a village, larger homes, a cluster of shops. Ike knows I scare hell out of the Germans, he thought, so they find a way to make sure I don’t actually fight them. Third Army, sure. I’ll believe that when it happens. If Monty gets tossed back into the ocean, the Third Army will be guarding our asses as we limp back to New Jersey. His mind wandered, absorbing the signs: a small bake shop, another beside it, a large sign that said simply SHOES. I wonder, he thought, if I’m as good as people think I am. He smiled, shook his head. Or as good as I think I am. Damn it all, I may never get a chance to find out.
The car was slowing to a stop. He saw a crowd, a large banner: WELCOME AMERICANS. He grimaced, had not wanted to be here at all, had turned down the official invitation to speak. But his appearance was at the special request of the Ministry of Information, and Patton appreciated the flattery. The gathering was a celebration for the opening of an official welcome station