The Steel Wave - Jeff Shaara [58]
Butcher disappeared briefly, returned with a thick wad of newspaper, scanned, shuffling the papers in his hand.
“This one says he mentions the Russians. That could be more accurate. Yep, here, again, he mentions the Russians. ‘The British and the Americans and the Russians will rule the world.’ That’s not as bad, is it, Chief?”
“Thank God for small favors. But it could still hang him. I don’t know how many Americans relish the thought of the Russians ruling the world. Damn it all! How in hell are we going to blunt this?”
He saw the young woman at the door again.
“The cable has been sent, sir.”
“Thank you, Mattie. What time is it in Washington, five A.M.? If they haven’t heard of this by now, that cable ought to wake somebody up.”
Word had crossed the ocean far more quickly than Eisenhower had imagined, and within hours the wire services had relayed Patton’s comments to newspapers all over the country. The outcry was predictable and deafening, and within hours Eisenhower received Marshall’s reply.
Like you, I have considered the matter purely on a business basis. I am weary as well, but his relentless abilities on the battlefield must be considered. The final judgment as to his usefulness to this army rests in your hands.
He put the paper down. Empty, the office seemed cavernous, the stark silence revealing the thunder in his brain. So it’s my problem? Well, I suppose that’s appropriate. If we kick Patton out the door, there is one alternative for command of the Third Army. Courtney Hodges can get the job done. I think. But he doesn’t have Patton’s experience, and, unless he’s kept it well hidden, he doesn’t have Patton’s bulldog drive. If I toss George to the wolves, it could cost us in terms that no bitching senator or newspaperman could understand. Isn’t that the priority, after all? No, George, I can’t fire you. Not yet anyway. But how many more times will this happen?
He focused, stared at the doorway, heard a burst of chatter from the offices beyond. He thought of calling out, knew that Smith was probably in his office. No, don’t just holler your brains out. Show some decorum. He reached for the black phone.
“Put General Smith on the phone.” He waited, knew he had been gruff, thought, Dammit, I can’t always be nice to people. I’m the boss, after all. He heard Smith’s voice.
“Sir?”
“Beetle, I want you to tell Patton to get his ass up here. He might not like what I have to say, but at least he’ll still have a job.”
SHAEF, BUSHEY PARK
MAY 1, 1944
“George, you have gotten yourself into a very serious fix. What the hell were you thinking?”
Patton said nothing, just kept himself at attention, helmet and pistols, a show Eisenhower didn’t need. He stared hard at Patton, saw no flinch in the man’s expression.
“I’ve told you before: You talk too damned much! You can’t just shoot off your mouth about anything you want, especially when it concerns politics. You spend too much time posing for cameras and crowds, and for reasons I do not understand, you insist on breaking out in these tantrums…at the worst possible time. Sit down! At ease, for God’s sake.”
Patton moved to the chair, eyeing him intently, Eisenhower trying to avoid Patton’s piercing stare. Finally Patton cleared his throat.
“Sir, I want you to understand that I am very well aware that your job is more important than mine. If, in trying to save me, you are hurting yourself, then throw me out.”
Eisenhower frowned. Theatrics, he thought. When was the last time he called me sir?
“Look, George, I have all the headaches this army can give me. This has nothing to do with hurting me. You’ve put me in the position of having to choose whether or not I must deprive myself of a fighting army commander! I’ve already gotten several cables about this from General Marshall. You have seriously hurt yourself at the War Department. Your permanent promotion has been put on hold, and might never be reconsidered. There’s a whole flock of people in Washington who think you’re unfit to command.