The Steel Wave - Jeff Shaara [67]
All the men were standing, obligatory respect. Churchill said nothing and moved toward a chair, dead center in the front row, seemed impatient for King George to make his way down the aisle. Eisenhower had met with the king on several occasions, had been surprised at first that George was so personable, a calm soft-spoken man who showed obvious respect for the officers who had earned their rank.
“Good morning, General,” the king said. “Quite exciting, this, wouldn’t you say?”
“Your Majesty. Welcome. I would hope we can save the excitement for the enemy.”
“Ah, yes, good one, that! I quite agree!”
Eisenhower saw Churchill watching them, the king moving that way now, a brief greeting between them. The king was ushered to the centermost seat, the seat Churchill had seemed to choose for himself; Churchill sat one seat away, leaving a gap between him and his monarch. Churchill had not removed the cigar from his mouth, and Eisenhower looked away, thought, What now? More intrigue? Some spat between them? Is everyone in this damned war twelve years old? He scanned the faces throughout the room, and scolded himself. Stop that. You have a job to do, and so do they. As long as everyone knows that, nothing else matters.
The front row was filling quickly, the arrival of the king the signal for everyone to find a seat. Eisenhower nodded to more familiar faces: the South African, Field Marshal Smuts; the British chief of staff, Lord Brooke; so many generals, admirals, air commanders. He felt a stir inside him. Good God, he thought. Hell of a time for the Krauts to make a lucky air strike. I hope word has gone out to the antiaircraft boys to pay a little more attention today.
The talk quieted. Up on the stage, Montgomery pointed toward the back of the room. “Security, you will lock the door and man your posts outside. As of now, no one may enter.”
At the rear of the room, two American military policemen stood tall in white helmets, white holsters holding their sidearms. Eisenhower knew they had been chosen for the job for one reason: They were both huge men, enormously intimidating. They obeyed Montgomery’s order with silent precision, exited through the door, pulled it shut. Montgomery looked toward Eisenhower, who would give the first presentation, but Eisenhower knew he would have to wait for Montgomery’s own formal greeting, offering as host a show of ceremony that he was entitled to. Montgomery moved across the stage.
“I wish to welcome Your Majesty to these proceedings. Mr. Prime Minister—” There was a loud banging on the door, and Montgomery stopped, clearly annoyed. “What in blazes…?”
Eisenhower rose, saw heads turning toward the back of the room, saw the door open with a loud clatter, a white-helmeted MP staring in, silently apologetic. Eisenhower thought, Who the hell would be late? An officer strode past the MP, silver helmet glistening, moving quickly down the aisle, silently finding a seat. It was Patton.
All eyes were on Eisenhower. He glanced at the king, who looked up at him with a benevolent smile, Churchill as well watching him with polite expectation. I’m not an orator, dammit. Don’t look at me like I’m supposed to win the war on this stage. He glanced toward Montgomery, Bradley, Tedder, more faces, the division and corps commanders, naval officers, and airmen. There were no glimpses of the derision he had heard so much about, no one showing hints of their discontent either with Eisenhower’s style or with his orders. It was there, of course, too many annoying reports of sneers and insults from some of these same men, spewed about in back rooms. No matter how much I insist we work together, we are two different people. No matter what I say or how much cooperation we’ve worked for, we can still spit at each other like alley cats.
But the faces that watched him showed none of that now, every man in the room seeming to recognize why they were there and how important the briefings would be. He drew energy from that, could feel a sense of cooperation, the backbiting and rivalry suspended, at