To the Last Man - Jeff Shaara [198]
Harbord returned, held out a newspaper, said, “This arrived this morning, sir. I was about to bring it to you.”
Harbord held up the paper, and Pershing saw it was The New York Times, with the headline:
British and French Smash Through Wide German Front
North of Ypres: All Haig’s Objectives Gained
He sat back in his chair, felt a hard lump in his chest, stared at the paper. He read the details, saw one inaccuracy after another, the reporter perfectly mimicking Haig’s public pronouncements, what Pershing knew now to be an obscene disregard for what was really happening to the British forces at Ypres.
“You’re quite correct, Colonel. The press is telling the American people that everything is just rosy over here. How can I expect the War Department to listen to me, when The New York Times tells them the war is nearly won? All they hear from me are demands, something that would require the clerks and bureaucrats to actually go to work!”
He had run out of energy, realized there was nothing for any of them to say. “You gentlemen have things to do. Might as well get to it.”
“Sir.”
“Yes, sir.”
They began to file out, and Pershing said, “Colonel Rockenbach. A moment. Captain Patton as well.” The two men returned, and Pershing pointed to the chairs against one wall. “Sit down.” The men obeyed, and Pershing saw the usual impatient curiosity on Patton’s face. “Colonel, the French have given us assurances that they will eventually provide a sufficient number of their Renault light tanks so that we may proceed with the formal training of our own tank corps. As you know, I should like you to command that department, and work to coordinate the efforts of that training with the organization of the rest of the AEF. Your most valuable skills are administrative, and that is no insult. I hope you do not take it as such.”
Rockenbach said, “Certainly not, sir. I am flattered.”
“There are considerable responsibilities involved in coordinating with the French on this, and there is no reason to believe you will be spared the usual bumps in the road. You will continue to serve as a member of my staff, though your responsibility will include what I expect to become a fully operational schooling program for tank operators and personnel.”
“Of course, sir.”
Pershing looked at Patton, saw the young man staring at him with wide, expectant eyes. “Captain, you know how much I value your performance as chief of the trucking and auto pool. I am also aware that you hope to transfer from that duty to something more, um . . . adventurous?”
Patton straightened his back, said, “Oh, certainly not, sir. I would never suggest that I was not pleased with my assignment.”
“You command a squad of mechanics and a fleet of trucks, Captain. There is no shame in hoping for something with a little more . . . flare. I am well aware that you are hoping to move a bit closer to the action. I believe I’ve found a suitable position. Colonel Rockenbach, I am assigning Captain Patton to you as second in command of the Tank Corps, with the specific duty as chief of the Tank School. Colonel, you will run the overall program. Captain, you will teach our people how to run the damned tanks.”
NOVEMBER 20, 1917
The British army had gone as far through the mud of Flanders as even the optimistic Haig could claim, and to the desperate relief of the British, Canadian and Anzac troops, the third Battle of Ypres was brought to a close. But Haig was not content to allow his army to settle into the inevitability of winter. The energy for yet one more attack had come from General Julian Byng, the man who had commanded the rescue of the Anzacs after their harrowing disaster at Gallipoli in 1915. Since his return to the Western Front, Byng had become an outspoken advocate for the use of tanks, as the one effective means of ending the strategic stalemate. Haig’s failure to make