The Normandy Club

by Bill Walker

  “Like a damn fool,” Denise said, flying into his arms. She kissed him. “You be careful, you hear?”

  Jack nodded. “I will.”

  Jack watched Harry escort Denise out the door, his body trembling with nervous energy.

  Now came the tough part. Straightening his uniform, Jack walked out into the main office, profoundly relieved to find it empty. As he suspected, with the briefing occurring, they rated only the one lone guard. Too many important people about to worry about two prisoners who weren’t going anywhere. He grabbed the guard’s M1 Carbine and walked out. Taking the stairs, he marched nonchalantly up to the first floor and spotted a contingent of ten MPs marching up the next flight. He fell in behind them, hardly believing his luck. They were leading him right to the classroom. The good feeling died as quickly as it had come when he saw the sandy-haired lieutenant waiting outside the door.

  Simmons.

  What could he do except keep walking towards his doom? If he peeled off, he’d attract attention to himself. If he got too close to Simmons, it would all be over. Fortunately, the man looked down at a clipboard and spoke. Taking no chances, Jack positioned himself behind a particularly beefy soldier. Simmons looked up, scanning the MPs.

  “All right, men, listen up. Two of you will be stationed outside. Once the meeting has started, no one is to enter or leave until the specified break times. Is that clear?”

  “Yes, sir.” The response was in unison.

  “Good. Haskell and Leavitt, you guys get the door. The rest of you deploy yourselves every ten feet around the top rim of the seats.”

  “Sir?”

  “Yes, Connors?”

  “What about latrine breaks?”

  The rest of the group began to chuckle.

  “All right. All right, you guys, knock it off. Those of you inside may do so one at a time after signaling the others. Make it subtle—a touch to your helmet brim.

  “Haskell and Leavitt will have to hold it until the scheduled breaks.”

  Jack saw the expressions on the two men fall as they took their positions. He managed to avert his face when he passed Simmons.

  Shaped like an amphitheatre, the room sloped upward like a large bowl with hard wooden step-like seats ending about eight feet from the ceiling. They were stained a deep walnut like the rest of the wood in the room and looked aged and worn smooth by countless derrieres over the years. He climbed them to take his position, and noticed a few initials carved here and there. It appeared students were the same everywhere.

  The most imposing aspect of the room had nothing whatsoever to do with its architecture. Near the front row of seats lay one of the most impressive dioramas Jack had ever seen. Measuring twenty-five feet in length, it rested at an angle, tilted so the spectators could get a view of the proceedings. It took Jack’s breath away. In every exacting detail lay a perfect model of the Normandy coast complete with all of the German fortifications.

  “You!”

  Jack turned to the source of the voice, suddenly nervous. He saw one of the MPs, a sergeant, beckoning to him. “Let’s not lollygag. Take the far position,” he said, pointing to the opposite wall. From there he would be able to watch Kruger’s every move.

  “Yes, sergeant,” Jack said, taking the steps two at a time.

  He watched the other MPs and imitated their rigid stance, their carbines at port arms. Just as he got into position, the door swung open and history walked in. First through the door was Montgomery, nattily turned out in custom-tailored battle dress. He was followed by Kruger. Jack’s knuckles turned white as he gripped the gun.

  One shot.

  One quick shot and Kruger was done for. Jack made himself relax, knowing it would be sheer suicide to make any such move. Montgomery took a position behind the huge diorama while Kruger sat in one of the front-row seats. Curiously, he opened his briefcase and took out a steno pad and pencil. Jack’s attention wavered when he caught sight of the next group entering the room. They were various generals and top brass. Among them Jack recognized Generals Hap Arnold and Carl Spaatz of the USAAF, General Walter Bedell-Smith, and General Omar Bradley. The few he did not recognize were British. All of them sat with their aides in the first few rows.

  Jack’s heart beat faster when he spotted Eisenhower enter the room. As always, the general beamed that warm smile of his, greeting everyone and shaking hands. Churchill appeared next, his bulldog face swathed in wreaths of pungent cigar smoke. With great purpose, he strode into the room, pausing only to gaze at the great three-dimensional map of Normandy. He puffed his cigar, nodded his approval, and took a seat.

  “His Majesty, the king,” a voice rang out.

  Everyone stood as King George VI glided into the room, looking regal and somewhat preoccupied. He nodded and his subjects bowed. The Americans looked a little uncomfortable, not sure whether to bow or offer their hands. As if sensing this, the king held out his hands to Eisenhower and the others.

  Somewhere on the campus a bell chimed, prompting Jack to glance at the wall clock.

  0900 hours.

  “If you will all take your seats, please,” Montgomery said, pointing to the gallery, “it’s time to begin.”

  Everyone stopped talking and quietly sat. Montgomery nodded to the two guards at the door.

  “Right. Lock the doors. No one in or out until my orders.”

  The two beefy MPs saluted and swung the double doors shut. The bolt shot, echoing through the silent room. In spite of the windows, the whole room had a dark, gloomy feel that even the lights couldn’t dispel. Jack shivered from a draft through one of the windows. God only knew when Kruger would make his move, but he was here and ready. Montgomery cleared his throat and began his introductory remarks.

  “Very good. Your Majesty, Prime Minister, fellow officers and esteemed Allies. We are here to rehearse and finalize plans for the greatest amphibious assault in modern times. In no way can we—”

  Montgomery stopped in mid-sentence as a terrible pounding began on the doors. Churchill puffed on his cigar, his eyes betraying a hint of amusement. The others began murmuring. The pounding increased and Montgomery nodded to one of the MPs near the door.

  “Open it,” he said.

  The MP ran over and relayed the order through the door. Immediately, the doors swung open, revealing General George S. Patton resplendent in his jodhpur trousers, olive drab, Eisenhower jacket, and his pearl-handled .357 magnums. His spotlessly shined riding boots clacked across the hardwood floors. He carried his four-starred helmet liner under one arm and a riding crop in the other. His steely-blue eyes shone bright with the promise of conflict. He smiled, appearing to relish his moment of theatre.

  “Starting without me, Monty?” he said, his jaunty, high-pitched voice filling the room.

  A scowl flashed across Montgomery’s face. It was no secret that Montgomery and Patton disliked each other intensely. He never let the flamboyant American general forget that it was he, along with Eisenhower, who held the cards to Overlord. Given the ignominious role of commanding the false armies of Fortitude, Patton had surprised everyone by diving into the deception with undisguised glee. Now, he would command the Third Army to come in behind the invasion force.

  Montgomery smiled and waved him to an empty seat and began again.

  “Now that we are all here, may I present General Dwight D. Eisenhower.” With that, Eisenhower rose and walked to a spot in front of the diorama and stared for a moment at all the faces in front of him.

  “We are here on the eve of a great battle to deliver to you the various plans made by the different Force Commanders. I would emphasize but one thing,” he said, pausing for effect, “that I consider it the duty of anyone who sees a flaw in this plan not to hesitate to say so. I have no sympathy with anyone, whatever his station, who will not brook criticism. We are here to get the best possible results, and you must make a really cooperative effort.”

  All through Eisenhower’s remarks, Jack kept his eyes riveted on Kruge
r. The man appeared intent on taking notes, and from the speed he wrote, it had to be shorthand. After Eisenhower, Bradley and two others spoke and then the briefing began in earnest. With two officers as helpers, Montgomery explained how the US First Army would land at both Utah and Omaha beaches, while the combined British 50th, 3rd, and Canadian 3rd Infantry Divisions would simultaneously assault Gold, Juno, and Sword Beaches. In all, over thirty-five miles of beachhead.

  As the day wore on, the models of landing craft and ships were shifted around on the board as plans were revealed and sometimes modified.

  “As you can see,” Montgomery said, “this plan requires a robust mentality on all who will execute it. We cannot falter.”

  “Excuse me, General.”

  Everyone’s eyes turned to Churchill, who had lit a fresh cigar. “At Anzio, we put ashore one hundred sixty thousand men and over twenty-five thousand vehicles and advanced twelve miles in one day. Certainly, we can afford the risk here. We must, I pray.”

  Montgomery nodded soberly.

  “Quite right, sir. Rommel is the man we must reckon with. I have studied the man and his tactics quite thoroughly. I believe I know the measure of the man.”

  “What about Hitler?”

  “What? Who said that?” Montgomery asked.

  Jack stared in disbelief as he saw Kruger raise his hand. The man either had brass balls or was crazier than he thought.

  Montgomery appeared both annoyed and pleased.

  “Yes, Lieutenant?”

  Kruger stood, the steno pad now resting on his seat. “Begging the general’s pardon, but my question is this. What if Hitler moves the Fifteenth Army?”

  Montgomery stared at his new aide, trying to figure out what his game was.

  Kruger continued. “From the intelligence, it is well-known that Rommel believes the invasion will come in Normandy, while Hitler believes it will be Calais. What happens if the man changes his mind?”

  “Then, my dear boy,” Montgomery intoned, “we are all up the creek.”

  Denise stared at the pencil sitting on the table, sweat popping out on her brow. She’d been trying for hours to move the damn thing without so much as a quiver. Never. Never again was she going to take a drink, at least not until all this was over, and certainly not that awful Guinness. There had to be something about that particular brew that made her system go haywire. After all, she’d had wine during her training, and Chessman had never objected, nor had anything happened. Then again, she’d never gotten stinking drunk either. She stood up and began pacing. Her feet made the floorboards squeak in a rhythmic cadence that soon drove poor Harry to distraction.

  “Blimey! Will you stop that bloody pacing,” he said, burying his face in a pillow.

  He lay on the rumpled bed in the tiny room above the Roundhead Tavern, watching Denise become more and more agitated.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, chewing her nails. With nothing else to do, she went back to the table and resumed her duel with the stubborn pencil.

  “Give it a rest, love. You’ll drive yourself bloomin’ loony.”

  “I can’t!”

  “Look, Jack’s a big boy. He’ll do fine. Give him a chance!”

  Denise turned, her eyes blazing. “Are you psychic now? Can you see the future? If not, then shut up!”

  “Christ. Who made you bloody Queen Victoria? I may not go around walking through walls and popping into strange places, but I can think. If there were trouble, Simmons and his goon squad would have come for us by now.”

  Denise clamped her jaws together and stared out the window. Maybe Harry was right. Maybe it was all going to be okay. Then she remembered Kruger, and the knot in her stomach twisted anew.

  “What time is it?”

  Harry sighed. “Five minutes since the last time, love.”

  Denise strode over and grabbed his wrist.

  The watch read 1225.

  “We’re going back,” she said.

  “WHAT!”

  “I said we’re going back. You deaf?”

  “No. Are you crackers? We can’t go back there. Simmons will crucify us.”

  “Maybe. Then again, if we ‘pop’ into his ‘bloody’ office, he might listen this time.”

  “You can’t even move that bloody pencil.”

  Denise scowled. “We’ll see about that!”

  She returned to her seat at the table and forced herself to relax. Breathing evenly, she stared at the pencil and said, “MOVE!”

  As if rocket propelled, the pencil flew off the table and rammed itself into the wall about six inches from Harry’s head. His eyes widened, a mixture of awe and terror.

  Denise leapt to her feet, pumping her fist into the air. “Yes, yes, YES!” She ran over to Harry, pulled him to his feet, and danced him around the room. “I’m back, I’m back, I’m back,” she sang, giggling hysterically.

  “Let me go, you’re making me bloody dizzy!” Harry yelled. Denise let go of him and watched Harry wobble back to the bed.

  She stifled a giggle. “I’m sorry, Harry. Are you all right?”

  “Well, aside from the fact that you almost took me head off with that pencil, I’m right as rain.”

  “Good enough to take a little trip?”

  Harry’s eyes bulged.

  “Oh, no,” Harry said, leaping off the bed and shrinking into the corner. “You’re not scrambling up me atoms!”

  She grabbed his hand. “Sorry, Harry, Jack needs us,” she said. A moment later, the room flashed blue and they both disappeared.

  The room smelled of cigar smoke, making Kruger want to retch. He continued to take down all the words spoken but ceased to be interested in the proceedings. Yet another commander, this one a Canadian, went on and on about his armies’ landings on Sword Beach. All the jargon and detail began to blur in his mind. Glancing at the wall clock, he saw that it was nearly 1230 hours.

  Time to move.

  In a little more than one hour, they would break for lunch, and by then the room would be a raging inferno consuming all who now resided within. He would be safe in Germany. Putting down his pad, Kruger sauntered over to Montgomery, who bent his head to listen.

  “Excuse me, sir, but I need to use the facilities.”

  Montgomery nodded without speaking. Careful not to disturb the Canadian general’s monologue, Kruger padded to the main door and knocked softly. He could hear the bolt scraping as it moved. The door cracked open and the MP stared at him, his eyes devoid of curiosity.

  “Toilet,” Kruger said.

  The MP snapped his head forward in assent and pushed the door open to allow Kruger to slip out. The bolt slid home immediately. Not looking back, Kruger strode down the hall and ducked into the bathroom for a brief moment. Sticking his head out the door, he crept back toward the classroom, all the while watching to see if the MPs would turn their heads and see him. But the big, beefy automatons stood rigid with their exaggerated sense of duty. When he reached the classroom next to the briefing room, he ducked into the doorway’s alcove. Now he could not be seen unless someone stood directly opposite. He grabbed the handle and turned. The door remained closed. Only momentarily annoyed, Kruger closed his eyes and began to chant. Then he stopped himself. Transporting here would attract attention. Reaching into his pocket, he removed a small set of lock picks and made quick work of the ancient tumblers. The door creaked slightly and swung open. Kruger froze. Did someone hear? The noise had sounded like the crack of doom in the cavernous hallway. But no one came running. There were no shouts of alarm. Nothing.

  Relieved, he slipped inside. The classroom was about half the size of the briefing room next door. The wall it shared with the briefing room was paneled in dark mahogany about waist high. From there to the ceiling was ancient plaster, now cracked and yellowed in a few spots. Behind that plaster, he knew there were stout support beams that, once blasted by the Semtex, would transform into thousands of lethal projectiles.

  Working quickly, he tore open his tunic and pulled
out his shirt. Underneath was a large money belt. Each of its six compartments held a portion of the plastic explosive, totaling nearly eight pounds, as well as three detonators and the digital timer. Stripping it off, he ripped open the pouches and pulled out the plastique and molded them into rough conical shapes. They would be placed on the walls and joined together. The timer would trigger these first, blowing the wall into the briefing room. The final, larger blast would send a powerful concussive wave that would kill anyone else left alive and bring down the roof on their heads. Chuckling to himself, Kruger picked up the two shaped charges and began looking for the perfect spot to place them.

  Lieutenant Simmons put down the report he’d been reading and glanced at his watch.

  1224.

  Damn. He’d been so absorbed in paperwork that he’d forgotten to call down to the brig and check on the prisoners. After the briefing was safely over, he intended to sort all this mess out. He grabbed the phone and immediately heard the switchboard operator.

  “Put me through to Patterson.”

  “Right away, sir.”

  The phone rang and rang.

  Simmons scowled. The goldbricker was sleeping again. He would see to putting the man on report personally if anything was amiss. He slammed down the phone and reached for his cap. When he stood, the pressure in the room dropped, making him feel dizzy and slightly sick to his stomach. Reeling, he collapsed in his chair. He watched, overcome with nausea, as the room took on a hazy glow. A moment later he heard a large hum and an electrical crackle. Instantly, the room filled with light and his ears roared as the air snapped. When his eyes cleared, he saw Denise Malloy and Harry Gordon standing in front of him. Harry plopped into a chair, trembling, totally forgetting about military etiquette. Denise remained where she stood, defiant. For a moment, Simmons sat rooted to his chair, a stupid look of surprise on his face.

  “Didn’t your mother tell you it’s not polite to stare?”

  “My God,” he croaked. “You... you...”