by Jeff Shaara
Von Rundstedt had listened to the extraordinary fantasies in stony silence, but Rommel could not let the opportunity pass, so he had repeated his darkest concerns, in one more attempt to shine reality into the Führer’s eyes. Von Rundstedt had offered support for Rommel’s plea yet again, echoing Rommel’s insistence that German forces be withdrawn to a more defensible position. But Hitler was inside his own reality. No matter the facts, and Rommel’s estimates on how the German infantry and armor might still salvage a breath of hope, the Führer was in no mood to have anyone tell him what he did not want to hear. Rommel’s final argument had not been military but political, that the Führer should at the very least consider the future of Germany. It had been the final straw. Hitler ordered him to leave the room and not return.
LA ROCHE-GUYON
JULY 3, 1944
“Sir, Marshal von Rundstedt has arrived. He has told his staff to remain behind. I believe he wishes to meet with you in private.”
“Certainly, Hans. I suspect he brings good news.”
The room emptied of staff officers, but Admiral Ruge hesitated.
“Go on, Friedrich. The old man would not come out here if he didn’t have a very good reason. I’m pretty sure I know what it is.”
“Use caution, Erwin. These are dangerous times.”
“For whom, me? Hardly. What will they do to me, send me home? The worst that can happen to me is that I am ordered not to go home until I win this war.”
Ruge did not smile at Rommel’s joke. He nodded and left the room.
Rommel heard noises in the corridor and waited, the old man appearing, moving in quickly, no formal greeting, no words at all. Rommel was surprised to see von Rundstedt’s uniform so sloppy, the man’s age too obvious: unkempt hair, dirt on his boots, tracks of mud behind him from the never-ending rain.
Von Rundstedt chose a chair close to Rommel’s desk, sat heavily, looked up at him, and said, “It seems you’ve finally gotten your wish. It’s your war now.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’ve been relieved of my command. Surely you knew that.”
“I thought we were both to be relieved.”
“Oh, no, not you, not the Desert Fox; the Little Corporal must have his heroes. I would imagine Herr Goebbels put up an argument on your behalf. They still need your name in the newspaper.” Von Rundstedt paused. “You owe a debt to Geyr, you know.”
“Geyr? Why?”
“He sent Hitler a letter, outlining much the same conditions and the same strategy you had proposed. He was pretty detailed too. I always admired that in the man. Geyr insisted we pull back to a more defensible position behind the rivers. He asked me if I would allow him to send the letter directly to Hitler, and I agreed. It was an act of courage on his part. And so he was rewarded as I was rewarded. Geyr is gone too.”
“What?”
“You heard me. The Little Corporal has pulled our boots off and sent us home. So far, we still have our lives. That could change.”
Rommel moved close to his chair but did not sit, one hand rubbed his jaw. “I did not expect—”
“Of course you did. Don’t treat me like an old fool.”
“No, truly. I knew Hitler was angry with us. He has been angry with me for longer than I can recall. He gets angry at everybody sooner or later. But he needs us. Even his idiot sycophants know we have no hope of winning this war.”
He stopped, saw von Rundstedt looking at him, a tilt of the old man’s head.
“You don’t think this war can be won, eh?”
Rommel shook his head. “Of course not. The best we can hope for is a peace that does not destroy us.”
“That’s a curious way to put it.”
Rommel sat down in his chair, no permission asked, no formality now, already accepting the old man’s lack of authority.
“I overheard a staff officer this morning, Major Jürgen,” Rommel said. “He said something I’ve heard before, in various ways: Enjoy the war, because the peace will be terrible. He didn’t know I heard him, certainly he would have held his tongue. But they know, all of them. They know what the maps say, they know what the enemy is bringing to our front. They know we will never drive the enemy out of Italy. They also know of the reports from the east. That news is more frightening to me than anything happening here. The Russians cannot be stopped. They are driving us back across Poland, they will drive us into our own territory, and then they will follow. I had hoped that Hitler would hear what I had to say, my fears of what would happen to Germany if we allow the Russians to conquer us.”
“He scolded you, did he not? Do not talk to me of politics. He does not believe anyone can save Germany but himself.”
Rommel turned in his chair and stared out the window: thick gray skies. “He told me once, Do not be concerned with peace. No one will treat with me. I understood what he meant, and I understand it now. There can be no negotiation. All our enemies have one goal, to crush him. But we must fight for more than him, for more than his insane dreams.”
“Careless words, Erwin.”
“So, you are working now for the Gestapo? You know that what I am saying is true, you have always known it. The English and the Americans have no affection for the Russians. Surely, if we could approach them with some sort of entreaty, some discussion of how the fight here can be brought to an end, perhaps they will join with us to keep the barbarians from consuming Germany.”
“Good God, Erwin. You are still an idealist. You may be the only one left. But your ideals are fairy tales. As long as Hitler is alive, no German will have authority to offer any kind of entreaty. The American leaders have made it plain that they will only accept unconditional surrender. I am very sure that those words came from Roosevelt himself.” He paused. “Erwin, you still have your command here, you still have a job to do, one duty, to obey your damned Führer. You recall the oath? I do. I signed it ten years ago on a day much like this one, rain and misery. I swear by God this holy oath, that I will render to Adolf Hitler…unconditional obedience, and I am ready as a brave soldier to risk my life at any time for this oath. Now we risk our lives just by speaking to him.”
Rommel stared down at the desk. “Yes, I recall. We all signed it. No one complained. I thought he would save Germany.”
“What do you think now? No, it’s all right. I already know, and you should watch your words carefully. But you are still a soldier. You are still pledged to unconditional obedience.” The old man paused, a small laugh. “You have never been terribly obedient to me. Now your orders will come from someone else. Perhaps you will find them more to your liking.” He reached into his pocket, pulled out a small box. “They gave me this yesterday. My reward for being fired. The Oak Leaves for the Knight’s Cross. Very nice note signed by the Little Corporal too. Written by someone else, no doubt. This morning, General Keitel called me. The Führer’s staff has apparently realized that there could be problems removing senior commanders while they are trying to fight a war. It’s as though no one thought of that before. I gave him one piece of advice. Make peace.” Von Rundstedt stood slowly, a grimace of pain on his face. “I don’t think he appreciated the irony of that.”
Rommel suddenly realized how old von Rundstedt was, the stiff joints, the haggard face. He is saying good-bye. I may never see him again.
Rommel stood as well. “What will you do now?”
Von Rundstedt steadied himself on the back of the chair. “I’m going to a spa, the facility at Bad Töelz. I have various ailments that require some attention. You should go there yourself.” He moved toward the door, then stopped and turned toward Rommel. “But not today.”
Von Rundstedt’s successor was sent to France immediately. Rommel had served with the man before, had disliked him immensely, and had no reason to believe that would change. His name was Hans von Kluge, and Hitler seemed to love the man, had long ago spoken to Rommel of von Kluge’s successes with a glowing pride, sure that this was the man who could lead the German arm
y into glorious victory. Von Kluge had served first in Poland and France, as had Rommel, but then von Kluge went east and, in Russia, he led the campaign that nearly put the German army into Moscow. But glorious or not, von Kluge could not find the means to complete the job, to destroy the Russians who confronted him. Unlike the other German generals who paid a price for their defeats in the east, von Kluge was not condemned for the failures of his army. Hitler was still a champion of von Kluge’s talents, so it was little surprise even to Rommel that von Kluge would be sent to France.
LA ROCHE-GUYON
JULY 4, 1944
“You are by nature disobedient, and you have ignored the Führer’s wishes on occasions too numerous to count! I do not care that you are a field marshal, you will learn to obey orders!”
Rommel stood taller, von Kluge’s words igniting a fire inside him, his head throbbing. Speidel stood to one side, ramrod straight, two other staff officers on the far side of the room. Von Kluge was red-faced. He took a step to one side, then turned and leaned close to Rommel.
“In Russia, we fought a real enemy. We fought an army that chose to die in a glorious charge rather than retreat. But they were too many, and we were unprepared. I have learned that lesson. And one more lesson as well. In war, men suffer and men die. But if they make mistakes, they will suffer more, and more will die! There have been too many mistakes here! For weeks I have been in conference with the Führer and his staff, and I have studied the situation. This army is a beast, kept in its cage by the unwillingness of its generals to release it! Your unwillingness! You cower in the face of the enemy’s weapons, when ours are superior! It is a mystery, but it is one I shall solve!”
“Solve how?” Rommel dropped the guise of standing at attention, any hold on his temper loosened by von Kluge’s insulting tone. “I have heard speech after speech about what we shall do to the enemy, made by men who tour stadiums and monuments but never by one who has walked in my boots! You believe that your new authority allows you the privilege of tossing aside my experience and my strategies, just because some armchair cowards in Berlin—”
Rommel stopped himself, seeing surprise on von Kluge’s face. But von Kluge recovered quickly. Rommel could see the firm jut of his jaw; the man was not backing down.
Von Kluge said in a quiet hiss, “Field Marshal von Rundstedt was dismissed because the Führer had lost confidence in his ability to carry out his duty. You do not enjoy the Führer’s complete confidence either, and you are still in command here only because of the Führer’s generosity. I am giving you excellent advice, Herr Rommel. Obey the Führer’s orders without hesitation, or you will suffer the consequences. I do not require explanations or excuses from you. I have already made arrangements to visit the front immediately, to speak directly to the infantry and armor commanders, and I will instruct them, as I will instruct you, on how we will succeed in destroying our enemy. And you shall not only obey the Führer, you shall obey me!”
“I obey orders, Field Marshal, when those orders are not suicidal to my army.”
Von Kluge seemed to explode. He waved his arms and pointed a fist toward Rommel’s face.
“You obey those orders you find to be convenient! This is not your war, Herr Rommel, to be fought in the way you see fit to engage it! You do not draw the maps, you do not position the troops, you do not plan the strategy! You have somehow survived in this command, but unless you eliminate your bad habits, I assure you, neither Berlin nor I will tolerate your lust for independence!”
Von Kluge spun on his toes and marched quickly toward the door, his aide pulling it open with perfect timing and following von Kluge out. Silence hung in the warm air, but after a long moment the room seemed to deflate. Rommel felt sweat on his forehead and in his clothes; his fists were clenched, his legs stiff.
He pointed to the aides. “Leave me.”
They seemed grateful to escape. Speidel moved to the door, waited for the others to leave, and closed the door behind them.
“How dare he say that to you! Who does he think he is, to come in here and humiliate you?”
“Quiet, Hans.”
“Sir!”
“Quiet, Hans. He thinks he’s the commander of Army Group West, and he is correct. He has come here to fix things, and it is quite obvious the High Command has convinced him that I am one of the things that requires fixing.” Rommel was still breathing heavily, and he flexed his fingers, trying to release the anger. “The most notable thing he said was that he has been in conference with the Führer’s staff. The Führer’s staff has no concept of what is happening out here, and so neither does Field Marshal von Kluge. I welcome his tour of the battle lines. He should hear of our situation as soon as possible from generals who face the enemy. I should like him to inspect our vast reserves of power and strength that those idiots in Berlin have shown him on all those fine pieces of paper.”
“But sir, he should not have shown you such disrespect! Not in front of your own staff!”
“No, he should not. But he is a strutting martinet. It is his nature to infuriate people, to embarrass and humiliate them. It is how he gains respect. I will inform him that his tirade was inappropriate. In the meantime, I must deal with conditions that are more pressing. Have Sergeant Daniel prepare the car, and call General Dietrich. I must know what is happening on his front, if the British are moving their lines in front of Caen. I shall also see Colonel Lattmann. He has reported serious shortages of artillery shells, and I must prepare a report for my new commanding officer with numbers that are reliable.”
Speidel seemed resigned to the job. “Yes, sir. Right away. But I must say, sir, if anyone were to speak to me in that manner, in front of my aides—”
“I have no doubt you would take it without comment.”
Speidel seemed to chew on Rommel’s words, still showing his anger.
“Yes,” Rommel said, “you would take it, and you would do your duty.”
LA ROCHE-GUYON
JULY 5, 1944
Rommel did not stand but watched as von Kluge paced the floor. He stared at the man’s medals, which von Kluge seemed always to wear, something Rommel had rarely done himself. To one side, Speidel held his usual pose, stared ahead obediently, none of the fury from the day before in any of them. Rommel waited patiently, his hands folded on the desk. He had already heard from four of his generals as to what kind of reports they had given von Kluge.
Von Kluge stopped pacing, faced Rommel, seemed to attempt a smile. “Field Marshal, how long have you suspected that conditions here are not what we require to defeat the enemy?”
Rommel was not surprised by the question. “The enemy made his assault on June sixth. That is the day I knew we were not prepared.”
Von Kluge nodded, paced again. “I do not believe we can hold the city of Caen. The British are very strong there, and their strength is increasing daily. Our greatest effort should be there because, if we give way, Montgomery will have open roads to Paris and possibly into Germany itself.” He paused, looked at Rommel. “You know this, don’t you?”
“Of course I know this. We cannot hold against the Americans either. They are massing for a drive into our lines near Saint-Lô. Except for Cherbourg, we have done a reasonable job of holding the enemy away from his objectives, and we have inflicted considerable loss to his forces. But we have lost far more. Without air support…without any air support, we have no chance of defeating him.”
Von Kluge moved to a chair and seemed to debate whether to sit. “I am not a friend of Reichsmarschall Göring. He can be…difficult.”
“Choose whatever words you wish. In my opinion, Göring has betrayed our efforts with perfect precision. If we had struck the enemy on his landing beaches with both armor and air power, our situation now would be decidedly different.”
Von Kluge frowned and rubbed his stomach.
“Are you ill? General Speidel can send for a doctor.” He knew he had done a poor job of hiding his sarcasm, but von Kluge seemed not t
o notice.
“No, not necessary.”
“Supper, then? We have some truly fine French beef.”
Von Kluge looked at him, puzzled, finally absorbed his words, and said, “No, perhaps later.” He took a deep breath. “You were correct, Herr Rommel. I have seen your reports to the Führer, reports that he does not believe. But those reports were accurate. The best course open to us is to withdraw our forces back east and south of the Orne River and south of the Vire. We cannot maintain a front as extensive as the one we are facing now. That part of the Fifteenth Army which remains at Calais must be brought southward, to protect from the enemy’s ability to reach into the Ruhr Valley.”
Rommel said nothing. He was surprised at von Kluge’s strange show of acceptance and impressed by his quick grasp of the battlegrounds. He might be a martinet, he thought, but he understands how to fight a war.
“So, will you advise the High Command of these things?”
Von Kluge seemed suddenly uncertain. “Of course. But you already have. As did von Rundstedt.”
“Don’t forget Geyr. Never liked the man, but he occasionally understood how to use his tanks.”
Von Kluge absorbed the sarcasm, nodding slowly. “Allow me, Herr Rommel, to withdraw my complaints against you. My criticism was unwarranted.” He seemed embarrassed, moved quickly to the door. “I am still establishing my staff and my headquarters. I shall not be as far from the situation as von Rundstedt. But there is much to do. Good evening.”
Von Kluge’s bootsteps faded away in the corridor. In the silence, Speidel closed the door, looking at Rommel with open-mouthed surprise.
Rommel said, “I dislike him less today.”
“He apologized to you.”
“Yes, he did. That took courage. The question is, What does he tell Hitler? Our Führer has a short fuse these days, so von Kluge has a problem if he wants to keep his new command. Do we fight the war we are fighting now, or do we fight the war we must fight to preserve our country?”