Chapter Two

Ike looked out at the perfect blue sky of a summer's day and watched a squadron of P-47 Thunderbolts streak toward some unseen target.

"Good luck, boys," he said quietly. "Go get 'em."

The P-47s were more than up to the task, carrying up to 2500 pounds of high explosives in the form of bombs and rockets. Each plane was armed with eight Browning M-2 machine guns, four on each wing, that delivered 800 rounds a minute on targets below. A single plane was almost as destructive as an entire infantry division.

Out the window, the squadron looked no more threatening than a flock of birds in the sky.

It was a hell of a thing, Ike thought, to sit around headquarters, studying maps and looking out the window, not to mention endlessly chain-smoking cigarettes, while young American men fought and died. Ike would not have admitted it out loud, but he also thought with regret of the young German men who were also dying. He saw these German soldiers and the Wehrmacht itself as an adversary, but not really as an enemy — it was Hitler and the rest of his henchmen for whom Ike reserved his real enmity.

General Dwight D. Eisenhower, Supreme Commander of Allied Forces in Europe, was equal parts politician and general. He had to be, because his job involved juggling American leaders and touchy British leaders. The Brits had defeated Napoleon, after all, back in 1812, so they seemed to feel this gave them the expertise to win all over again in Europe. Then there were the Canadians — not terribly demanding, and good soldiers — and the Polish forces, eager for their pound of German flesh. Most difficult of all were the French.

Ah, yes, the French. Some of Ike’s colleagues couldn’t believe that they had the audacity to want their country back after years of Nazi occupation. The thought made him smile. The trouble was that there were various factions vying for power. They couldn't seem to agree on the future of France.

The Americans and British were backing General Charles de Gaulle, who for all his difficult nature, had a clear vision of a democratic France that aligned with the American and British worldview. Unfortunately, much of the French resistance was controlled by Communists who, on the brink of ousting the Germans, seemed ready to welcome the Soviets with open arms.

The Russians were supposed to be allies, but Ike did not like the thought of liberating Europe from one despot, only to have him replaced by the likes of Stalin.

Ike sighed and stepped away from the window. He turned back to the endless maps and ringing phones.

"Sir, General Patton is on the phone for you. He says he wants to—"

"Tell the general I will call him back."

He didn't have the energy for Patton right now.

Ike lit another cigarette to gather his thoughts. It wasn't quite noon, and he had already smoked a pack. These days, he lived off cigarettes, coffee, and hot dogs. In the evenings, he allowed himself two fingers of bourbon. Sometimes he watched a movie or played cards with Kay Summersby, the pretty young Irish WAC who had started out as his driver and become something more. Nobody was supposed to know that she was his mistress, but it may have been the worst-kept secret at headquarters. Ike was amazed that an entire invasion had been planned in secret, but an affair was impossible to keep quiet. From the strained tone of Mimi Eisenhower's letters, it was clear that the rumors must have reached his wife's ears back home.

The general decided that he would have to deal with that situation when the time came. At the moment, he had a war to win.

The arrival of July put Ike in mind not just of Independence Day, but also of Pickett's Charge at Gettysburg. As a student of military history and of the American Civil War, Ike had stood on that ground at Seminary Ridge and looked across that vast field the Confederates had crossed on July 3, 1863.

In hindsight, the decision by Confederate General Robert E. Lee to attack the Union position seemed like sheer folly. One Browning machine gun could very well have held off Pickett's entire division. Any general who attempted a similar frontal — suicidal — attack today would be swiftly relieved of command, if not sent before a court martial. The Russians seemed to be the only ones who regularly went in for such madness.

Of course, there had been no machine guns at Gettysburg. Ike understood Confederate General Robert E. Lee's vision — or perhaps it was better described as a hope. One desperate gamble, one grand gesture, and the war might be won or lost in a single July afternoon.

Unfortunately, the war in France was not so simple. For starters, there was not one field to cross, but countless ones.

July had come and gone without any version of Pickett's charge. It was now August, and everyone knew that the battle for France was entering its end game.

As a cadet at West Point, Ike had been a pretty good football player. The battle for France was in the last quarter.

On June 6, Allied forces had come ashore on D Day. Operation Overlord had required months of planning and subterfuge to convince the Germans that the attack would come at Calais, rather than at Normandy. While the campaign of misinformation had worked, the success of the landing had not been guaranteed. The weather in early June was stormy, meaning a rough crossing of the English Channel. With only a narrow window of opportunity in the forecast and the tides, Ike had given the order, "OK, let's go."

Those simple words launched the largest amphibious invasion in history.

Thousands of good men had died, although some predictions of the losses had been far more catastrophic. Finally, the Allies had gained a toehold on the beach that June day. From there, day by day, week by week, Allied forces had pushed deeper into Normandy.

But the Wehrmacht was far from defeated. The fighting in the hedgerow country had been particularly savage and favored the defenders.

It was only after Operation Cobra that Allied forces had been able to break free of the awful hedgerow region. Just a few days previously, on July 25, the Army Air Corps and Royal Air Force had dropped millions of pounds of explosives on German positions. Those P-47 Typhoons and the RAF’s Hawker Hurricanes hit German fuel depots, convoys, command posts, troops in the field, and even trains. An unfortunate casualty had been the many French towns and cities in the path of the bombing.

The bombing had done its job, though, by utterly demoralizing German forces and throwing them into a disarray.

With the German stranglehold on Normandy broken, that was when the real charge across France could begin.

"Sir, it's General Patton again. He insists—"

"He insists, does he?" Ike interrupted, unable to hide the annoyance in his voice. "Fine, I'll take it."

He stubbed out his cigarette in an overflowing ashtray, as he girded his mental faculties for a conversation with the general. If it was Tuesday, George Patton would insist it was Wednesday. He was contrary and pushy. He saw himself as a modern-day Alexander, a conquering hero armed with an ivory-handled revolver, rather than a sword. It was only his incompetent superiors who kept him from attaining his full glory. Patton didn't keep his opinion of himself, to himself. He had somehow covered his uniform with more stars than any other Allied general. Ike mused that there might even be more stars on Patton’s uniform than could be found in the Milky Way.

For the last year, Ike had kept Patton in the doghouse for slapping shell-shocked soldiers and other general asininity, such as making public speeches that included such nuggets of wisdom as a soldier who won't fuck, won't fight. Quote, unquote. Most of the troops loved comments like that; the public back home, not so much.

A hothead such as Patton caused Ike plenty of headaches, but he had his uses. Now, Ike was about to unleash Patton, who was the best battlefield general that the Allies had. The Germans were actually afraid of Patton, which was saying something.

Of course, if Patton had been called upon to navigate a single day of managing Allied headquarters, the war would have been lost by sunset. But for now, Patton and his 3rd Army were just what Ike needed to get the job done of kicking the Germans out of France.

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