Jackdaws by Ken Follett Page B

the small medieval village of La Roche-Guyon, on the Seine river
between Paris and Rouen. He stopped at the roadblock at the edge of the
village, but they were expected, and were quickly waved on. They went past
silent, shuttered houses to another checkpoint at the gates of the ancient
castle. At last they parked in the great cobbled courtyard. Dieter left Hesse
with the car and went into the building.
    The German commander in chief [West]
was Field Marshal Gerd von Runstedt, a reliable senior general from the old
officer class. Under him, charged with the defense of the French coast, was Field
Marshal Erwin Rommel. The castle of La Roche-Guyon was Rommel's headquarters.
    Dieter Franck felt an affinity with
Rommel. Both were the sons of teachers—Rommel's father had been a
headmaster—and consequently both had felt the icy breath of German military
snobbery from such men as von Runstedt. But otherwise they were very different.
Dieter was a sybarite, enjoying all the cultural and sensual pleasures France
had to offer. Rommel was an obsessive worker who did not smoke or drink and
often forgot to eat. He had married the only girlfriend he had ever had, and he
wrote to her three times a day.
    In the hall, Dieter met Rommel's
aide-de-camp, Major Walter Goedel, a cold personality with a formidable brain.
Dieter respected him but could never like him. They had spoken on the phone
late last night. Dieter had outlined the problem he was having with the Gestapo
and said he wanted to see Rommel as soon as possible. "Be here at four
a.m.," Goedel had said. Rommel was always at his desk by four o'clock in
the morning.
    Now Dieter wondered if he had done
the right thing. Rommel might say, "How dare you bother me with trivial
details?" Dieter thought not. Commanders liked to feel they were on top of
the details. Rommel would almost certainly give Dieter the support he was
asking for. But you could never be sure, especially when the commander was
under strain.
    Goedel nodded a curt greeting and
said, "He wants to see you right now. Come this way."
    As they walked along the hallway,
Dieter said, "What do you hear from Italy?"
    "Nothing but bad news,"
Goedel said. "We're withdrawing from Arce."
    Dieter gave a resigned nod. The
Germans were fighting fiercely, but they had been depressingly unable to halt
the northward advance of the enemy.
    A moment later Dieter entered
Rommels office. It was a grand room on the ground floor. Dieter noticed with
envy a priceless seventeenth-century Gobelin tapestry on one wall. There was
little furniture but for a few chairs and a huge antique desk that looked, to
Dieter, as if it might be the same age as the tapestry. On the desk stood a
single lamp. Behind the desk sat a small man with receding sandy hair.
    Goedel said, "Major Franck is
here, Field Marshal."
    Dieter waited nervously. Rommel
continued reading for a few seconds, then made a mark on the sheet of paper. He
might have been a bank manager reviewing the accounts of his more important
customers—until he looked up. Dieter had seen the face before, but it never
failed to make him feel threatened. It was a boxer's face, with a flat nose and
a broad chin and close-set eyes, and it was suffused with the naked aggression
that had made Rommel a legendary commander. Dieter recalled the story of
Rommel's first military engagement, during the First World War. Leading an
advance guard of three men, Rommel had come upon a group of twenty French
troops. Instead of retreating and calling for reinforcements, Rommel had opened
fire and dashed at the enemy. He had been lucky to survive—but Dieter recalled
Napoleon's dictum: "Send me lucky generals." Since then, Rommel had
always favored the sudden bold assault over the cautious planned advance. In
that he was the polar opposite of his desert opponent, Montgomery, whose
philosophy was never to attack until you were certain of victory.
    "Sit down, Franck," said
Rommel briskly. "What's on your mind?"
    Dieter had