good idea and changes this whole war. Unconditional surrender. Can you believe that? Dammit, Beetle, not one of these people who are belly-aching about Overlord have any idea what the German soldier is like. I guarantee you, every damned Kraut private has been told about Unconditional Surrender. Every damned one of them now thinks we’re out to destroy his country. And these air people, like this jackass Harris, keep insisting that if we destroy their cities, the Germans will just quit. All we’re doing is making them fight harder.”
Smith seemed to measure Eisenhower’s mood. He chose his words carefully. “They’re right about one thing, Ike. We’re blasting their factories. That’s already making a difference. We keep targeting them—”
“The Brits bomb at night, Beetle. Almost no chance of precision. Sure, they might wipe out a few factories, but the worst job is ours. The damned B-17s make their runs in the daylight, and we’re getting our asses chewed up by the Kraut fighters. For every target we eliminate, we lose too many of our own pilots. We can’t ask the air boys to do all the damned work while the rest of us sit back and watch. And, it won’t work anyway, no matter what that blowhard Harris says. End the war by April, for God’s sake. April. ”
Eisenhower saw the blue uniform at the door, the one smiling face in the entire headquarters. It was his naval aide, Harry Butcher.
“What the hell do you want?”
Butcher looked at Smith but knew not to ask questions. He had seen too many of Eisenhower’s bad moods. “Sorry to interrupt, chief, but General Patton has been waiting for a while.”
Smith laughed. “Killed anybody yet? Old George isn’t the most patient man in this army.”
“Shut up, Beetle. Let me talk to George alone. This day is only going to get worse.”
Smith started toward the door. “Sure thing, Ike. I have to meet with some of Monty’s people in a half hour. Some bitching about gasoline.”
“Don’t tell me about it until the problem is solved.”
Eisenhower was alone now, a brief gasp of calm. He leaned his head back and stared up through the dull white of the ceiling. You know, he thought, if this ever ends, I think I’ll go grow corn in Kansas.
“ I saw Bomber Harris outside. Not such a pleasant sort. Okay for a Brit.”
Eisenhower knew Patton would have plenty to say, no matter what the topic. He looked at the man’s belt and saw the two pistols. “George, why in hell are you armed? I haven’t seen a single damned German in these offices yet.”
Patton shrugged, unfazed. “Good for the men, Ike. Those guards out there, they understand. All these damned staffers, clerks, secretaries. Inspires them, lets them know what we’re about. Makes every one of them want to join the fight, find out what it really takes to win this thing.”
“Where the hell did you get the pearl handles?”
Patton seemed to inflate, his eyes wide. “Dammit, Ike, not you too! Who in hell would carry a pearl-handled revolver? Pimps in whorehouses and tinhorn gamblers! They’re ivory! The real stuff, finest around. I’d have killed the elephant myself if I had to.”
Eisenhower had no energy for this. “Wouldn’t have had to, George. He’d have rolled over at your feet for the honor of giving you the damned tusks.”
Patton calmed, stuck out his chin, and nodded. “Damn right. Some Kraut bastard sticks his head out, and I’ll show him why.”
Eisenhower looked down toward his desk drawer. Whatever you say, George, he thought. Just keep those damned things holstered for now. He reached into a drawer and pulled out a folder of papers.
“You’ve been briefed on your new assignment? Beetle fill you in?”
Patton seemed to grunt at the mention of the name, and Eisenhower knew it was one more cross he had to bear. Patton might have harsh opinions for every officer in the war, but he especially seemed to hate Bedell Smith. Patton squared himself in the chair. “I know
Smith seemed to measure Eisenhower’s mood. He chose his words carefully. “They’re right about one thing, Ike. We’re blasting their factories. That’s already making a difference. We keep targeting them—”
“The Brits bomb at night, Beetle. Almost no chance of precision. Sure, they might wipe out a few factories, but the worst job is ours. The damned B-17s make their runs in the daylight, and we’re getting our asses chewed up by the Kraut fighters. For every target we eliminate, we lose too many of our own pilots. We can’t ask the air boys to do all the damned work while the rest of us sit back and watch. And, it won’t work anyway, no matter what that blowhard Harris says. End the war by April, for God’s sake. April. ”
Eisenhower saw the blue uniform at the door, the one smiling face in the entire headquarters. It was his naval aide, Harry Butcher.
“What the hell do you want?”
Butcher looked at Smith but knew not to ask questions. He had seen too many of Eisenhower’s bad moods. “Sorry to interrupt, chief, but General Patton has been waiting for a while.”
Smith laughed. “Killed anybody yet? Old George isn’t the most patient man in this army.”
“Shut up, Beetle. Let me talk to George alone. This day is only going to get worse.”
Smith started toward the door. “Sure thing, Ike. I have to meet with some of Monty’s people in a half hour. Some bitching about gasoline.”
“Don’t tell me about it until the problem is solved.”
Eisenhower was alone now, a brief gasp of calm. He leaned his head back and stared up through the dull white of the ceiling. You know, he thought, if this ever ends, I think I’ll go grow corn in Kansas.
“ I saw Bomber Harris outside. Not such a pleasant sort. Okay for a Brit.”
Eisenhower knew Patton would have plenty to say, no matter what the topic. He looked at the man’s belt and saw the two pistols. “George, why in hell are you armed? I haven’t seen a single damned German in these offices yet.”
Patton shrugged, unfazed. “Good for the men, Ike. Those guards out there, they understand. All these damned staffers, clerks, secretaries. Inspires them, lets them know what we’re about. Makes every one of them want to join the fight, find out what it really takes to win this thing.”
“Where the hell did you get the pearl handles?”
Patton seemed to inflate, his eyes wide. “Dammit, Ike, not you too! Who in hell would carry a pearl-handled revolver? Pimps in whorehouses and tinhorn gamblers! They’re ivory! The real stuff, finest around. I’d have killed the elephant myself if I had to.”
Eisenhower had no energy for this. “Wouldn’t have had to, George. He’d have rolled over at your feet for the honor of giving you the damned tusks.”
Patton calmed, stuck out his chin, and nodded. “Damn right. Some Kraut bastard sticks his head out, and I’ll show him why.”
Eisenhower looked down toward his desk drawer. Whatever you say, George, he thought. Just keep those damned things holstered for now. He reached into a drawer and pulled out a folder of papers.
“You’ve been briefed on your new assignment? Beetle fill you in?”
Patton seemed to grunt at the mention of the name, and Eisenhower knew it was one more cross he had to bear. Patton might have harsh opinions for every officer in the war, but he especially seemed to hate Bedell Smith. Patton squared himself in the chair. “I know
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