Third Army crossed the Meuse River and sat there, out of gas, watching the Germans retreat and then build up defensive positions.
Custer cloaked his bitterness with humor, or what he called humor, and was always on the move, from Command Post to Command Post, cheering his men, telling them they were the best, and the rest of the Allies couldn't, as he said, "… pour piss out of a boot with a 1:50,000 projection map printed on the heel." I wondered how wise this sort of talk was, either for the men's morale or for his own good, but kept silent.
Custer got into the habit of having a nightcap-a cup of strong coffee with cream-with me, and telling me his real thoughts.
He spoke a lot about Patton: "Before I go into any battle, after I make my tentative plan, I always try to figure out what George would've done.
"Poor sorry bastard, to have to die so damned young, only having fought with those boiler-plate tanks in pissyass quantities. I tell you, Jimmy, he would've been in hog heaven if he'd lived.
"Hell, he probably would be where I'm sitting right now if he had."
"And," I once chanced, "where would you have been?"
Custer grinned. "If I was unlucky, I'd be his Chief of Staff. If I was lucky… who the hell knows. Maybe running Fifth Corps.
"Now, that would've made a combination, wouldn't it? Two generals with their eyes on the ball… we'd be in Berlin by now!"
All the Army knew Custer was ambitious, that he would have loved to see Eisenhower and Bradley die in a plane crash and he picked to take over Supreme Headquarters, Allied Expeditionary Force.
But his ambition ran beyond that.
Several times he sat staring at his picture of MacArthur, and musing what would come after the war: "We beat the Krauts by the end of this year, then we'll go to the Pacific, invade Japan, and the war'll be over, except for mopping up, by late 46 or 47, I figure.
"MacArthur comes home covered with glory, and the Party (that always meant the Republicans) will need somebody strong.
"Roosevelt will be dead by then… my friends in Washington say he's hanging on by his fingernails, hoping to see the end of the war… and one of his weak-ass Vice Presidents will take over, and get run for the Presidency in 48.
"Mac goes against him… and he'll need a running mate."
I once said I thought America might be a little sick of following military men around.
"Not a chance, Jimmy," he said. "People get used to doing what they're told, and start liking it. You think they're going to vote for some damned war profiteer if they've got a couple of war heroes on the ticket?" He snorted laughter. "Plus we'll have people like Taft on our side.
"Life'll be interesting then, Jimmy. MacArthur's not exactly a spring chicken, and maybe 1952 will be my year."
He had pronounced ideas on what the postwar world should look like.
"Another reason we'll need another strong man like Roosevelt… except Republican… in the White House is we're going to have to deal with the damned Bolsheviks sooner or later.
"Stalin's our buddy now, because he's killing more Krauts than we are. But the minute peace breaks out, there'll be some hard looks at things.
"We'll have to rebuild Germany and Poland to be able to stand against the Russians first thing. Then we'll have to step in and make sure Italy and France have strong governments.
"Britain? The goddamned Limeys are a thing of the past, and we're going to have to learn that, first thing.
"Naturally, we're going to have to keep a strong Army, once the war's over. Anybody who thinks we'll just go home and bury our heads in the sand like we did after the last war is a fool.
"Just like we'll have to deal with those damned Commies we've got at home. There'll be enough enemies in the world without worrying about being stabbed in the back. We soldiers will know how to give them a short sharp shock. Send those who won't recant back to Russia, like Palmer tried to do, and the muffleheads wouldn't let him."
Listening to Custer and his grandiose plans, I remembered what my father had said: "We should thank the Good God that American soldiers mostly aren't politicians. Politics is nothing but shades of gray, and no soldier worth a hang sees anything in colors other than black and white."
Perhaps being Irish and Catholic gave me a better perspective on Custer's ambitions. I'd grown up hearing enough tales of having British soldiers in Ireland always riding up your lane with their bayonets and torches to shiver at the notion of America putting any political authority in the hands of its military.
Ideas like this, I think, are one reason that Custer has become an icon to the radical conservatives in the Constitutionalist Party. "If only he'd lived…" is something I've heard again and again, and am most tired of.
One thing Custer was not, which many of the racist Constitutionalists would prefer not to hear, was a bigot. He'd never liked serving in the South, seeing the way African Americans were treated and, now, despised the Germans for their treatment of the Jews.
"From what I've heard, the Krauts are trying to kill off all the Jews wherever they go. As soon as the Nazis run up the white flags, we'll have to deal with them.
"I think the Commies have the right idea on what to do with the Nazi Party. We don't need any kind of trials like some people are talking about. Walk 'em all, from Adolf down to the last goddamned SS man, down a corridor, like the MVD does, and put a bullet in the back of their necks and throw 'em in unmarked graves."
I asked if that might not leave Germany a little short of politicians.
"Screw 'em," Custer said. "That's another reason we need a strong army. These AMG units that are hanging about back of the lines… we'll use them to run Krautland for twenty, thirty years, and let the Army train the kids how to think right."
Eventually Eisenhower realized Montgomery'd run his course, and unleashed the American armies. But by then, summer was creaking past, and it was fall before we were closing on the German border.
And Hitler had one great surprise waiting.
In October, we began operations against the Siegfried Line, on Germany's border, and in November Eisenhower ordered the November Offensive, intended to smash all German units west of the Rhine and then cross the great river into the heart of the Nazi homeland.
It was bitter going as the weather grew colder. Ninth and First Armies smashed themselves against the Hurtgen Forest, and even battle-loving Custer told me he was very damned glad none of his divisions had been sent into that frozen hell.
We pushed on, south of the Hurtgen, and by mid-December we'd taken Metz, not thirty miles from the German border.
"Now," Custer rejoiced. "Now, let Ike turn us loose, and we'll bust across the border and have the Rhineland before Montgomery has time to pin his beanie emblems on and have a cup of tea."
The next offensive would take us across the Saar River, into Germany.
And then Hitler moved first.
Twenty-four German divisions, ten of them armored, attacked to the west, through the supposedly tank-impassable Ardennes, on 16 December. At their head was Sixth SS Panzer Army, under Hitler's pet thug, Sepp Dietrich. Hitler's insane orders were to cross the Meuse, then continue on to take Antwerp. Hitler thought this unexpected attack would shatter Allied cohesion, and in the confusion he could find a way to end the war victoriously.
It was nonsense, certainly, but the Germans, as they almost always did, obeyed their orders.
They had utter surprise on their side-Hitler somehow felt German codes were penetrated (they were, of course, by ULTRA, but almost no one knew that). The first wave, eight Panzer divisions, broke the Seventh Corps. The 106thDivision was destroyed, and the 28th, one of Custer's former units, broken.