Truscott put his hand on the other man’s shoulder. “Lloyd, you’ve done a great job under very bad conditions. You’re going to get a third star out of your efforts.”
“Which means I’m being God-damned fucked over by being kicked upstairs. Damn it to hell, it ain’t fair.”
Truscott held back. He’d been critical of Fredendall in the past and saw no reason to make any comment on Fredendall’s performance.
Fredendall sulked and swore and finally left the building. Rumor had it that he was already half packed, having expected the change.
Truscott waved the others into the room until about a dozen men were present. Most of them were Fredendall’s choices and Tom wondered how they would mesh with the newcomers from the Pentagon. Truscott was not going to give them a chance.
“Gentlemen, you can piss, moan, or resign some other time. Right now, there’s a German army getting ready to attack and, as I look at our unit dispositions, our people are scattered all over a very small place. I know they got orders to dig in where they were, but we’re going to have to get some maneuvering room and more firepower out there.”
He turned to a captain, one of his predecessor's staffers. “Has the general actually ever gone to the beachhead?”
The captain flushed. “No sir.”
“Well, I am. You get me a float plane that can land right by the shore. I’m going there to see how things are and maybe kick some ass. Colonel Downing, you will stay here and prepare to move this organization to someplace more efficient. If we can’t set up shop in the perimeter, I want to be right off shore in a ship. Steal it if you have to, but get cracking. I can’t stand to be this far away from the action.”
Canfield got the news that Truscott was now in command and smiled. Like most of his men, he had developed zero confidence in Fredendall and he believed that the rest of the men felt the same way. There was a clear feeling of relief among the officers and men. The Germans were coming, but now maybe the American Army had a fighting chance of beating them. Now maybe they would fight instead of hiding.
He quickly realized he was being unfair. There had been no fighting yet, only preparing for a fight. He and his men had been on the so-called front lines, but had barely skirmished with the Germans. They had trained, but he didn’t think they were very well prepared. He’d been told to have his men dig in where they were when they got the order to halt and that left some big gaps in their lines. Maybe Truscott would kick some butt and get things cleaned up. As it was, the only reason Canfield knew who was to his left was that he’d sent out some patrols. He was looking down a road that led to the interior and it would be a prime highway for the Germans.
Canfield heard some rustling and whispering behind him. He turned and saw Truscott climbing into his trench. “Don’t even think of saluting.”
Canfield chuckled. He had earlier given orders that there would be no saluting which would identify the recipient as someone important and, thus, a sniper’s target.
“Welcome to the front lines, general.”
The gravelly-voiced forty-nine year old Texan merely grunted. He was wearing his trademark leather jacket and didn’t need someone’s salute in order to be noticed.
“How far away are the Germans?”
“Hard to say. My orders were to stand down any patrols. I’ve sneaked some boys out but they haven’t seen anything much. They’ve probably got snipers looking at us so please don’t expose yourself.”
“Consider those patrol orders rescinded. Send out scouts and patrols. I believe they will attack tonight.”
Canfield was surprised. “Really? If they’re coming, they haven’t had a chance to get themselves organized.”
Truscott was not perturbed that a lower ranking officer had just questioned his opinion. “First off, colonel, we’ve been hitting them hard from the air, so they will want to hit us before they run out of an army. Second, the weather forecast is for a major wind and rain storm coming from the west, and that’ll keep our planes on the ground. They’ll attack us just before first light because they don’t have any choice. It’ll be now or never.”
“What are my orders, general?”
“Hit them, hurt them, and try to hold them for as long as you can. You’re going to lose men, maybe a lot of them, but that can’t be helped. In the meantime, we’ll be setting up a second line of defense.”
Canfield looked over Truscott’s shoulder and saw Grant who nodded. “General, I see you brought over that poor fish my men dragged out of the river just a few months ago.”
Truscott laughed. “So that was you? Hell, you should have left him there. He’s been nothing but trouble since then. All he does is shoot Germans and try to catch spies and his wife is just as bad. Grant, you can catch up with me in a few minutes.”
When Truscott departed, the two men left Canfield’s bunker, staying carefully in the rear and out of sight of any snipers. At least they hoped they were.
“They’re going to come straight down this dinky road, aren’t they?” Canfield asked.
“Unfortunately, it makes sense. As does their coming tonight. I don’t envy you.”
Canfield laughed harshly. “And where the hell will you be?”
“I have no shame. I’ll be as far away as I can.”
Field Marshal Heinz Guderian wanted information and not just what he referred to as the sanitized crap that sometimes filtered its way up the chain of command. He wanted someone on the ground who could talk directly to him and give him a sense of what was happening. He anointed Koenig to keep him informed.
After getting his general safely back to his headquarters, Koenig drove to the start point for the armored attack. He had planned to be in a Panzer IV but could find no tanker willing to take him. If he’d been in command of a unit he could have forced the issue, but as a mere captain, he had no such influence despite being on the field marshal’s staff. Thus and incongruously, he found himself and a driver in a 1938 Packard sedan. It seemed as strong and as heavy as a tank and even came with a rumble seat. At least it had been re-painted and had German military markings, so that he didn’t look like some doctor out on a house call.
It was raining heavily, turning the fields into mud. The tankers were confident they could make it, but trucks and Packards, they laughed, would have to stick to the roads. At least they would not have to put up with attacks from American planes. The Americans had savaged their columns when the sky was clear, and the dwindling number of Luftwaffe planes had been unable to defend against them.
The artillery bombardment began at three in the morning. Again, the absence of American planes meant that the barrage rained down on American positions without interference. Koenig was surprised that there was little in the way of counter-fire from American guns. Guderian had surmised that the Yanks hadn’t had the time to land their big guns and, without a naval presence, there was no danger from battleship and cruiser guns.
The tanks rumbled forward, aided by armored cars and the German version of troop-carrying half-tracks.
Finally, the American guns opened up. They had drawn the Germans in close so their smaller 105mm howitzers and the medium velocity 75mm guns on their Sherman tanks would be effective.
Koenig abandoned the Packard and moved forward on foot, aided only by a soldier with a radio. He was at the point of attack, the spot where two American divisions joined.
American resistance was fierce and tank after tank from the German force was disabled, some spectacularly, blowing up after hits from American guns. The Americans were also using bazookas, and brave Yanks would position themselves so that they were able to fire them against the less heavily armored flanks of the German tanks. Frequently they were cut down by accompanying infantry, but many Panzers were damaged or destroyed. It was particularly galling to Koenig to see so many of the precious Panzer IVs burning. He wondered when Guderian would release his small supply of Panthers and concluded that it would not be this day.