Final impact

Julia passed over her papers. Black wasn’t equipped with a flexipad. Indeed, she’d hardly met anyone in France who was. Even Patton seemed to do without one.

“I’m clear to Top Secret Absolute,” she said. “Renewed a month ago.”

Patton’s intelligence chief studied the paper as they walked through the crush of men, most of whom wanted to press forward and shake the general’s hand or pat him on the back. And Julia could see that that old dog was loving it. Black impatiently thrust the clearance forms back at her as they pushed out of the tent and into a starlit night.

Faint flickers of light and a rumble beyond the edge of the world spoke of an engagement somewhere, but nobody paid much attention. The fighting had been constant since the landings.

“Captain Prather said I’d be riding with D Company, General,” Julia said. “Don’t you think I should be heading over there soon?”

“No,” he said somewhat abruptly. “You’ll come out with us.” When she started to protest he cut in, “No! I don’t want to hear a word of it, madam! You won’t see anything buttoned up in an armored troop carrier and you’ll probably get yourself killed. That’s your ass, not mine, of course, but damn it, I want the story of this battle to be told, and I want it told properly.”

He stopped and faced her, hands on his hips, one eye almost closed as he scowled at her.

“I meant what I said before. I’ve read all of your major reports. Read them many times, looking for any insights into the fighting methods you people have brought upon us. Like I said to those men back there, I don’t give a damn what other people think of you, all I care about is what you can do for my army. And I think you can do us a great deal of good in our never-goddamn-ending fight with the enemy.”

“Me, General? Come on now. How can I help you against the Nazis-”

“Not the Nazis, Duffy. Montgomery, woman! Bernard…Law…Montgomery. Didn’t you read any biographies of him? Did you see that movie about Arnhem? I saw it. If that man spent as much time on his job as he did on his goddamn public image, we’d be at the gates of Berlin by now. Which doesn’t mean a thing to me, except that he’s been gobbling up resources that should have been going to my army, to my men. And you’re going to see to it that we get our fair share in the future.” Patton leaned forward until he dominated her personal space, forcing her to stand uncomfortably close to the brim of his steel helmet, lest he think he’d managed to bully her in some way.

“No, you ride out with me. You watch those black boys fight tonight, and you tell the whole goddamn world what a magnificent fucking job they did of pounding the fuhrer’s supermen into mincemeat. And they will do a magnificent fucking job, believe you me-and I will make sure your story gets run in every newspaper in the free world.”

Julia hardly knew what to say.

“I think,” she replied at last, in a calm low voice, “that my editor can handle placing the story, and-”

Patton held up a hand, smiling like a wolf. “He probably can. But like I said, I will make sure of it.”

“You just make sure I get to see what I’m supposed to see,” she said, “and I’ll take care of the rest.”

His smile softened some, becoming marginally less carnivorous.

“All right then,” he said. “It’s a deal.”

He turned to the small group of officers who’d gathered around them.

“Come on, boys. Let’s go get Miss Duffy a story.”

D-DAY + 25. 28 MAY 1944. 2302 HOURS.

LUFTWAFFE AIRBASE, WIESBADEN.

The airfield was a “masked” facility: two runways painted to look as if they were pockmarked with bomb craters, along with a minimum of buildings aboveground, again looking more like damaged shells than working struc tures. It had been carefully “neglected” to discourage prying eyes, both human and electronic.

An hour before midnight it was empty of aircraft, except for a couple of burned-out 110s at the end of one runway. Then at the witching hour, it burst into activity. Lines of light briefly flared along the tarmac. Fuel trucks came roaring in from the surrounding countryside as ground crew spilled out of the “abandoned” buildings.

They all peered into the darkness of the eastern sky. After a few minutes somebody called out that he could see the first plane. Everyone stood ready.

They had practiced this at other airfields in Poland, far beyond the reach of even the Trident’s sensors. The lead elements of the attack wing would land soon, running on fumes, laden with antitank rockets and bombs. For the next ninety minutes they would work at a feverish pace, refueling a constant relay of ME 262 jet fighters as they massed for a strike on the spearhead of Patton’s Third Army in Belgium.

D-DAY + 26. 29 MAY 1944. 0042 HOURS.

BUNKER 13, BERLIN.

For the first time in weeks they had something to look forward to.