Post by Wing on Dec 2, 2006 14:48:13 GMT -5
Chapter 4
26 June 1944
0824 Hours GMT
OKW Headquarters
France
“I’m going to be perfectly honest with you, Speidel. This is an absolute disaster.”
Had Generalfeldmarschall Gerd von Rundstedt been more of a humorous type, Generalleutnant Hans Speidel might have laughed at this statement. However, the severe Prussian aristocrat would have probably interpreted such an action as either rude or a mental breakdown which, Hans supposed ruefully, were both possible courses of action for him if this conversation continued much longer.
“I understand, sir,” he replied as calmly as possible, meeting von Rundstedt’s hard grey stare. The commander of the Western Wehrmacht forces nodded his approval shortly, his movements stiff and precise, as always. Older than Hans or his absent superior officer, who happened to be von Rundstedt’s second-in-command, the field marshal was one of the few remaining blue-blooded veterans of the Kaiser’s officer corps and looked the part with a neatly brushed mustache, permanent frown, and a stern glare that could freeze the blood quicker than one could protest. Before yesterday, Hans had only known of him through Rommel, who had explained the man’s admittedly admirable political views as well as his infuriating stubbornness to do nothing about them especially when it came to recruiting key officers to help organize the Plot, but now he had gotten a firm sense of his character and, in truth, thought it was a bit of an overdose by now.
“Rommel has always been such a problem,” von Rundstedt sighed, rubbing his forehead in a rare display of the exhaustion beneath his harsh exterior. When Hans raised a wry eyebrow, unable to help himself, the field marshal flapped an irritated hand at him. “Oh, yes, I know you’re his loyal officer to the death and all of that, but you must understand what I mean. Feldmarschall Rommel is a great commander, yes, more so than myself, I think, and also someone I respect, don’t get me wrong.” A stern eye fixed on Hans’ face. “But even your precious Desert Fox has his faults, General. The man is obsessed with his own publicity.”
A smile tugged at Hans’ lips despite his best efforts. “As you say, sir.”
“That’s why it was him the Allies took—at least, that was part of it. Bloody propaganda. I suggest taking care to make sure you don’t do the same when you take command, Speidel.”
“When I take command, sir?” Hans repeated with a frown. “And yes, of course…but what do you mean?”
Von Rundstedt raised an eyebrow in return. “What do you think? You’re Erwin Rommel’s chief of staff, General Speidel, which effectively makes you his second-in-command in his…” He searched for the proper word, eventually continuing with a hint of bad temper “…absence. Effective today, you’re the commander of Armeegruppe B.”
Hans blinked. “Sir?”
“You heard what I said, General,” the field marshal said impatiently. “You’re the one who knows the lay of the land and Rommel’s battle plans best after him, you have an excellent record of service in the Wehrmacht, and, in truth, we really can’t spare anyone more qualified to take over at the moment. Perhaps in a few weeks when von Kluge can be transferred, the situation will have changed, but for now you’re in command.”
“Herr Feldmarschall, I’m honored, but…”
“Yes?”
The lieutenant general hesitated. Yes, he was the best qualified to take over the position—that was the truth, not modesty—and yes, Erwin would want him in the spot more than anyone else, but Hans had other things on his mind than Armeegruppe B, important as it was. In less than a month’s time, as he knew intimately well, a bomb in a room with Adolf Hitler in it would go off and, with any luck, kill him. However, if for some unfortunate reason the plot failed, he would most certainly be one of the first to face the executioner. What then? His officer staff would be interrogated, the rest of the army detained while the investigation went on and individuals from it were questioned…potentially disastrous for Germany seeing how fast the Allies were moving. But he couldn’t just refuse. A major change of command right now would be ruinous, and Hans would run the Armeegruppe just as he knew its true commander wanted it to be run.
“You don’t have much of a choice, Speidel. It’s either you or a chair-warmer from Berlin,” von Rundstedt reminded him. “If it’s not Rommel, I want it to be you, no one else—it’s critical that I have people that I trust under me right now.” Rheumy dark eyes surveyed him seriously.
“You can trust me, sir,” Hans replied empathetically, his mind still not made up about the command. He suddenly thought of Erwin moments before he had left the night before. What had he said? Right now is when I need you, Hans—this is when Germany needs you…
With a small sigh, the general nodded slowly. The Desert Fox had backed him into a corner he was reluctant to step out of. “I’ll do it.”
“Good man,” the old Prussian said approvingly, the fleetest inclinations of a smile twitching on his down-turned lips for a moment before vanishing into a more typical businesslike demeanor. “Now then, I assume you know our current position? I don’t need to have you caught up on anything?”
The idea of Feldmarschall Rommel not completely filling his staff officers in on every aspect of the battlefield was almost laughable, and Hans shook his head fervently. “No, sir: I understand what’s expected of me.”
“Very well,” von Rundstedt replied. “I’ll hold you to that. Dismissed, at least for now—we’ll be seeing one another often, Generalleutnant, at least until your replacement can be brought up from the Fatherland.”
Standing, Speidel snapped to crisp attention and saluted, using the conventional military salute instead of the Sieg-Heil most officers preferred out of habit. Von Rundstedt nodded with another very small smile, evidently pleased by this, and Hans dipped his head briefly in return before turning smartly on a jackbooted heel and heading out of the Generalfeldmarschall’s office down the long stairs, pausing only to acknowledge the secretary’s salute and then those of the guards outside von Rundstedt’s headquarters.
He paused on the steps, surveying the sky for a few moments as he savored the idea of command. Generalleutnant Hans Speidel, commander Armeegruppe B. It was a nice title, to be sure, but the responsibility it came with was not already weighing heavily on his shoulders, as was the harsh reality that the position did not truly belong to him, nor would it really belong to Field Marshal von Kluge, if that was indeed who would be replacing him. Hans heaved a sigh, his shoulders slumping slightly as he wondered where Erwin was now. He hoped his friend was all right, for Lucie and Manfred’s sakes if not for the sake of all of Germany.
The crunching of tires on gravel called his attention back to the present, and he lowered his gaze from the clouds to the drive as his black officer’s car—well, not his, Rommel’s Horch—pulled up to the curb and the driver, a young unteroffizer, hopped out. “Morning, sir,” he said, trying to seem polite but only sounding as tired as Hans felt. He hadn’t slept in two days, not since…well, since it had happened. “Ready to go?”
“Yes indeed, Unteroffizer…it’s Daniel, isn’t it?” Hans clarified, tilting his head inquiringly.
“Jawohl, Herr Generalleutnant.”
“Very good, Unteroffizer Daniel. Let’s go.”
When Hans was settled in the back of the car and the Horch had pulled away from headquarters and onto the main road, Daniel glanced at the general in the rearview mirror. “Are we heading home, sir?”
Home—La Roche Guyon. Now his headquarters. Hans couldn’t help but smile as he nodded his reply. He rather liked this private car and –driver thing so far.
“Very good, sir.”
Five minutes down the road, however, dark shadows on the road ahead made Daniel slow uncertainly, the car’s speed dropping to a crawl and the engine idling. Hans, who had been immersed in the thick packet of his revised orders given to him before his meeting with von Rundstedt, looked up in surprise, his eyes narrowing behind his thick glasses. “Trouble?” he asked shortly, leaning forward slightly.
“I’m not sure, sir,” Unteroffizer Daniel confessed half embarrassedly, half apprehensively. “It could be one of our roadblocks, or it could be…”
The Allies. “Don’t you have a map of the current roadblocks?” Hans demanded, trying to remember where they were so he could figure it out himself.
The young, freckle-faced driver glanced at him, abashed. “I did, sir, but…um…I lost it.”
Sighing, Hans chewed his lip briefly, then finally decided, “Alright, drive forward slowly, but be ready to back up as fast as you can if I say so.”
Daniel looked startled, but, as etiquette demanded, said nothing. As the big Horch lurched forward with a grunt and a growl, as if unhappy, Hans slowly reached beneath his long overcoat to his holster and drew his officer’s Walther, feeling along its cold length, cocking it, and flicking the safety off. It was freshly cleaned and loaded out of habit, but he hadn’t shot at anyone in over twenty years, and as the car drew closer Hans felt himself trembling with a mixture of adrenaline and fear.
The shape of a bar obstructing the road appeared after perhaps half a minute’s slow approach, and closer inspection revealed a flash of grey uniforms and the angled helmet bottoms of the Wehrmacht. Hans breathed a nearly inaudible sigh of relief, sliding his pistol back into its holster carefully, putting the safety back on as he sat back in the car while one of the soldiers wearing a peaked officer’s cap approached.
When the man bent down to be heard from within the car, Hans realized with a start that his thin, sharply featured face was a familiar one. It was Oberst Hans von Luck, an Afrika Korps veteran and one of Rommel’s pre-war pupils who had often visited the field marshal during the time that his newest chief of staff had been assigned to him. They had met several times, and apparently von Luck remembered by the way his blue eyes widened in surprise.
“Generalleutnant Speidel!” he exclaimed, his tense expression breaking into a wide grin that seemed too large for his gaunt face. “I wasn’t expecting to meet you on this back road! How are you?”
“Good to see you, von Luck,” Hans said, returning the smile. Shooting a reassuring look at Daniel, he stepped out of the car to shake the oberst’s hand, clasping it with genuine warmth despite the general feeling of depression that had settled over him over the past few days. He liked von Luck: although the two often got confused as Rommel, their mutual superior, called them both Hans, they communicated well one on one and shared similar political views. “I’m all right, considering the situation.”
“You mean the invasion, sir,” the panzer battalion commander said sympathetically. “I know what you mean—we’ve been on our toes constantly ever since D-Day.”
With a frown, Hans slowly shook his head, suddenly realizing that von Luck didn’t know yet. Of course—the public announcement had been fairly low-key, and the High Command was already reluctant to let the soldiers know. Hans felt the stirrings of anger in the pit of his stomach at the thought. The troops deserved to know what had happened to the commander they depended on, more so than the civilians back home!
“I need to talk to you,” the general said decisively, taking von Luck by the arm seriously. Looking confused, the younger man allowed himself to be led a little ways away from his outpost and troops, who were lounging around the roadblock now that their commanding officer had recognized the traveler. When the two officers reached the shade of a small tree near the road out of earshot of any of the men, Hans bent close to von Luck, trying to decide what to say. He’d had to break this to a wide variety of people over the past few days, but not yet to one of Rommel’s friends.
“This should have been broadcasted yesterday,” he said lowly, putting an emphasis on should have. “You chaps should know, at least. Field Marshal Rommel’s been kidnapped by British commandos, Hans.” His voice was almost expressionless at this statement as he’d repeated it so many times, contradicting the shocked look on the other man’s face.
Von Luck looked as if an unexpected bomb had suddenly landed nearby. “W-what?” he stammered. “Kidnapped? But—what—kidnapped?”
“Yes. Two days ago. It was an SAS team. We’re not sure why…well, there are theories, but…”
The panzer commander sat down hard on a nearby fallen log, staring at his boots incredulously. “I can’t believe this.”
“It’s true,” Hans said heavily, shuffling his feet slightly in the fallen leaves. “I was there when it happened.”
Sharply, von Luck’s chin jerked up so he stared the general in the eyes for a long moment, holding his gaze. Finally, he shook his head in disbelief, lowering his head into his hands. “Who’s going to command us now?” he asked after a pause, his voice muffled. “No one else can do the job. Who are they sending us?”
“No one.” Hans suddenly felt very small. “Just me.”
“You?” Von Luck looked up again, obviously startled. When his superior nodded again, he blinked several times as if uncomprehending the assertion, staring off into space before he continued softly, “You’ll do all right, sir.” The lack of conviction in his words was painfully clear.
Hurt by his doubtful tone, Hans snapped formally, “Dankë schön, Herr Oberst,” and turned away abruptly with a final half-nod, marching back up onto the road and glancing irritably at the soldiers of von Luck’s battalion waiting by the roadblock to lift the pole, which they did hurriedly, sensing the general’s mood. Hans got into the car and slammed the door as soon as the road was clear. Daniel stomped hastily on the accelerator after one look on his passenger’s face, sending the car roaring up the road towards headquarters.
The trip didn’t take long, but through its duration Hans sat silently in the back, half fuming, half anxious. Von Luck’s attitude had caused him to consider something he realized he’d overlooked—he may be qualified for the job, yes, but the troops didn’t know that. It helped that he was Rommel’s officer, but the men wanted their Desert Fox. If anyone could lead them to victory, most soldiers—including Hans—had always unconsciously believed, it would be him, the leader of the Afrika Korps, the fearless commander of the Ghost Battalion in France, the conqueror of North Africa, and so they followed him unquestioningly and fought to the death for him.
It was fairly safe to say that they weren’t going to enthusiastically rally behind Hans Speidel, ordinary battalion commander from the Great War, writer of endless reports, and anonymous chief of staff of Erwin Rommel, whose name in a sentence caught one’s attention instantly while Hans Speidel’s was cast aside unnoticed. No one, Hans reflected gloomily, knew he existed. Chiefs of staff, as important as they were, never took a share of their commander’s glory. Thus, a severe dip in morale could be expected, but this of all times was the least opportune moment if such an event had to occur. The Allies are knocking on our door, for Christ’s sake, Hans thought desperately. If we can’t stay together and hold the line now, we’re doomed. What can we do?
What can I do?
When the car pulled up in the drive and Daniel hopped out to open his door, Hans was still deep in thought. He got out and walked slowly up the steps towards the main door, each footfall heavy with dread. His concentration was only broken by a hesitant voice from behind him.
“Um…sir? I don’t wish to be rude, but…is there something wrong?”
Surprised, the generalleutnant turned to see Unteroffizer Daniel standing by the car, his hands clasped behind his back awkwardly. The young corporal looked slightly ashamed by the question, but it was too late to take it back.
Hans couldn’t help but give a small smile, albeit a grim one. “What do you think, Unteroffizer?”
“Yes, of course, the field marshal,” Daniel said quickly, shrugging. “I mean besides that.”
“Why?” Hans asked with genuine curiosity. It was rare that an enlisted man ever even talked to him, much less asked him about what he was thinking.
“Well…maybe I could help.”
The honest, uncertainly spoken statement went straight to Hans’ heart. The boy meant well despite his forwardness. “Thank you, but I don’t think you can, Daniel,” he said as kindly as possible, sitting down on the wall beside the short flight of steps leading up to the entrance of headquarters. “Not unless you know how to…I don’t know, get an entire army to fight for you when you’re a nobody acting in the place of a hero. Their hero, more specifically.”
Daniel stared seriously back at him. “You can’t pretend to be the hero, sir,” he said carefully, his speech slow as if he had chosen each word particularly for this sentence. “But,” he added, “you can become one if you can get the first one back.”
“And what if that were impossible?”
“Then you could try hard, sir, keep trying, and if that army realizes how hard you’re trying for them, they’ll trust you because you want what they want and you’ll be one of them.” Although the unteroffizer had started out slow at first, he now sped up, passion coloring his tones. “And maybe if you get them behind you, sir, you’ll do it after all. Just you is not going to make a lot of difference, but you and an army…well, you can do a lot with an army, sir.”
Hans stared at him for a long moment, his face perfectly expressionless. After nearly a minute, he repeated a single, quiet phrase thoughtfully.
“You can do a lot with an army, Unteroffizer.”
“Jawohl, Herr Generalleutnant.”
“Thank you for your help.”
_______________________________________________
26 June 1944
0824 Hours GMT
OKW Headquarters
France
“I’m going to be perfectly honest with you, Speidel. This is an absolute disaster.”
Had Generalfeldmarschall Gerd von Rundstedt been more of a humorous type, Generalleutnant Hans Speidel might have laughed at this statement. However, the severe Prussian aristocrat would have probably interpreted such an action as either rude or a mental breakdown which, Hans supposed ruefully, were both possible courses of action for him if this conversation continued much longer.
“I understand, sir,” he replied as calmly as possible, meeting von Rundstedt’s hard grey stare. The commander of the Western Wehrmacht forces nodded his approval shortly, his movements stiff and precise, as always. Older than Hans or his absent superior officer, who happened to be von Rundstedt’s second-in-command, the field marshal was one of the few remaining blue-blooded veterans of the Kaiser’s officer corps and looked the part with a neatly brushed mustache, permanent frown, and a stern glare that could freeze the blood quicker than one could protest. Before yesterday, Hans had only known of him through Rommel, who had explained the man’s admittedly admirable political views as well as his infuriating stubbornness to do nothing about them especially when it came to recruiting key officers to help organize the Plot, but now he had gotten a firm sense of his character and, in truth, thought it was a bit of an overdose by now.
“Rommel has always been such a problem,” von Rundstedt sighed, rubbing his forehead in a rare display of the exhaustion beneath his harsh exterior. When Hans raised a wry eyebrow, unable to help himself, the field marshal flapped an irritated hand at him. “Oh, yes, I know you’re his loyal officer to the death and all of that, but you must understand what I mean. Feldmarschall Rommel is a great commander, yes, more so than myself, I think, and also someone I respect, don’t get me wrong.” A stern eye fixed on Hans’ face. “But even your precious Desert Fox has his faults, General. The man is obsessed with his own publicity.”
A smile tugged at Hans’ lips despite his best efforts. “As you say, sir.”
“That’s why it was him the Allies took—at least, that was part of it. Bloody propaganda. I suggest taking care to make sure you don’t do the same when you take command, Speidel.”
“When I take command, sir?” Hans repeated with a frown. “And yes, of course…but what do you mean?”
Von Rundstedt raised an eyebrow in return. “What do you think? You’re Erwin Rommel’s chief of staff, General Speidel, which effectively makes you his second-in-command in his…” He searched for the proper word, eventually continuing with a hint of bad temper “…absence. Effective today, you’re the commander of Armeegruppe B.”
Hans blinked. “Sir?”
“You heard what I said, General,” the field marshal said impatiently. “You’re the one who knows the lay of the land and Rommel’s battle plans best after him, you have an excellent record of service in the Wehrmacht, and, in truth, we really can’t spare anyone more qualified to take over at the moment. Perhaps in a few weeks when von Kluge can be transferred, the situation will have changed, but for now you’re in command.”
“Herr Feldmarschall, I’m honored, but…”
“Yes?”
The lieutenant general hesitated. Yes, he was the best qualified to take over the position—that was the truth, not modesty—and yes, Erwin would want him in the spot more than anyone else, but Hans had other things on his mind than Armeegruppe B, important as it was. In less than a month’s time, as he knew intimately well, a bomb in a room with Adolf Hitler in it would go off and, with any luck, kill him. However, if for some unfortunate reason the plot failed, he would most certainly be one of the first to face the executioner. What then? His officer staff would be interrogated, the rest of the army detained while the investigation went on and individuals from it were questioned…potentially disastrous for Germany seeing how fast the Allies were moving. But he couldn’t just refuse. A major change of command right now would be ruinous, and Hans would run the Armeegruppe just as he knew its true commander wanted it to be run.
“You don’t have much of a choice, Speidel. It’s either you or a chair-warmer from Berlin,” von Rundstedt reminded him. “If it’s not Rommel, I want it to be you, no one else—it’s critical that I have people that I trust under me right now.” Rheumy dark eyes surveyed him seriously.
“You can trust me, sir,” Hans replied empathetically, his mind still not made up about the command. He suddenly thought of Erwin moments before he had left the night before. What had he said? Right now is when I need you, Hans—this is when Germany needs you…
With a small sigh, the general nodded slowly. The Desert Fox had backed him into a corner he was reluctant to step out of. “I’ll do it.”
“Good man,” the old Prussian said approvingly, the fleetest inclinations of a smile twitching on his down-turned lips for a moment before vanishing into a more typical businesslike demeanor. “Now then, I assume you know our current position? I don’t need to have you caught up on anything?”
The idea of Feldmarschall Rommel not completely filling his staff officers in on every aspect of the battlefield was almost laughable, and Hans shook his head fervently. “No, sir: I understand what’s expected of me.”
“Very well,” von Rundstedt replied. “I’ll hold you to that. Dismissed, at least for now—we’ll be seeing one another often, Generalleutnant, at least until your replacement can be brought up from the Fatherland.”
Standing, Speidel snapped to crisp attention and saluted, using the conventional military salute instead of the Sieg-Heil most officers preferred out of habit. Von Rundstedt nodded with another very small smile, evidently pleased by this, and Hans dipped his head briefly in return before turning smartly on a jackbooted heel and heading out of the Generalfeldmarschall’s office down the long stairs, pausing only to acknowledge the secretary’s salute and then those of the guards outside von Rundstedt’s headquarters.
He paused on the steps, surveying the sky for a few moments as he savored the idea of command. Generalleutnant Hans Speidel, commander Armeegruppe B. It was a nice title, to be sure, but the responsibility it came with was not already weighing heavily on his shoulders, as was the harsh reality that the position did not truly belong to him, nor would it really belong to Field Marshal von Kluge, if that was indeed who would be replacing him. Hans heaved a sigh, his shoulders slumping slightly as he wondered where Erwin was now. He hoped his friend was all right, for Lucie and Manfred’s sakes if not for the sake of all of Germany.
The crunching of tires on gravel called his attention back to the present, and he lowered his gaze from the clouds to the drive as his black officer’s car—well, not his, Rommel’s Horch—pulled up to the curb and the driver, a young unteroffizer, hopped out. “Morning, sir,” he said, trying to seem polite but only sounding as tired as Hans felt. He hadn’t slept in two days, not since…well, since it had happened. “Ready to go?”
“Yes indeed, Unteroffizer…it’s Daniel, isn’t it?” Hans clarified, tilting his head inquiringly.
“Jawohl, Herr Generalleutnant.”
“Very good, Unteroffizer Daniel. Let’s go.”
When Hans was settled in the back of the car and the Horch had pulled away from headquarters and onto the main road, Daniel glanced at the general in the rearview mirror. “Are we heading home, sir?”
Home—La Roche Guyon. Now his headquarters. Hans couldn’t help but smile as he nodded his reply. He rather liked this private car and –driver thing so far.
“Very good, sir.”
Five minutes down the road, however, dark shadows on the road ahead made Daniel slow uncertainly, the car’s speed dropping to a crawl and the engine idling. Hans, who had been immersed in the thick packet of his revised orders given to him before his meeting with von Rundstedt, looked up in surprise, his eyes narrowing behind his thick glasses. “Trouble?” he asked shortly, leaning forward slightly.
“I’m not sure, sir,” Unteroffizer Daniel confessed half embarrassedly, half apprehensively. “It could be one of our roadblocks, or it could be…”
The Allies. “Don’t you have a map of the current roadblocks?” Hans demanded, trying to remember where they were so he could figure it out himself.
The young, freckle-faced driver glanced at him, abashed. “I did, sir, but…um…I lost it.”
Sighing, Hans chewed his lip briefly, then finally decided, “Alright, drive forward slowly, but be ready to back up as fast as you can if I say so.”
Daniel looked startled, but, as etiquette demanded, said nothing. As the big Horch lurched forward with a grunt and a growl, as if unhappy, Hans slowly reached beneath his long overcoat to his holster and drew his officer’s Walther, feeling along its cold length, cocking it, and flicking the safety off. It was freshly cleaned and loaded out of habit, but he hadn’t shot at anyone in over twenty years, and as the car drew closer Hans felt himself trembling with a mixture of adrenaline and fear.
The shape of a bar obstructing the road appeared after perhaps half a minute’s slow approach, and closer inspection revealed a flash of grey uniforms and the angled helmet bottoms of the Wehrmacht. Hans breathed a nearly inaudible sigh of relief, sliding his pistol back into its holster carefully, putting the safety back on as he sat back in the car while one of the soldiers wearing a peaked officer’s cap approached.
When the man bent down to be heard from within the car, Hans realized with a start that his thin, sharply featured face was a familiar one. It was Oberst Hans von Luck, an Afrika Korps veteran and one of Rommel’s pre-war pupils who had often visited the field marshal during the time that his newest chief of staff had been assigned to him. They had met several times, and apparently von Luck remembered by the way his blue eyes widened in surprise.
“Generalleutnant Speidel!” he exclaimed, his tense expression breaking into a wide grin that seemed too large for his gaunt face. “I wasn’t expecting to meet you on this back road! How are you?”
“Good to see you, von Luck,” Hans said, returning the smile. Shooting a reassuring look at Daniel, he stepped out of the car to shake the oberst’s hand, clasping it with genuine warmth despite the general feeling of depression that had settled over him over the past few days. He liked von Luck: although the two often got confused as Rommel, their mutual superior, called them both Hans, they communicated well one on one and shared similar political views. “I’m all right, considering the situation.”
“You mean the invasion, sir,” the panzer battalion commander said sympathetically. “I know what you mean—we’ve been on our toes constantly ever since D-Day.”
With a frown, Hans slowly shook his head, suddenly realizing that von Luck didn’t know yet. Of course—the public announcement had been fairly low-key, and the High Command was already reluctant to let the soldiers know. Hans felt the stirrings of anger in the pit of his stomach at the thought. The troops deserved to know what had happened to the commander they depended on, more so than the civilians back home!
“I need to talk to you,” the general said decisively, taking von Luck by the arm seriously. Looking confused, the younger man allowed himself to be led a little ways away from his outpost and troops, who were lounging around the roadblock now that their commanding officer had recognized the traveler. When the two officers reached the shade of a small tree near the road out of earshot of any of the men, Hans bent close to von Luck, trying to decide what to say. He’d had to break this to a wide variety of people over the past few days, but not yet to one of Rommel’s friends.
“This should have been broadcasted yesterday,” he said lowly, putting an emphasis on should have. “You chaps should know, at least. Field Marshal Rommel’s been kidnapped by British commandos, Hans.” His voice was almost expressionless at this statement as he’d repeated it so many times, contradicting the shocked look on the other man’s face.
Von Luck looked as if an unexpected bomb had suddenly landed nearby. “W-what?” he stammered. “Kidnapped? But—what—kidnapped?”
“Yes. Two days ago. It was an SAS team. We’re not sure why…well, there are theories, but…”
The panzer commander sat down hard on a nearby fallen log, staring at his boots incredulously. “I can’t believe this.”
“It’s true,” Hans said heavily, shuffling his feet slightly in the fallen leaves. “I was there when it happened.”
Sharply, von Luck’s chin jerked up so he stared the general in the eyes for a long moment, holding his gaze. Finally, he shook his head in disbelief, lowering his head into his hands. “Who’s going to command us now?” he asked after a pause, his voice muffled. “No one else can do the job. Who are they sending us?”
“No one.” Hans suddenly felt very small. “Just me.”
“You?” Von Luck looked up again, obviously startled. When his superior nodded again, he blinked several times as if uncomprehending the assertion, staring off into space before he continued softly, “You’ll do all right, sir.” The lack of conviction in his words was painfully clear.
Hurt by his doubtful tone, Hans snapped formally, “Dankë schön, Herr Oberst,” and turned away abruptly with a final half-nod, marching back up onto the road and glancing irritably at the soldiers of von Luck’s battalion waiting by the roadblock to lift the pole, which they did hurriedly, sensing the general’s mood. Hans got into the car and slammed the door as soon as the road was clear. Daniel stomped hastily on the accelerator after one look on his passenger’s face, sending the car roaring up the road towards headquarters.
The trip didn’t take long, but through its duration Hans sat silently in the back, half fuming, half anxious. Von Luck’s attitude had caused him to consider something he realized he’d overlooked—he may be qualified for the job, yes, but the troops didn’t know that. It helped that he was Rommel’s officer, but the men wanted their Desert Fox. If anyone could lead them to victory, most soldiers—including Hans—had always unconsciously believed, it would be him, the leader of the Afrika Korps, the fearless commander of the Ghost Battalion in France, the conqueror of North Africa, and so they followed him unquestioningly and fought to the death for him.
It was fairly safe to say that they weren’t going to enthusiastically rally behind Hans Speidel, ordinary battalion commander from the Great War, writer of endless reports, and anonymous chief of staff of Erwin Rommel, whose name in a sentence caught one’s attention instantly while Hans Speidel’s was cast aside unnoticed. No one, Hans reflected gloomily, knew he existed. Chiefs of staff, as important as they were, never took a share of their commander’s glory. Thus, a severe dip in morale could be expected, but this of all times was the least opportune moment if such an event had to occur. The Allies are knocking on our door, for Christ’s sake, Hans thought desperately. If we can’t stay together and hold the line now, we’re doomed. What can we do?
What can I do?
When the car pulled up in the drive and Daniel hopped out to open his door, Hans was still deep in thought. He got out and walked slowly up the steps towards the main door, each footfall heavy with dread. His concentration was only broken by a hesitant voice from behind him.
“Um…sir? I don’t wish to be rude, but…is there something wrong?”
Surprised, the generalleutnant turned to see Unteroffizer Daniel standing by the car, his hands clasped behind his back awkwardly. The young corporal looked slightly ashamed by the question, but it was too late to take it back.
Hans couldn’t help but give a small smile, albeit a grim one. “What do you think, Unteroffizer?”
“Yes, of course, the field marshal,” Daniel said quickly, shrugging. “I mean besides that.”
“Why?” Hans asked with genuine curiosity. It was rare that an enlisted man ever even talked to him, much less asked him about what he was thinking.
“Well…maybe I could help.”
The honest, uncertainly spoken statement went straight to Hans’ heart. The boy meant well despite his forwardness. “Thank you, but I don’t think you can, Daniel,” he said as kindly as possible, sitting down on the wall beside the short flight of steps leading up to the entrance of headquarters. “Not unless you know how to…I don’t know, get an entire army to fight for you when you’re a nobody acting in the place of a hero. Their hero, more specifically.”
Daniel stared seriously back at him. “You can’t pretend to be the hero, sir,” he said carefully, his speech slow as if he had chosen each word particularly for this sentence. “But,” he added, “you can become one if you can get the first one back.”
“And what if that were impossible?”
“Then you could try hard, sir, keep trying, and if that army realizes how hard you’re trying for them, they’ll trust you because you want what they want and you’ll be one of them.” Although the unteroffizer had started out slow at first, he now sped up, passion coloring his tones. “And maybe if you get them behind you, sir, you’ll do it after all. Just you is not going to make a lot of difference, but you and an army…well, you can do a lot with an army, sir.”
Hans stared at him for a long moment, his face perfectly expressionless. After nearly a minute, he repeated a single, quiet phrase thoughtfully.
“You can do a lot with an army, Unteroffizer.”
“Jawohl, Herr Generalleutnant.”
“Thank you for your help.”
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