by Ken Follett
The General paused. The lecture, delivered in schoolmaster style, was
irritating Rommel, and he took the opportunity to interrupt.
"This is why we have a General Staff: to digest such information,
produce appreciations of enemy activity, and forecast his future
moves."
Guderian smiled indulgently.
"We must also be aware of the limitations of such crystal-gazing. You
have your ideas about where the attack will come, I'm sure: we all do.
Our strategy must take into account the possibility that our guesses
are wrong."
Rommel now saw where the General's roundabout argument was leading, and
he suppressed the urge to shout his disagreement before the conclusion
was stated.
"You have four armoured divisions under your command," Guderian
continued.
"The 2nd Panzers at Amiens; the 6th at Rouen; the 21st at Caen; and the
2nd SS at Toulouse. General von Geyr has already proposed to you that
these should be grouped well back from the coast, all together, ready
for fast retaliation at any point. Indeed, this stratagem is a
principle of OKW policy. Nevertheless, you have not only resisted von
Geyr's suggestion, but have in fact moved the 2ist right up to the
Atlantic coast."
"And the other three must be moved to the coast as soon as possible,"
Rommel burst out.
"When will you people learn? The Allies rule the air. Once the
invasion is launched there will be no further major movements of
armour. Mobile operations are no longer possible. If your precious
panzers are in Paris when the Allies land on the coast, they will stay
in Paris pinned down by the R.A.F until the Allies march along the
Boulevard St. Michel. I know they've done it to me. Twice!" He
paused to draw breath.
"To group our armour as a mobile reserve is to render it useless. There
will be no counterattack. The invasion must be met on the beaches,
when it is most vulnerable, and pushed back into the sea." 20The
flush receded from his face as he began to expound his own defensive
strategy.
"I have created underwater obstacles, strengthened the Atlantic Wall,
laid minefields, and driven stakes into every meadow that might be used
to land airplanes behind our lines. All my troops are engaged in
digging de fences whenever they're not actually training.
"My armoured divisions must be moved to the coast. The OKW reserve
should be redeployed in France. The pth and 20th SS divisions have to
be brought back from the Eastern Front. Our whole strategy must be to
prevent the Allies from securing a beachhead, for once they achieve
that, the battle is lost... perhaps even the war."
Guderian leaned forward, his eyes narrowing in that infuriating
half-grin.
"You want us to defend the European coastline from Tromso in Norway all
around the Iberian Peninsula to Rome. From where shall we get the
armies?"
"That question should have been asked in 1938," Rommel muttered.
There was an embarrassed silence after this remark, which was all the
more shocking coming from the notoriously apolitical Rommel.
Von Geyr broke the spell.
"Where do you believe the attack will come, Field-Marshal?"
Rommel considered.
"Until recently I was convinced of the Pas de Calais theory. However,
last time I was with the Fuhrer I was impressed by his arguments in
favour of Normandy. I am also impressed by his instinct, and its
record of accuracy. Therefore I believe our panzers should be deployed
primarily along the Normandy coast, with perhaps one division at the
mouth of the Somme this last supported by forces outside my group."
Guderian shook his head solemnly.
"No, no, no. It's far too risky."
"I'm prepared to take this argument to Hitler himself," Rommel
threatened.
"Then that's what you must do," Guderian said resignedly, 'for I shan't
assent to your plan, unless ..."
"Well?" Rommel was surprised that the General's position might be
qualified.
Guderian shifted in his seat, reluctant to give a concession to so
obdurate an antagonist as Rommel.
"You may know that the Fuhrer is waiting for a report from an unusually
effective agent in England."
"I remember," Rommel nodded. "Die Nadel."
"Yes. He has been assigned to assess the strength of the First United
States Army Group under Patton's command in the eastern part of
England. If he finds as I am certain he will that that army is large,
strong, and ready to move, then I shall continue to oppose you.
However, if he finds that FUSAG is a bluff a small army masquerading as
an invasion force then I shall concede that you are right, and you
shall have your panzers. Will you accept that compromise?"
Rommel bowed his large head in assent.
"It all depends on Die Nadel, then."
"It all depends on Die Nadel."
PART FIVE
TWENTY-FIVE
The cottage was terribly small, Lucy realized quite suddenly. As she
went about her morning chores lighting the stove, making porridge,
tidying up, dressing Jo the walls seemed to press in on her
claustrophobically. After all, it was only four rooms, linked by a
little passage with a staircase; you couldn't move without bumping into
someone else. If you stood still and listened you could hear what
everyone was doing: Henry running water into the wash-basin, David
sliding down the stairs, Jo chastising his teddy-bear in the
living-room. Lucy would have liked some time on her own before meeting
people: time to let the events of the night settle into her memory,
recede from the forefront of her thoughts, so that she could act
normally without a conscious effort.
She guessed she was not going to be good at deception. It did not come
naturally to her. She had no experience of it. She tried to think of
another occasion in her life when she had deceived someone close to
her, and she could not. It was not that she lived by very high
principles the thought of lying did not trouble her. It was just that
she had never had reason for dishonesty. Does that mean, she wondered,
that I've led a sheltered life?
David and Jo sat down at the kitchen table and began to eat. David was
silent, Jo talked non-stop just for the pleasure of making words. Lucy
did not want food.
"Aren't you eating?" David said casually.
"I've had some." There her first lie. It wasn't so bad.
The storm made the claustrophobia worse. The rain was so heavy that
Lucy could hardly see the barn from the kitchen window. One felt even
more shut-in when to open a door or window was a major operation. The
low, steel-grey sky and the wisps of mist created a permanent twilight.
In the garden, the rain ran in rivers between the rows of potato
plants, and the herb patch was a shallow pond. The sparrow's nest
under the outhouse roof had been washed away, and the birds flitted in
and out of the eaves, panicking.
Lucy heard Henry coming down the stairs, and she felt better. For some
reason, she was quite sure that he was very good at deception.
"Good morning!" Faber said heartily. David, sitting at the table in
his wheelchair, looked up and smiled. Lucy busied herself at the
stove. There was guilt written all over her face. Faber groaned
inwardly, but David did not seem to notice her expression. Faber began
to think that David was an oaf.
Lucy said: "Sit down and have some breakfast, Henry."
"Thank you very much."
David said: "Can't offer to take you to church, I'm afraid.
Hymn-singing on the wireless is the best we can do."
Faber realized it was Sunday.
"Are you churchgoing people?"
"No," David said.
"You?"
TSTo."
"Sunday is much the same as any other day for farmers," David
continued.
"I'll be driving over to the other end of the island to see my
shepherd. You could come, if you feel up to it."
"I'd like to," Faber told him. It Would give him a chance to
reconnoitre. He would need to know the way to the cottage with the
transmitter.
"Would you like me to drive you?"
David looked at him sharply.
"I can manage quite well." There was a strained moment of silence.
"In this weather, the road is just a memory. We'll be a lot safer with
me at the wheel."
"Of course." Faber began to eat.
"It makes no difference to me," David persisted.
"I don't want you to come if you think it would be too much ' "Really,
I'd be glad to."
"Did you sleep all right? It didn't occur to me you might still be
tired. I hope Lucy didn't keep you up late."
Faber willed himself not to look at Lucy. Out of the corner of his
eye he could see that she was blushing to the roots of her hair.
"I slept all day yesterday," he said, trying to fix David's eyes with
his own.
It was no use. David was looking at his wife. She turned her back.
The trace of a frown creased his forehead, and then just for a moment,
his jaw dropped open in a classic expression of surprise.
Faber was mildly annoyed. David would be hostile now, and antagonism
was half way to suspicion. It was not dangerous, but it might be
tiresome.
The husband recovered his composure quickly. He pushed his chair away
from the table and wheeled himself to the back door.
"I'll get the jeep out of the barn," he muttered. He took an oilskin
off a hook and put it over his head, then opened the door and rolled
out.
In the few moments the door was open, the storm blew into the little
kitchen, leaving the floor wet and the people cold. When it shut, Lucy
shivered and began to mop the water from the tiles.
Faber reached out and touched her arm.
"Don't," she said, jerking her head toward Jo in warning.
"You're being silly," Faber told her.
"I think he knows, she said.
"But, if you reflect for a minute, you don't really care whether he
knows or not, do you?"
She considered.
"I'm not supposed to."
Faber shrugged. The jeep's horn sounded impatiently outside. Lucy
handed him an oilskin and a pair of Wellington boots.
"Don't talk about me," she said.
Faber put on the waterproof clothes and went to the front door. Lucy
followed him, closing the kitchen door on Jo.
With his hand on the latch, Faber turned and kissed her.
She kissed him back, forcefully, then turned and went into the
kitchen.
Faber dashed through the rain, across a sea of mud, and jumped into the
jeep beside David. He pulled away immediately.
The vehicle had been specially adapted for the legless man to drive.
It had a hand throttle, automatic gearshift, and a handle on the rim of
the wheel to enable the driver to steer one-handed. The folded-up
wheelchair slid into a special compartment behind the driver's seat.
There was a shotgun in a rack above the windscreen.
David drove competently. He had been right about the road: it was no
more than a strip of heath worn bare by the jeep's tyres. The rain
pooled in the deep ruts. The car slithered about in the mud. David
seemed to enjoy it. There was a cigarette between his lips, and he
wore an incongruous air of bravado. Perhaps this was his substitute
for flying.
"What do you do when you're not fishing?" he said around the
cigarette.
"Civil servant," Faber told him.
What sort of work?"
"Finance. I'm just a cog in the machine."
"Treasury, eh?"
"Mainly."
Even that asinine answer did not stop David's questioning.
"Interesting work?" he persisted.
"Fairly." Faber summoned up the energy to invent a story.
"I know a bit about how much a given piece of engineering ought to
cost, and I spend most of my time making sure the taxpayer isn't being
overcharged."
"Any particular sort of engineering?"
"Everything from paper clips to aircraft engines."
"Ah, well. We all contribute to the war effort in our own way."
It was a snide remark, and David would naturally have no idea why Faber
did not resent it.
"I'm too old to fight," Faber said mildly.
"Were you in the first lot?"
"Too young."
"A lucky escape."
"Doubtless."
The track ran quite close to the cliff edge, but David did not slow
down. It crossed Faber's mind that he might want to kill them both. He
reached for a grab handle.
"Am I going too fast for you?" David asked.
"You seem to know the road," Faber replied.
"You looked frightened," David said. Faber ignored that, and David
slowed down a little, apparently satisfied that he had made some kind
of point.
The island was fairly flat, and bare, Faber observed. The ground rose
and fell slightly, but as yet he had seen no hills. The vegetation was
mostly grass, with some ferns and bushes, but few trees: there was
little protection from the weather. David Rose's sheep must be hardy,
he thought.
"Are you married?" David asked suddenly.
"No."
"Wise man."
"Oh, I don't know."
"I'll bet you put yourself about a bit up in London," David leered.
Faber had never liked the nudging, contemptuous way some men talked
about women. He said sharply: "I should think you're extremely
fortunate to have Lucy."
"Oh, would you."
"Yes."
"Nothing like variety, though, eh?"
Faber thought: What the devil is he getting at? He said: "I haven't
had the chance to discover the merits of monogamy."
"Quite."
Faber thought: He doesn't know what he's getting at, either. He
decided to say no more, since everything he' said was fuel to the
fire.
"I must say, you don't look like a Government accountant. Where's the
rolled umbrella and the bowler hat?"
Faber tried a thin smile.
"And you seem quite fit for a pen-pusher."
"I ride a bicycle."
"You must be quite
tough, to have survived that wreck."
"Thank you."
"You don't look too old to be in the Army, either."
Faber turned his gaze on David.
"What are you driving at, David?" he asked calmly.
"We're there, "David said.
Faber looked out of the windscreen and saw a cottage very similar to
Lucy's, with stone walls, a slate roof, and small windows. It stood at
the top of a hill, the only hill Faber had seen on the island, and not
much of a hill at that. The house had a squat, resilient look about
it. Climbing up to it, the jeep skirted a small stand of pine and fir
trees. Faber wondered why the cottage had not been built in the
shelter of the trees.
