Final impact

“You bet I am, Sergeant Turley. Are you wounded?”

He shook his head. “No, ma’am. I just lost my tank. We took a whole bunch of RPG rounds. Lost the tracks first, then one punched in through the upper deck. Guy who fired it must have been sitting up in a tree or something.”

“Was Lieutenant Robinson in your tank? Jackie Robinson?”

“He was, ma’am. They casevaced him out on the first flight to the aid station. He saved us all, Miss Duffy. Hopped out of the turret with a machine gun. Held off a whole bunch of Germans who were fixing to kill us. Shot most of ’em. Then he ran out of ammo, clubbed a few who got through and tried to climb up, stab him with their bayonets. I guess they’d run out of bullets, too. Or lost their guns. It was confusing, ma’am. I’ve never been so confused in my life.”

“It’s okay, Sergeant. Everyone gets confused in combat, all the time. So is Lieutenant Robinson okay?”

Turley gestured helplessly.

“Don’t rightly know, ma’am. He got hit twice and jumped off the tank. I got a few of the Germans trying to do him in. And then some white boys come through and cut them down. Three of them was from Georgia. I tell you, Miss Duffy, never in my whole life have I been so happy to see three white boys from Georgia with murder their eyes.”

Julia smiled gently. “Do you mind if I quote you on that?”

“No, ma’am. I wish you would.”

Turley looked up over her shoulder, and Julia turned to find Patton standing there.

The general dropped to one knee beside her.

“You going to lie there all night, soldier?” he asked.

“No, sir,” said Turley. “Soon as you get me a new tank, I’m headed that-away.” He nodded in the direction of the advance.

“Good job, son. You get yourself up, go see Captain Mackay over there, and tell him I said to find you a new Sherman. Are you wounded, by the way? Do you need any attention?”

Turley’s head and one arm were heavily bandaged, but he pushed himself up off the ground. “I’m fine, General.”

“Good man. I’m proud of you, son. You did a great job here tonight.”

“Thank you, sir.”

As Turley hobbled away to get himself reassigned, Julia saw Patton wipe a tear from his eye. “Absolutely fucking magnificent,” he muttered, before seeming to realize that Julia was there. “Come on, Miss Duffy. I won’t have my men lying around, and I won’t have my correspondents lying around, either. Let’s get back to the jeeps. There’s a hell of a fight brewing up just along the road.”

D-DAY + 26. 29 MAY 1944. 0422 HOURS.

BUNKER 13, BERLIN.

The fuhrer had lost his voice, and he’d lost something else, too. Himmler was certain that was why he spoke with such melancholy.

The change had come over him a few hours ago. He’d stormed off in a rage to sleep for a few hours, but returned after only thirty minutes, uncannily subdued. The bunker had come to a halt when he appeared at the doorway. Nobody knew what to say.

The air attack on Patton’s flank had been brushed aside. All the hard work and crippling expense that had gone into the plan had counted for nothing. The best planes in the Luftwaffe were gone, and along with them some of the best pilots.

And now the Americans were on the verge of taking the strategic hub at Oostakker.

Himmler’s stomach rolled over when he saw the fuhrer reappear. This was going to be very unpleasant. The SS chief stood silently as Field Marshal Gunther von Kluge stepped forward. A sickly green tint colored his face.

The records from the future had revealed von Kluge’s disgraceful ineptitude, as he had failed to expose the German plot against Hitler, and Himmler had made use of the information. The field marshal had survived simply because Himmler found it convenient to keep a few of the weaker, more corrupt army officers in his debt. But von Kluge had never fully recovered from his encounter with the SS chief.

Now he stammered his way through a report on the failed air attack, then drew in a deep breath and plunged on.

“After my d-discussion with the commanders in the Belgian sector-those whom I could reach-I…I regret to report that, in the face of the enemy’s complete c-command of the air, and their omniscient gathering of intelligence, there is no possibility that we will find a strategy to counterbalance their overwhelming capabilities…unless we give up the current field of battle.

“De-despite…our most intense efforts, the moment draws near when this front, already so heavily strained, will break. And once the enemy reaches open country, an orderly command will hardly be practicable in view of the insufficient mobility of our troops. As a result of the breakthrough by Patton’s armored spearhead, the whole Western Front has been ripped open.

“I consider it my duty to bring these conclusions to your notice in good time, Mein Fuhrer.” With that, he stepped back, and looked like a man prepared to die.