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Authors: Anthony Price
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over. What was certain, though, was that the major and his men understood each other perfectly.
“I say ‘answers’ because there are two of them.
“And the first one is that greater events swallow up smaller ones.” The major smiled. “By which I mean that while we have been busy bringing aid and comfort to an ungrateful collection of Communist cutthroats, the Allies have been winning the war.”
Butler frowned into the darkness. There had never been any doubt in his mind about that, not even in the blackest days of 1940 when he had known no better. Even when the Hood had been sunk his schoolboy confidence had only been shaken momentarily. It seemed more than unnecessary to restate the obvious now, deep in France in 1944—it almost seemed bad form.
The major rocked on his heels. “Ah … now I think you may be in danger of mistaking me … I cannot see all your expressions, but judging by the look on Sergeant Purvis’s face—am I boring you, Purvis?”
All Butler could see of the moustachioed sergeant was his back, which was now rigid beneath its enveloping smock.
“Sir?” Purvis temporised. “No, sir.”
“Perhaps you think I am making a patriotic address—do you think that, Purvis?”
“No, sir.” This time there was no hesitation.
“I should damn well think not!” The major paused. “However, I can imagine that some of you may find it difficult to grasp literal truth when it is plainly stated… . Mr. Audley there, for example—his regiment has been mixing it with Panzer Group West and the German Seventh Army, who have no doubt been giving as good as they got.”
Audley’s chin lifted. “R-rather b-b-better than they g-got, actually,” he said defiantly.
“Indeed?” The major’s eye lingered momentarily on Audley. “Well then—I have good news for you, Mr. Audley”—the eye lifted—“and for all of you. Within the next forty-eight hours Panzer Group West and the Seventh Army will have ceased to exist—what’s left of them will be in the bag just south of Falaise, caught between our army and the Americans. And it’ll be the biggest bag since Stalingrad.”
He paused more deliberately this time, to let Stalingrad sink in.
“But that isn’t the point. The point is that there is no German army between Falaise and the Seine. And there is no German army behind the Seine … in fact, gentlemen, there is no German army between this barn and the river Rhine.”
The place names bounced off Butler’s understanding. The Seine was remote enough. But the Rhine—that was a river on another planet.
“What it amounts to, quite simply, is that the German front in France has collapsed,” went on the major in a flat, matter-of-fact voice. “Last night a special light reconnaissance unit of the American Army crossed the Seine west of Paris, and they crossed unopposed. Their armoured columns are already beyond Chartres and Orleans—they delayed at Chartres to spare the cathedral, but elsewhere they’re meeting virtually no opposition. Some of their tanks are making sixty miles a day—their main problem is petrol, not Germans. According to the Air Force, there isn’t a single major enemy unit moving west. What there is that’s moving … is heading east, towards the Fatherland, as fast as it can go.”
The Rhine—No German army between this barn and the Rhine—Sixty miles a day— The Rhi ne .
The sense of what the major was saying finally penetrated into Butler’s brain and exploded there.
The literal truth: the German front in France had collapsed .
“It’s 1940 all over again,” said the major. “Only this time they are on the receiving end, and they’ve no Air Force left and no Channel to hide behind. And there are ten million Russians breaking down their back door.”
The literal truth: the Allies have won the war . The full extent of the catastrophe overwhelmed Butler. The war was ending too soon for him—it was ending and he would have no part in it. While the
“I say ‘answers’ because there are two of them.
“And the first one is that greater events swallow up smaller ones.” The major smiled. “By which I mean that while we have been busy bringing aid and comfort to an ungrateful collection of Communist cutthroats, the Allies have been winning the war.”
Butler frowned into the darkness. There had never been any doubt in his mind about that, not even in the blackest days of 1940 when he had known no better. Even when the Hood had been sunk his schoolboy confidence had only been shaken momentarily. It seemed more than unnecessary to restate the obvious now, deep in France in 1944—it almost seemed bad form.
The major rocked on his heels. “Ah … now I think you may be in danger of mistaking me … I cannot see all your expressions, but judging by the look on Sergeant Purvis’s face—am I boring you, Purvis?”
All Butler could see of the moustachioed sergeant was his back, which was now rigid beneath its enveloping smock.
“Sir?” Purvis temporised. “No, sir.”
“Perhaps you think I am making a patriotic address—do you think that, Purvis?”
“No, sir.” This time there was no hesitation.
“I should damn well think not!” The major paused. “However, I can imagine that some of you may find it difficult to grasp literal truth when it is plainly stated… . Mr. Audley there, for example—his regiment has been mixing it with Panzer Group West and the German Seventh Army, who have no doubt been giving as good as they got.”
Audley’s chin lifted. “R-rather b-b-better than they g-got, actually,” he said defiantly.
“Indeed?” The major’s eye lingered momentarily on Audley. “Well then—I have good news for you, Mr. Audley”—the eye lifted—“and for all of you. Within the next forty-eight hours Panzer Group West and the Seventh Army will have ceased to exist—what’s left of them will be in the bag just south of Falaise, caught between our army and the Americans. And it’ll be the biggest bag since Stalingrad.”
He paused more deliberately this time, to let Stalingrad sink in.
“But that isn’t the point. The point is that there is no German army between Falaise and the Seine. And there is no German army behind the Seine … in fact, gentlemen, there is no German army between this barn and the river Rhine.”
The place names bounced off Butler’s understanding. The Seine was remote enough. But the Rhine—that was a river on another planet.
“What it amounts to, quite simply, is that the German front in France has collapsed,” went on the major in a flat, matter-of-fact voice. “Last night a special light reconnaissance unit of the American Army crossed the Seine west of Paris, and they crossed unopposed. Their armoured columns are already beyond Chartres and Orleans—they delayed at Chartres to spare the cathedral, but elsewhere they’re meeting virtually no opposition. Some of their tanks are making sixty miles a day—their main problem is petrol, not Germans. According to the Air Force, there isn’t a single major enemy unit moving west. What there is that’s moving … is heading east, towards the Fatherland, as fast as it can go.”
The Rhine—No German army between this barn and the Rhine—Sixty miles a day— The Rhi ne .
The sense of what the major was saying finally penetrated into Butler’s brain and exploded there.
The literal truth: the German front in France had collapsed .
“It’s 1940 all over again,” said the major. “Only this time they are on the receiving end, and they’ve no Air Force left and no Channel to hide behind. And there are ten million Russians breaking down their back door.”
The literal truth: the Allies have won the war . The full extent of the catastrophe overwhelmed Butler. The war was ending too soon for him—it was ending and he would have no part in it. While the
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