Near Hargrave were his division commanders. The 2nd Infantry head, Burt Jones, sat stiffly, as if uncomfortable in a chair, where his shoe platforms could not help.
The 4th Motorized’s Major General Horace Singleman was next to Jones. Singleman had a structural engineering degree from Texas A&M and once told me he “was a born bridge builder.” He enjoyed complaining that his military career had prevented him from constructing a bridge or anything else. Singleman was an exception to General Clay’s rule that a commander should not carry more weight than his troops. Singleman’s belly comfortably sagged over his belt.
The final I Corps divisional commander in the room was Major General Roger Franks of the 1st Armored. Almost seventy years old, Franks had been a brigadier during the first war. Clay had twisted arms at the War Department to bring Franks back to active duty, saying the AEF needed at least one commander with war experience as a general officer. Franks walked and gestured with a younger man’s energy, he grinned quickly, and he wore an expensive wig, all designed to belie his age.
General Clay said, “I conferred a short while ago with David Lorenzo regarding the latest on when and where.” For several moments he relayed what was known about the Wehrmacht’s 8th and 28th Divisions, believed to be moving north into Belgium, then added, “A report came in tonight that a unit of the XII Waffen SS, which had been in Westphalia on the Rhine, is marching, or has marched, northwest toward the Hague or Amsterdam.” Clay motioned toward Lorenzo.
The G2 filled in, “The XII Waffen SS is made up of the Walküre panzer and the Westland panzer grenadier divisions. We have fairly reliable ground reports only on the Walküre’s march, but we assume OKW is not detaching divisions, and that the entire XII Corps is moving toward the North Sea coast.”
General Clay then told them of the midget submarine and the German agent who was killed and the other who escaped on the east coast. He went on, “A lot of you hope deep down in your bones that the Germans will hit our channel beaches, but it is looking less likely, as you can see with these new German troops movements. More likely, several of our divisions will be called on to join the Canadian and British corps in reserve and patch up failing lines in East Anglia or further north.”
The general paced. “Irrespective of where the German lands, he will try to isolate London immediately. So you, Hal and Roger, are to be prepared to move north quickly when you’re released to Arthur Stedman’s Home Forces. Stedman is good. You can rely on him.”
Clay spoke a while longer on preparations to move north, noting problems that would be caused by refugees clogging the roads and the destroyed bridges and the Luftwaffe overhead. I made notes as he issued orders. Hal was Brigadier Hal Larsen, commander of the 2nd Armored, who had replaced Major General Richard Duvall, killed one week before when Duvall’s jeep had tried a U-turn in a mined pasture. Larsen had been Duvall’s deputy. He was stocky, with a high forehead and a suggestion of blond hair. He wore tortoise shell glasses.
Sitting near Larsen were the other II Corps division commanders, John Hammond of the 35th, whom we had met with at Evelyn Blaine’s home, and Major General Roderick Carsen, commander of the 5th Infantry. Their superior, II Corps commander Gene Girard, was perched on a folding chair near the fireplace.
Cigarette and pipe smoke hung heavily in the air. A fan had been placed near a door that opened to a garden and rose trellis. I could hear chatter from AA personnel, who had been posted on the manor house’s drive and on nearby Merrywood Lane.
“What’s the chance they’ll come tonight?” Hammond asked Clay.
“Churchill and General Barclay put it at fifty-fifty.”
“That’s what they said last month,” General Carsen said. He was the tallest man in the room, over six feet four, and as thin as a plank. He and Hammond wore .45s on their hips. For a hundred years, general officers had eschewed personal weapons. The style was reversing.
Clay said, “Some Defense Committee and Combined Intelligence people think the landing will be next month. June’s weather is more reliable than May’s. And they argue that the most critical German shortage is of dedicated landing craft. CIC maintains the Kriegsmarine is producing only about ten of them a week, and that if the Germans come tonight or tomorrow they’ll still have to rely on canal barges for amphibious operations. Barges aren’t seaworthy and offer little protection from shore fire. Yes, another month would give them a better landing capacity. But I still think it’ll be within forty-eight hours.”
Clay rubbed his jaw. “And yes, the Germans may be selling me a bill of goods, just like last month, when they made us think they were coming. It’s the same tactic Alexander used at the Battle of Hydaspes.”
Gene Girard moaned loudly, which was followed by soft laughter from others in the room.
“As you all undoubtedly recall, Porus, with his chariots, cavalry, elephants, and infantry, had a strong defensive position behind the River Jhelum. But Alexander crossed the fast-flowing river nightly, simulating amphibious attacks by noisy demonstrations all along the river bank. Eventually Porus tired of policing these diversions. And you all know what happened next.”
No one in the room said anything. Several seconds elapsed. I saw my duty and I did it. “I don’t recall what happened next, sir.”
Mark Hammond mouthed a word at me. I think it was “toady.”
“Alexander poured five thousand cavalry and six thousand infantry over the river onto an undefended landing place eighteen miles upstream from Porus’ main position. Undefended because Porus simply got tired of challenging Alexander’s feints. That’s not going to happen this time.”
That probably put me back up to captain or so.
“They’re coming,” Mark Hammond said. “The Scapa Flow disaster tells us that more clearly than if they’d written us a letter. It was no noisy diversion.”
Clay nodded. “The Home Fleet’s mission was to cut off reinforcements and supplies for the German wave, giving time for Allied ground forces to confront the first Germans ashore. Because the Fleet was largely destroyed this afternoon, we’ll no longer be able to burn the German sea bridge. So I think the Germans’ surprise attack on the Orkneys, with all the risks they took, means they are coming tonight or tomorrow night. Never have things looked better for them.”
Clay stopped his pacing and drew himself up in front of his commanders. “Now I want you to remember a couple of things. Despite all our education and training, we won’t know what in hell hit us when the German comes. We’ll be faced with developments we aren’t prepared for, maybe haven’t even thought about. So above all, avoid rigidity. Our army has a tendency for stasis in doctrine and execution, a legacy of the German Baron von Steuben, who shaped our American revolutionary army. Throw out this German’s thinking and we’ll throw out the Germans. The secret of the blitzkrieg is not German material superiority, but their enemy’s tactical inferiority. With the Wehrmacht, shock predominates over fire. Shock can only be met with flexibility. Improvise, think on your feet, don’t get locked up by doctrine. This will be your tactical advantage.”
Clay inhaled slowly, then said, “And take risks. You must have the spirit to gamble. There is an inexorable law in war that he who will not risk cannot win.”
He lifted his spectacles from a pocket, examined them, and dropped them back. “By selecting your battalion and regimental leaders, you’ve already done much of your job. We should learn from the German army’s troubles at the Somme in 1916, where their major problem was telephonitis, too much use of telephones to interfere on the battle line. Trust your judgment in your choices, and let your commanders do their work.”