He shook his head. “Terrific,” he whispered, “a pediatrician and a historian in search of heavily armed, crack German commandos.”
“You’re a baby doctor?” I exclaimed in a whisper. “I thought you were a surgeon.”
“I lied to get into the service.”
I nodded toward his pistol. “You ever fired that thing?”
“It went off once by accident when I was trying on the holster. Does that count?”
“Jesus.”
We searched room to room on the third floor, opening each door and flashing the beam in, until we found the cause of sound. A canister the size of a thirty-gallon barrel filled with German rations had fallen through the manor’s roof and the ceiling to land on the floor. It had broken open. Tins resembling our C-rations were scattered across the room. Parachute lines dangled from the hole in the ceiling.
“Chute must have failed,” Strothers said.
I gathered up several cans and returned to the billiard room, leaving Strothers upstairs. I kneeled next to Clay. He extended his hand and I gave him a tin. He opened it. I couldn’t see what was in it.
After a moment of chewing he said, “Sausage. Could use more garlic, but not bad.”
The wall east of the veranda doors buckled, then blew inward with a flash of an explosion. Stones and plaster and wood tumbled to the floor. The bodyguards above us raised their weapons. Shouting came from the porch, then automatic gunfire followed by a smattering of rifle shots. Then silence.
I saw General Clay remove a tiny pill bottle from his trouser’s pocket. He shook it idly. It sounded like it had only one pill inside. I knew he didn’t take medication for his heart, like Dr. Strothers wanted.
I asked, “What’s that, sir?”
“I can’t be taken alive.”
It took me a moment. Then I was aghast. “General Clay, you’ve been carrying around a cyanide pill? You can’t—”
“Don’t worry, Jack. I’m not going to eat it until the last moment.”
“But, damn it—”
He waved away my objection. “That’s why I don’t take those goddamn blood pressure pills Strothers is always lecturing me about. I don’t want to get my pills mixed up.”
Looking back, it seems childish that I next asked him, “Why wasn’t I issued a cyanide pill? I know as much about deployment of our forces as you do.”
Clay thought for a moment. “I tell you what, until I can get another, I’ll cut this one in half and give you a half. That way, neither of us will die, but we’ll both get real sick.”
I think he was joking. He continued to rattle the pill bottle. I was forgotten.
A flare ignited outside. Brilliant light streaked into the room through the bullet punctures in the blackout curtain. The wall above signal carrels was spot-lighted. The hammer of a machine gun came from the garden.
“General Clay?” Captain Swain called out.
“Over here.”
Swain appeared above us. “General, we need to get you out of here.”
“What’s going on out there?”
“Enemy paratroopers. We don’t know how many.”
Clay said gruffly, “Clear them the hell out and let me get back to work. That’s was the U.S. Army is paying you for, Captain.”
“I intend to, sir.” Swain used an obstinate tone the general rarely heard from subordinates. “The army also pays me to insist you evacuate when I deem it imperative.”
Hargrave, on the floor nearby, said loudly, “Get going, General. Gene and I will follow you.”
Clay climbed to his feet, shaking off Captain Swain’s hand at his elbow. “We’re retreating before we’ve fired a shot. Is that it, Alex? I’ll be goddamned if—”
Captain Swain cut in, “Let’s go, General.”
Even in the darkness, I could see the glower on Clay’s face. I thought he was going to bust Swain and send him home. Instead, the general slapped dust off his shirt sleeves and began toward the door. He barked, “Come on, Jack.”
The gunfire faded. A phalanx of Captain Swain’s soldiers met us in the courtyard. They surrounded us, a human shield, and walked us to an M20 armored utility car. Clay and I climbed through the hatch. It was dark and cramped and smelled of oil, exhaust, and the general’s wurst.
The driver said, “Hang on, sirs. We’ll get you out of here.” He had a southern accent. He engaged the gears and accelerated.
We bounced around, banging ourselves against the steel walls, which were over three-quarters of an inch thick.
Clay said bitterly, “This is it, Jack, the absolute nadir of my command, and you can write that down.”
He was silent for a moment. Then he said, “Do you realize what I’m doing here? I’m fleeing my command.”
“Sir, I don’t view it that way. I think—”
“Darius, pursued by Alexander, abandoned his family and his traveling palace and his war chariot and his soldiers, so anxious was he to escape, and we remember his infamy twenty-two hundred years later.”
“Well, sir, that’s not really analogous—”
“During the Battle of Camden in 1780, General Horatio Gates was forever disgraced when he fled the field, outrunning his men in his haste to escape.”
“I don’t think—”
“French infantry commander Clerambauld deserted his troops at Blenheim, to his eternal dishonor.”
“Sir—”
“At Gettysburg, General Schimmefennig spent most of the battle hiding in a cellar in town.”
“Sir—”
“At Austerlitz, General Buxhouden escaped, leaving most of his men behind, to his lasting shame.”
From the driver’s seat, the corporal spoke up, “And didn’t old Jeff Davis turn tail and skedaddle from Richmond at the first sight of U. S. Grant’s army?”
Clay looked bleakly at the driver.
“Well, hell,” the driver said, “we don’t hold that against him, much.”
“Thank you, Corporal.” Clay looked back at me and stabbed his head with a finger. “Every one of them memorized, Jack. Every one.”
When we arrived at the air strip, we pushed and levered ourselves out of the armored car. More guards ushered us toward Terry Norman’s plane. The engine was already turning, and even though morning was breaking, I could see flames from the exhaust pipes. I scrambled into my seat behind the pilot.
“Morning, General,” Captain Norman said cheerily. “Where to?”
I expected Clay to order us to I Corps HQ, our reserve headquarters. And I hope my jaw did not drop when he said, “I promised Winnie I’d tell him where the goddamn German is landing, and I intend to do just that. Toward the channel, Captain. Let’s go take a look-see.”
“Righto,” Norman said, grinning.
Clay believed for a while that German commandos had been assigned to assassinate him, either in retaliation for his Flanders raid with the Rangers “or just on general principle,” as he put it.
We later discovered that a plane of Wehrmacht paratroopers lost its engines, and the commandoes bailed out short of their target. They landed at Eastwell only by accident. Captain Swain’s troops killed twenty-three of them, shooting many before they landed in the gardens. Another nine were taken prisoner. A few escaped into the night. Headquarters company lost two soldiers.
I report here also that the next time General Clay fell asleep, which was many hours in the future, I dug into his pocket, found that small bottle, ground the pill into powder, and cast it to the wind. He never mentioned it to me.
I gripped the seat back as the Cub began down the pasture. The engine soon pulled us into the sky. We were in for a rough and frightening flight.
Our men, a wall of them, squared themselves to the danger. Backs to the land, they braced themselves. The Germans appeared with the tide, washing in on the island shore. Crashing and pounding and grinding, the enemy host came. All along the coast, lives were joined. The sound of battle soon soared above the waves.