HARRY CLIFTON
1945
41
‘I’LL REPORT BACK, SIR, as soon as I’ve located them,’ said Harry, before putting the field phone down.
‘Located who?’ asked Quinn.
‘Kertel’s army. Colonel Benson seems to think they could be in the valley on the other side of that ridge,’ he said, pointing to the top of the hill.
‘There’s only one way we’re going to find out,’ said Quinn, shifting the Jeep noisily into first gear.
‘Take it easy,’ Harry told him, ‘if the Hun are there, we don’t need to alert them.’
Quinn remained in first as they crept slowly up the hill.
‘That’s far enough,’ said Harry when they were less than fifty yards from the brow of the hill. Quinn put the handbrake on and turned the ignition off, and they jumped out and ran on up the incline. When they were only a few yards from the top, they fell flat on their stomachs, then, like two crabs scurrying back into the sea, they crawled until they stopped just below the crest.
Harry peeped over the top and caught his breath. He didn’t need a pair of binoculars to see what they were up against. Field Marshal Kertel’s legendary Nineteenth Armoured Corps was clearly preparing for battle in the valley below. Tanks were lined up as far as the eye could see, and the support troops would have filled a football stadium. Harry estimated that the Second Division of the Texas Rangers would be outnumbered by at least three to one.
‘If we get the hell out of here,’ whispered Quinn, ‘we might just have enough time to prevent Custer’s second-to-last stand.’
‘Not so fast,’ said Harry. ‘We might be able to turn this to our advantage.’
‘Don’t you think we’ve used up enough of our nine lives during the past year?’
‘I’ve counted eight so far,’ said Harry. ‘So I think we can risk just one more.’ He began to crawl back down the hill before Quinn could offer an opinion. ‘Have you got a handkerchief?’ Harry asked as Quinn climbed behind the wheel.
‘Yes, sir,’ he said, taking one out of his pocket and passing it to Harry, who tied it to the Jeep’s radio mast.
‘You’re not going to—’
‘—surrender? Yes, it’s our one chance,’ said Harry. ‘So drive slowly to the top of the ridge, corporal, and then on down into the valley.’ Harry only ever called Pat ‘corporal’ when he didn’t want to prolong the discussion.
‘Into the valley of death,’ suggested Quinn.
‘Not a fair comparison,’ said Harry. ‘There were six hundred in the Light Brigade, and we are but two. So I see myself more like Horatius than Lord Cardigan.’
‘I see myself more like a sitting duck.’
‘That’s because you’re Irish,’ said Harry, as they crested the ridge and began the slow journey down the other side. ‘Don’t exceed the speed limit,’ he said, trying to make light of it. He was expecting a hail of bullets to greet their impudent intrusion, but clearly curiosity got the better of the Germans.
‘Whatever you do, Pat,’ Harry said firmly, ‘don’t open your mouth. And try to look as if this has all been planned in advance.’
If Quinn had an opinion, he didn’t express it, which was most unlike him. The corporal drove at a steady pace, and didn’t touch the brake until they reached the front line of tanks.
Kertel’s men stared at the occupants of the Jeep in disbelief, but no one moved until a major pushed his way through the ranks and headed straight for them. Harry leapt out of the Jeep, stood to attention and saluted, hoping his German would be up to it.
‘What in God’s name do you imagine you’re doing?’ asked the major.
Harry thought that was the gist of it. He maintained a calm exterior.
‘I have a message for Field Marshal Kertel, from General Eisenhower, Supreme Commander of the Allied Forces in Europe.’ Harry knew that when the major heard the name Eisenhower, he couldn’t risk not taking it to a higher level.
Without another word the major climbed into the back of the Jeep, tapped Quinn on the shoulder with his baton and pointed in the direction of a large, well-camouflaged tent that stood to one side of the assembled troops.
When they reached the tent, the major leapt out. ‘Wait here,’ he ordered, before going inside.
Quinn and Harry sat there, surrounded by thousands of wary eyes.
‘If looks could kill . . .’ whispered Quinn. Harry ignored him.
It was several minutes before the major returned.
‘What’s it going to be, sir,’ mumbled Quinn, ‘the firing squad, or will he ask you to join him for a glass of schnapps?’
‘The field marshal has agreed to see you,’ said the major, not attempting to hide his surprise.
‘Thank you, sir,’ Harry said as he got out of the Jeep and followed him into the tent.
Field Marshal Kertel rose from behind a long table that was covered in a map that Harry recognized immediately, but this one had models of tanks and soldiers all heading in his direction. He was surrounded by a dozen field officers, none below the rank of colonel.
Harry stood rigidly to attention and saluted.
‘Name and rank?’ the field marshal asked after he had returned Harry’s salute.
‘Clifton, sir, Lieutenant Clifton. I am General Eisenhower’s ADC.’ Harry spotted a bible on a small folding table by the field marshal’s bed. A German flag covered the canvas of one side of the tent. Something was missing.
‘And why would General Eisenhower send his ADC to see me?’
Harry observed the man carefully before answering his question. Unlike Goebbels’s or Goering’s, Kertel’s battle-worn face confirmed that he had seen frontline action many times. The only medal he wore was an Iron Cross with oakleaf cluster, which Harry knew he’d won as a lieutenant at the Battle of the Marne in 1918.
‘General Eisenhower wishes you to know that on the far side of Clemenceau, he has three full battalions of thirty thousand men, along with twenty-two thousand tanks. On his right flank is the Second Division of the Texas Rangers, in the centre, the Third Battalion of the Green Jackets, and on their left flank, a battalion of the Australian Light Infantry.’
The field marshal would have made an excellent poker player, because he gave nothing away. He would have known that the numbers were accurate, assuming those three regiments were actually in place.
‘Then it should prove a most interesting battle, lieutenant. But if your purpose was to alarm me, you have failed.’
‘That is no part of my brief, sir,’ Harry said, glancing down at the map, ‘because I suspect I haven’t told you anything you didn’t already know, including the fact that the Allies have recently taken control of the airfield at Wilhelmsberg.’ A fact that was confirmed by a small American flag pinned on the airport on the map. ‘What you may not know, sir, is that lined up on the runway is a squadron of Lancaster bombers, awaiting an order from General Eisenhower to destroy your tanks, while his battalions advance in battle formation.’
What Harry knew was that the only planes at the airfield were a couple of reconnaissance aircraft stranded because they’d run out of fuel.
‘Get to the point, lieutenant,’ said Kertel. ‘Why did General Eisenhower send you to see me?’
‘I will try to recall the general’s exact words, sir.’ Harry attempted to sound as if he were reciting a message. ‘There can be no doubt that this dreadful war is fast drawing to a close, and only a deluded man with a limited experience of warfare could still believe victory is possible.’
The allusion to Hitler did not go unnoticed by the officers who surrounded their field marshal. That was when Harry realized what was missing. There was no Nazi flag or picture of the Führer in the field marshal’s tent.
‘General Eisenhower holds you and the Nineteenth Corps in the highest regard,’ Harry continued. ‘He has no doubt that your men would lay down their lives for you, whatever the odds. But in the name of God, he asks, for what purpose? This engagement will end with your troops being decimated, while we will undoubtedly lose vast numbers of men. Everyone knows that the end of the war can only be a matter of weeks away, so what can be gained by such unnecessary carnage? General Eisenhower read your book, The Professional Soldier, when he was at West Point, sir, and one sentence in particular has remained indelibly fixed in his memory throughout his military career.’
Harry had read Kertel’s memoirs a fortnight before, when he realized they might be up against him, so he was able to recite the sentence almost word for word.
‘“Sending young men to an unnecessary death is not an act of leadership, but of vainglory, and unworthy of a professional soldier.” That, sir, is something you share with General Eisenhower, and to that end, he guarantees that if you lay down your arms, your men will be treated with the utmost dignity and respect, as set out in the Third Geneva Convention.’
Harry expected the field marshal’s response to be, ‘Good try, young man, but you can tell whoever it is commanding your puny brigade on the other side of that hill that I am about to wipe them off the face of the earth.’ But what Kertel actually said, was, ‘I will discuss the general’s proposal with my officers. Perhaps you would be kind enough to wait outside.’
‘Of course, sir.’ Harry saluted, left the tent and returned to the Jeep. Quinn didn’t speak when he climbed back into the front seat and sat beside him.
It was clear that Kertel’s officers were not of one opinion, as raised voices could be heard from inside the tent. Harry could imagine the words, honour, commonsense, duty, realism, humiliation and sacrifice being bandied about. But the two he feared most were ‘he’s bluffing’.
It was almost an hour before the major summoned Harry back into the tent. Kertel was standing apart from his most trusted advisers, a world-weary look on his face. He had made his decision, and even if some of his officers didn’t agree with it, once he had given the order they would never question him. He didn’t need to tell Harry what that decision was.
‘Do I have your permission, sir, to contact General Eisenhower and inform him of your decision?’
The field marshal gave a curt nod, and his officers quickly left the tent to see that his orders were carried out.
Harry returned to his Jeep accompanied by the major, and watched 23,000 men lay down their arms, climb out of their tanks and line up in columns of three as they prepared to surrender. His only fear was that having bluffed the field marshal, he wouldn’t be able to pull off the same trick with his area commander. He picked up his field phone and only had to wait a few moments before Colonel Benson came on the line. Harry hoped the major hadn’t noticed the bead of sweat that was trickling down his nose.
‘Have you discovered how many of them we’re up against, Clifton?’ were the colonel’s first words.
‘Could you put me through to General Eisenhower, colonel? This is Lieutenant Clifton, his ADC.’
‘Have you gone out of your mind, Clifton?’
‘Yes, I will hold on, sir, while you go and look for him.’ His heart couldn’t have beaten faster if he’d just run a hundred yards, and he began to wonder how long it would be before the colonel worked out what he was up to. He nodded at the major, but the major didn’t respond. Was he standing there hoping to find a chink in his armour? As he waited, Harry watched thousands of fighting men, some perplexed, while others looked relieved, joining the ranks of those who had already abandoned their tanks and laid down their arms.
‘It’s General Eisenhower here. Is that you, Clifton?’ said Colonel Benson when he came back on the line.
‘Yes, sir. I’m with Field Marshal Kertel, and he has accepted your proposal that the Nineteenth Corps lay down their arms and surrender under the terms of the Geneva Convention, in order to avoid, if I remember your words correctly, sir, unnecessary carnage. If you bring forward one of our five battalions, they should be able to carry out the operation in an orderly fashion. I anticipate coming over Clemenceau ridge, accompanied by the Nineteenth Corps –’ he looked at his watch – ‘at approximately 1700 hours.’
‘We’ll be waiting for you, lieutenant.’
‘Thank you, sir.’
Fifty minutes later Harry crossed the Clemenceau ridge for the second time that day, the German battalion following him as if he were the Pied Piper, over the hill and into the arms of the Texas Rangers. As the 700 men and 214 tanks surrounded the Nineteenth Corps, Kertel realized he had been duped by an Englishman and an Irishman, whose only weapons were a Jeep and a handkerchief.
The field marshal pulled a pistol from inside his tunic, and Harry thought for a moment that he was going to shoot him. Kertel stood to attention, saluted, placed the pistol to his temple and pulled the trigger.
Harry felt no pleasure in his death.
Once the Germans had been rounded up, Colonel Benson invited Harry to lead the nineteenth un-armoured corps in triumph to the compound. As they drove at the head of the column, even Pat Quinn had a smile on his face.
They must have been about a mile away when the Jeep passed over a German landmine. Harry heard a loud explosion, and remembered Pat’s prophetic words, Don’t you think we’ve used up enough of our nine lives during the past year?, as the Jeep cartwheeled into the air before bursting into flames.
And then, nothing.