‘—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.