Command Decision (15 page)

“Sir,” said Major Prescott. “Considering the importance of these I should like permission to work up a special presentation of them… frame them dramatically on good white board… using before and after shots, with a title, ‘The Death of Schweinhafen.’”

Kane beamed. “The very thing, Homer, the very thing.”

“It isn’t Schweinhafen,” said Lieutenant Goldberg.

“Not Schweinhafen… what is it?” Kane glared.

“The Nautilus Torpedo plant at Gritzenheim, sir.”

“Torpedo plant…?” echoed Kane.

Garnett’s reflexes were faster. He had seized the photos now and his face lit up at the new examination of them.

“General, this couldn’t be more opportune. The Admirals will want to see this. If we can get these to the Big Chief before that meeting…”

Kane got it now. He beamed upon Goldberg and then, as his whole perception expanded, he clapped the Lieutenant affectionately upon the shoulder.

“I’ll send my own plane. Lieutenant, you don’t know what this will do for us. When we can show our commanders that in the midst of the greatest air campaign in history we still think enough of the overall strategy to knock out a torpedo factory too…”

“I’m sorry, sir,” said Dennis. “We hit it by accident instead of Schweinhafen.”

Chapter 8

General Kane understood what had happened at once. In all the world, he thought, there was no man who had luck like this. Nothing new. Just a fresh instance of the kind of thing that dogged him interminably. The thought of how the Germans must be laughing at him was bitter.

The Germans could afford to laugh. They had everything, over there; a short defense perimeter and impenetrable weather to reduce even the simplified problem of defending their economy with flak and policing it with swarms of cheap, expendable fighters. They had a docile, industrious people, a press that knew its place, no congress, no allies, and a leader who loved war and warriors.

They had even had the whole Spanish campaign for maneuvers and testing. Kane’s contemporaries in the Reich had had an easy and profitable dress rehearsal for the whole war. The men who had gone down there had gained practical experience, advanced three or four ranks in a season, and come home to permanent promotion, decorations, and adulation.

He thought of them bitterly—Kesselring, Lohr, Von Griem, Sperrle, Stumpf, Galland, Richthofen, Jeschonnek, Harlinghausen… he had met many of them in Berlin on a brief observation tour before the war. He had stayed in a cheap hotel and pondered the problem of squeezing taxi fares out of what his government thought a suitable per diem, while these men flashed through the Kurfürstendamm and down the Unter den Linden in their sleek black Mercedes cars which the police saluted.

He shook his head heavily now, aware of the tightening silence through which the other men were regarding him. He had to deal with this now, somehow; it was always this way. There was never time. Turning to Dennis he spoke slowly, warily, half fearful still of further and worse disclosures waiting behind that expressionless face.

“You told me you’d destroyed Schweinhafen.”

“It was a mistake, sir. We hit this Nautilus place.”

“Whose mistake?”

“Mine, sir. The preparatory instruction…”

“No, you don’t,” said Martin. “The briefing was perfect. I led the Division and I loused it up myself, General Kane.”

Goldberg broke in. “These gentlemen are both covering for me, sir. I was well briefed and I was on the sight. It’s my fault, sir. I just got mixed up in the fighting.”

It was too much. Kane could feel himself giving way again to anger.

“Why did you
get
mixed up? Were you scared?”

“Yes, sir. I’m always scared but…”

The fool would talk all night if permitted. Kane wheeled on Dennis.

“This
is
your fault, General, entrusting a mission of this importance to a bombardier who…”

“General Kane, Lieutenant Goldberg is on the fourth mission of a voluntary second tour over German targets. You owe him an apology.”

Glancing back and forth now between the deepening purple of Kane’s anger and the white-faced intensity of Dennis, Evans began to realize what was happening to him. As Brockhurst had warned that afternoon, he was going to see a general fired. At the first suggestion of the idea he had relished it. Now he realized that Dennis was fighting in his own way, and within limitations, everything that Evans himself hated about the army, fully conscious of the risk as he took it. What was more, he was fighting capably. And now Goldberg addressed Dennis with quiet composure through the ominous deepening silence of Kane.

“It’s all right, sir. General Kane just doesn’t understand.”

“I understand,” said Kane icily, “that you’ve made a fool of me and the Army Air Forces, letting us report that we’ve destroyed a target we didn’t even touch. This could embarrass the Chief. Do you realize what I’d be justified in doing?”

“Yes, sir. You ought to shoot me for wasting the lives of four hundred and eighteen men this afternoon. I’d be grateful if you did.”

Without saluting, Goldberg turned and walked out the Ops room door. Kane was still staring, as incredulously as the others, when he heard Brockhurst speaking. The words came to him as if from very far away but they were clear.

“I think I’d take it easy on that one, R. G.”

Brockhurst had not intended to intervene. It was costing him an increasing effort to remain either neutral or silent.

What met the eye was two exhausted men compressed to the combustion point by the weight of command. Brockhurst himself could not be sure yet of the merits of the argument. He could be and was appalled by the process of the solution unfolding before him.

Brockhurst knew that both Kane and Dennis were widely considered to be, at their differing levels of operation, the best that the army could produce. He had not interrupted the argument to protect Goldberg. What he had feared was that the passion of either Kane or Dennis might explode.

It warmed his sympathy to see that Martin was already working for the same purpose. Ordinarily the Colonel was almost openly contemptuous of Kane. Now he was addressing him as if he had never cursed a commander in his life.

“…and I know the boy spoke out of turn, sir. But he isn’t our Division bombardier by accident. He made the best patterns in his school, his squadron, his group, and his wing. He volunteered for this second tour of German targets only because he knows how much we need him. He knows how much the Germans would like to get their hands on him, too. The mistake was
my
fault, General. It was rugged out there and I couldn’t get off the nose gun for more than seconds. Jake threw a perfect pattern just where I told him to while I was standing all over his hands on the sight, shooting.”

Kane had had time to regain his temper. He nodded now and his voice was warm with friendly curiosity.

“You were shooting yourself, Ted?”

Martin grinned and the whole room seemed to relax.

“Four boxes, sir. Those Krauts must have had an order for nothing but frontals today.”

Prescott, noting Kane’s interest, spoke earnestly.

“May I ask how many you got, sir?”

“Who could tell in a mess like that?”

“You’re being modest, sir. How many did you report at the interrogation?”

“I didn’t go to it.”

“It might be important, sir. How many do you think?”

Martin remembered that this was giving Dennis time to cool off.

“Well, three I was shooting at came apart but I guess every top turret and nose gun in our element was working on ’em too.”

Prescott stepped over and turned the claim board toward Kane.

“Three more would make an even hundred, sir, our first. In the circumstances today’s claim report and battle damage should be especially carefully done, sir.”

“They certainly must, Homer,” said General Kane.

Prescott eyed his watch. “There would still be time for a correction to make the Sunday papers at home, sir.”

“Correction on claims, you mean?”

“Of course, sir. One hundred.”

Kane pondered a minute. “Round numbers always sound suspicious, Homer. Make it a hundred and one. General Dennis, can you provide Homer and Brockie here with a place to write a press release?”

Too late, Brockhurst realized that he often underestimate Kane. With his head cool the General was as clever a man as he had known. He spoke out bluntly.

“General, are you manipulating me out of here?”

“Brockie,” said Kane, “you have my promise. I need help from you now.”

“Evans,” said Dennis, “get these gentlemen what they need.”

He walked over and held open the door himself with obvious relief as the Sergeant followed Brockhurst and Prescott out.

2

“General,” said Kane, “this is very serious.”

“I tried to tell you before, sir.”

Kane could feel the compressed anger in the retort and he regretted having aroused it. He had half decided to relieve Dennis but it was not a thing to do precipitately. A change now would run through the whole structure with seismic dislocation. If he requested Garnett, who would get Garnett’s job with the United Chiefs? Who would get whatever impending job had placed Garnett in such a manifestly intermediate position? Kane knew he could probably precalculate the chain of changes but he needed time with his most private card index.

“Ted, how many men in the Division know this?”

“Not many, sir. Most of the camera ships were lost or shot up. Both recce planes are unreported today. Most of the men were too busy fighting to care where we were.”

“For all they knew you might have had a signal recalling you or changing the target en route, mightn’t you?”

“I might but I didn’t,” said Martin.

“Cliff, do you think it’s fair to the Chief, in the circumstances, to report this immediately?”

“I’d have to think that over, sir,” Garnett evaded.

“We haven’t much time to think,” said Kane. “Sending the Chief into that meeting with this hanging over him is practically sabotage. I reported a successful strike to Lester in good faith. Ted admits that even he was mixed up. There won’t be confirmatory recce for a couple of days. We could use them to put the Chief in a very strong position.”

“Yes, we could finish the job,” said Dennis thoughtfully.

“Casey! Half the United Chiefs are admirals. Naval objectives are a legitimate…”

“This one was Fourth Category,” said Dennis bluntly.

“They don’t know individual targets on that level,” snapped Kane. “This is a significant contribution to the Naval War. If we use the remaining two days of this month on naval objectives
under fighter cover
we can average down losses, set new sortie and tonnage records, and put the navy under obligation to the Chief just before that meeting.”

“And that would be the end of Stitch,” said Dennis.

“Casey, today could be the end of daylight bombardment.”

“
Could be
. The Germans’ first good day with jets will be.”

This time Kane covered his annoyance. If Dennis’s years as a test pilot had not taught him that flexibility survives where rigidity breaks, that was his misfortune. But the moment for breaking stress was not yet at hand. Kane wanted time to consider it without the pressure of those six eyes and ears measuring everything he said. He smiled.

“Casey, let’s take these pictures down to your light table. We’ll rejoin you in a minute, gentlemen.”

3

Ted Martin had realized that a private session with Garnett was unavoidable. His brother-in-law honestly thought other people’s difficulties could always be resolved by a good heart-to-heart talk, with himself doing most of the talking. Through the earlier quarrels and reconciliations Ted had endured such talks attentively, hopefully. Now they were powerless to penetrate the indifference which had closed like scar tissue over the old pain. As the departure of the others locked them together again Martin amused himself by beating his brother-in-law to the punch.

“Well, how do you like life in a military bucket shop?”

The question threw Garnett off balance. He always forgot, between their meetings, Martin’s disconcerting bluntness.

“Ted, how long has Casey been like this?”

“Like what?”

“So tense, strung-up, unreasonable?”

“It’s a tense job. Were you sent here to replace him?”

“I don’t know. It occurred to me, of course. The orders just said ‘Visit Fifth Bombardment Division for Tour of Observation.’ It was very unexpected. Unfortunately I couldn’t see the Chief personally before leaving because he was in a meeting with some very important people from Hollywood.”

“What does Percent think?”

“Percent?”

“Kane.”

Garnett smiled. “Between ourselves he asked me confidentially if I’d been sent here to replace him.”

“Jesus! You haven’t done anything bad enough to get a second star, have you?”

This time Garnett had to force the smile but he managed it.

“The same old rebel, Ted.”

“What’s Percent jittering about, Cliff? Is Washington onto him?”

“You know how the Chief is, Ted. He likes to keep ’em guessing.”

Martin sat down on the map table, took out cigarettes, lit one, and then returned them to his pocket without offering Garnett one. He inhaled and blew out a long cloud of smoke before nodding somberly.

“I know. And then he wonders why he can’t get the truth out of them. Well, they can learn it from Casey now… or wait about sixty days and learn it from Galland.”

“Ted, why in God’s name didn’t you tell us before?”

“Casey tried to, through channels. But the channels between us and you are clogged up with homemade statistics these days.”

“Why do you think Kane sat on the report?”

Martin smoked thoughtfully, but made no reply.

Garnett took out a cigarette of his own and lit it slowly. Nothing would change Ted’s views about the army.

“Ted, you shouldn’t be flying missions.”

“My insurance is paid up.”

“I don’t mean that. Helen’s worried about you.”