In London, Dougal Munro was working at his desk, the slight scratching of his pen the only sound in the quiet of the room. There was a knock at the door and Jack Carter limped in with a folder in one hand. He put it down in front of Munro.
“Latest list from Slapton, sir.”
“Anything on Kelso?”
“Not a thing, sir, but theyVe got every available ship out there in the bay looking for the missing bodies.”
Dougal Munro got up and moved to the window. The wind moaned outside, hurling rain against the pane. He shook his head and said softly, “God help sailors at sea on a night like this.”
A commander of Army Group B, Field Marshal Erwin Rommel was responsible for the Atlantic Wall defenses, his sole task to defeat any Allied attempt to land in northern France. Since taking command in January of 1944 he had strengthened the coastal defenses to an incredible degree, tramping the beaches, visiting every strongpoint, impressing his own energetic presence on everyone from divisional commanders to the lowliest private.
His headquarters seemed permanently on the move so that no one could be sure where he was from one day to the next. He had an uncomfortable habit of turning up in his familiar black Mercedes accompanied only by his driver and his most trusted aide from Afrika Korps days, Major Konrad Hofer.
On the evening of that fateful day at about the time Hugh Kelso was somewhere in the general area of the Casquets Light, west of Alderney, the field marshal was sitting down to an early dinner with the officers of the 21st Parachute Regiment in a chateau at Campeaux some ten miles from St. Lo in Normandy.
His primary reason for being there was sound enough. The High Command, and the Fiihrer himself, believed that the invasion, when it came, would take place in the area of the Pas de Calais. Rommel disagreed and had made it clear that if he were Eisenhower, he would strike for Normandy. None of this had done anything for his popularity among the people who counted at OKW, High Command of the Armed Forces, in Berlin. Rommel didn’t give a damn about that anymore. The war was lost. The only thing that was uncertain was how long it would take.
Which brought him to the second reason for being in Normandy. He was involved in a dangerous game and it paid to keep on the move, for since taking command of Army Group B he had renewed old friendships with General von Stulpnagel, military governor of France, and General Alexander von Falkenhausen. Both were involved, with von Stauffenberg, in the conspiracy against Hitler. It had not taken them long to bring Rommel around to their point of view.
They had all been aware of the projected assassination attempt at Rastenburg that morning. Rommel had sent Konrad Hofer by air to Berlin the previous day to await events at General Olbricht’s headquarters, but there had been no news at all. Not a hint of anything untoward on the radio.
Now, in the mess, Colonel Haider, commanding the regiment, stood to offer the loyal toast. “Gentlemen-to our Ftihrer and total victory.”
“So many young men,” Rommel thought to himself, “and what for?” But he raised his glass and drank with them.
“And now, Field Marshal Erwin Rommel, the Desert Fox himself, who does our mess so much honor tonight.”
They drained their glasses, then applauded him, cheering wildly, and Rommel was immensely touched. Colonel Haider said, “The men have arranged a little entertainment in your honor, Field Marshal. We were hoping you might be willing to attend.”
“But of course.” Rommel held out his glass for more champagne. “Delighted.”
The door opened at the back of the mess and Konrad Hofer entered. He looked tired and badly needed a shave, his field gray greatcoat buttoned up to his neck.
“Ah, Konrad, there you are,” Rommel called. “Come and have a glass of champagne. You look as if you could do with it.”
“IVe just flown in from Berlin, Field Marshal. Landed at St. Lo.”
“Good flight?”
“Terrible, actually.” Hofer swallowed the champagne gratefully.
“My dear boy, come and have a shower and we’ll see if they can manage you a sandwich.” Rommel turned to Colonel Haider. “See if you can delay this little show the men are putting on for half an hour.”