and he not being used to this thinks something is wrong and says: “It’s all right, it’s all right, it’s all right-” -and finally she goes limp, and lies with her eyes closed for a while, perspiring, until her breathing returns to normal, then she looks up at him and says: “So thaes how it’s supposed to be!” And he laughs, and she looks quizzically at him, so he explains: “That’s exactly what I was thinking.” Then they both laugh, and he says: “I’ve done a lot of things after . . . you know, afterwards . but I don’t think I’ve ever laughed.” “I’m so glad,” she says. “Oh, William, I’m so glad.” 18
Rommel could smell the sea. At Tobruk the heat and the dust and the flies were as bad as they had been in the desert, but it was all made bearable by that occasional whiff of salty dampness in the faint breeze. Von Mellenthin came into the command vehicle with his intelligence report. “Good evening, Field Marshal.” Rommel smiled. He had been promoted after the victory at Tobruk, and he had not yet gotten used to the new title. “Anything new?” “A signal from the spy in Cairo. He says the Mersa Matruh Line is weak in the middle.” Rommel took the report and began to glance over it. He smiled when he read that the Allies anticipated he would try a dash around the southern end of the line: it seemed they were beginning to understand his thinking. He said: “So the minefield gets thinner at this point . . . but there the line is defended by two columns. What is a column?” “It’s a new term they’re using. According to one of our prisoners of war, a column is a brigade group that has been twice overrun by Panzers.” “A weak force, then.” ..Yes.” Rommel tapped the report with his forefinger. “If this is correct, we can burst through the Mersa Matruh Line as soon as we get there.” “I’ll be doing my best to check the spy’s report over the next day or two, of course,” said von Mellenthin. “But he was right last time.” The door to the vehicle flew open and Kesselring came in. 220 THE KEY TO REBECCA 221
Rommel was startled. “Field Marshal!” he said. “I thought you were in Sicily.” “I was,” Kesselring said. He stamped the dust off his handmade boots. “I’ve just flown here to see you. Damn it, Rommel, this has got to stop. Your orders are quite clear: you were to advance to Tobruk and no farther.” Rommel sat back in his canvas chair. He had hoped to keep Kesselring out of this argument. “The circumstances have changed,” he said. “But your original orders have been confirmed by the ItaIian Supreme Command,” said Kesselring. “And what was your reaction? You declined the ‘advice’ and invited Bastico to lunch with you in Cairo!” Nothing infuriated Rommel more than orders from Italians. “The Italians have done nothing in this war,” he said angrily. “That is irrelevant. Your air and sea support is now needed for the attack on Malta. After we have taken Malta your communications will be secure for the advance to Egypt.” “You people have learned nothing!” Rommel said. He made an effort to lower his voice. “While we are digging in the enemy, too, will be digging in. I did not get this far by playing the old game of advance, consolidate, then advance again. When they attack, I dodge; when they defend a position I go around that position; and when they retreat I chase them. They are running now, and now is the time to take Egypt.” Kesselring remained calm. “I have a copy of your cable to Mussolini.” He took a piece of paper from his pocket and read: “The state and moral of the troops, the present supply position owing to captured dumps and the present weakness of the enemy permit our pursuing him into the depths of the Egyptian area.” He folded the sheet of paper and turned to von Mellenthin. “How many German tanks and men do we have?” Rommel suppressed the urge to tell von Mellenthin not to answer: he knew this was a weak point. “Sixty tanks, Field Marshal, and two thousand five hundrea men.” “And the Italians?” “Six thousand men and fourteen tanks.” 222 Ken Follett