Free Armageddon by Leon Uris Page B

extends into the personal lives of your men.”
    “Mrs. Milford ...”
    “And I should like to know why you have deliberately kept me from him at a time like this. Even my phone calls were stopped.”
    “Because, this is the time you should have been kept from him.”
    “I do not understand your ideas of compassion, General.”
    “That boy is so badly hurt he even denies his God.”
    “He’s needed me, General.”
    “Yes, he has. Needing you is bad enough when he is sound. What if he crawls to you now and throws himself into your merciful arms?”
    “Isn’t love to be given when it is most needed?”
    “Yes, Mrs. Milford, but you cannot give it ... you can merely lend it.”
    Nan paled.
    “You are offering a crutch to a wounded man. I would like to see him healed. Either prepare to go through with this all the way, divorce, remarriage, the works ... or let him live his own life, without you.”
    Nan arched her back and fought back the tears forming in her eyes. “He thinks the world of you, General Hansen. It borders on worship.”
    “He is worshiped, too. This boy took over the command of older, wiser men who had already cut their niches as talented specialists and he has molded them together. Since this tragedy his team has all but disintegrated. Now, all of us who love Sean O’Sullivan must give that love in the way it will help him the most. His men will give it to him through dedication. His father gave it to him through the gift of manhood, by allowing him to pursue the dictates of his conscience. I have let him know I believe in him. I have returned him to his command ...”
    “And I ...”
    “You know what you have to do, Mrs. Milford.”
    “Has it been ghastly for him?”
    “I have seldom seen a human being suffer so deeply.”
    “My poor Sean ... my poor darling.”
    Nan pressed her folded hands tightly, drew a deep breath, and shook her head quickly. It was over just like that! In the end, which she had always known would come, Nan reverted to her breeding. The dreaded loneliness, the fear of time stretching endlessly before her suddenly vanished in a well of compassion for Sean. General Hansen knew why Sean loved her so ...why he needed her and why she could not have him now.
    “I shall be leaving in the morning for Plimlington East to see my children. I have been thinking that a holiday for just the three of us would be a wonderful tonic. We could disappear somewhere up in Scotland. I know of places where they don’t even have a telephone.”
    Hansen set his glass down, walked to her, and took her hand.
    “Will he forget me?”
    “No, but he’ll get over you.”
    She nodded. “That’s it then, isn’t it? ...”
    “You do love him very much.”
    “General,” her voice cracked, “please go ...”

Chapter Thirteen
    April 20,1945
    I T WAS EVENING. M AJOR Sean O’Sullivan sped down a German country road, second in line in the convoy of jeeps, command cars, and trucks making up Pilot Team G-5. Sean always took the second jeep, Maurice Duquesne the first. The Frenchman drove like a maniac; no one dared drive with him on his tail.
    The cobblestone road was rain-slick and jarring. They passed through never ending forests, birch trees adding dark and eerie patterns to the miserable rain-soaked road. Sean hunched closer to the windshield.
    Dr. Geoffrey Grimwood grimaced alongside Sean. From time to time low mumbles emerged through his moustache protesting the monstrous construction of the jeep.
    In the back seat, Sean’s orderly, Private O’Toole, attempted to dismember three sticks of chewing gum. The massive Shenandoah Blessing slept, crushing O’Toole against the side of the jeep. His moon face rolled loosely on his neck and fell on O’Toole’s shoulder. The son of a bitch sleeps anywhere, O’Toole thought ... through the Siegfried Line, across the Rhine, anywhere. Look at the ugly son of a bitch sleep with the rain leaking in and falling down his ugly neck. O’Toole shouldered