Free Fox at the Front (Fox on the Rhine) by Douglas Niles, Michael Dobson Page B

what you and your Nazi pal are up to, but I hope you’ve got some firepower, because your head sure as hell is in the lion’s mouth.”
    “Goddamn!” snapped Patton. “Court, are you sure?”
    “Goddamn right I’m sure. George, you better find out what the hell is going on and you better find out right now.”
    “Hell, Court, I’m sorry. Do what you have to do. I’ll do the same here, and I’ll call you as soon as I’ve got some real information.”
    “It better be real this time,” growled the general on the other end of the line. “Hodges out.”
    Reid Sanger, standing behind Patton, listened carefully to the entire conversation—he could hear Hodges’ roar quite clearly on the other end of the field telephone—before deciding whether to translate for the benefit of Rommel, who was standing right behind him. “Herr Generalfeldmarschall, it looks as if
all your forces did not surrender, or that they did not stay surrendered.”
    “Verdammt!” replied the Desert Fox. “Who?”
    “It seems that Sixth Panzer Army headquarters has ambushed American infantry in a massacre committed after the white flag was shown.”
    Rommel shook his head. “That can’t be right. That’s Guderian. Such an action would be impossible for any officer with honor.”
    “Then it must not be Guderian,” suggested Sanger quietly.
    The Desert Fox looked at him. His right eye seemed to penetrate into Sanger’s innermost soul; the left seemed watery and weak. A scar from that eye moved upward along the edge of his cheek from his wounding the previous summer. Finally, Rommel nodded. “You are correct, I’m afraid. He’s a prisoner, or he’s dead.”
    “Sixth Panzer Army has more Waffen-SS divisions than the others in this operation, correct?”
    Rommel nodded agreement. “I had just replaced Sepp Dietrich as their head. And Dietrich—”
    “—founded the Leibstandarte Adolf Hitler,” finished Sanger.
    Patton turned around angrily. “What the hell are you jabbering about?” he demanded. “Speak English.”
    “Yes, sir,” Sanger instantly responded. “We believe that Guderian has been involuntarily removed from the command of Sixth Panzer Army. Directly under him are multiple Waffen-SS divisions, including Leibstandarte Adolf Hitler.”
    “Jesus Christ!” growled Patton. “So it’s a bunch of SS bastards—”
    “That’s a guess, sir, but probably,” Sanger replied.
    Patton looked directly at Rommel. “So, what now, Field Marshal?” he growled.
    “I would imagine they would most likely withdraw to the Westwall and fortify the Rhine—I can’t see Himmler issuing a ‘stand and die’ order in this situation.” Rommel seemed to be thinking out loud, Sanger observed. A man after his own heart. “This means that all of Sixth Panzer Army, the reserves not yet committed, and the other forces supporting the Western Front are all available to refortify the Westwall and also to move to block that portion of the Westwall and access to the Rhine normally occupied and controlled by Fifth Panzer Army and Seventh Army,” the Desert Fox continued.
    The two generals began to work this new strategic problem, but Sanger interrupted.
    “Pardon me, sirs,” he interjected in between translations. “There is one additional possibility to consider.” He said it in both languages, drawing the stares of both generals, who were unused to having subordinates interrupt with their own thoughts. He took advantage of the pause to continue. “An attack on Armeegruppe B headquarters, especially if it should kill the
Desert Fox as well as Old Blood and Guts—excuse me for putting it that way, sir …”
    “Go ahead,” growled Patton, who was looking at him with a somewhat jaundiced expression.
    “ … would be a significant propaganda and morale achievement, especially at the hands of a division that already had a good deal of fame.”
    Rommel at first shook his head. “I’m not that important …” he began.
    It was Patton