Free Fox On The Rhine by Douglas Niles, Michael Dobson

we’re not looking at any changes in our overall battle plan, except to say we’re going to keep our eyes and ears open, and just watch and see. It’s possible that there’ll be some spot surrenders or a morale drop in the German military that will help us, but it’s also possible that the Nazis will be able to keep the lid on. No changes for now in any of your orders.”
    Then what the hell are we having a meeting for? Wakefield thought. No news, no changes in tactics, just a statement of common sense.
    Eisenhower called for questions. Patton was the first to shoot his hand up. “Seems to me that we ought to hit ’em twice as hard while they’re confused,” he growled. “Why give them the initiative?”
    Field Marshal Montgomery leaned forward, his beret tilted rakishly, and smiled at Patton with smug superiority. “And what exactly do you think we’re holding back right now?” he sneered. Monty and Patton, in the parlance of politics, “went way back” in personal enmity. Wakefield disliked Montgomery nearly as much as he did Patton, but at least he had some respect for Patton’s abilities. He had none for Monty’s.
    Patton was ready to launch into a chapter-and-verse critique of the current plan along with recommended actions, but Eisenhower smoothly cut him off. “As soon as we make the breakout from the Normandy peninsula, there will be a lot of new possibilities, but they’re not on the table quite yet,” he said, shutting up both of the ego-driven commanders before their dialogue degenerated into a war of words. “For now, we continue as planned and watch for any changes. Other questions?”
    “What about Rommel?” asked another general.
    “He’s not dead, but he’s badly wounded and probably out of the war for good,” said Eisenhower. “He was shot up on a strafing run and is in the hospital right now. Field Marshal von Kluge is now in command of the German forces in the west.”
    “Was he part of the plot?”
    “Evidently not, as far as we know. But who knows where his sympathy lies now that Hitler’s dead? That’s why we’re continuing steady on course for now. I think it’s going to take a little time for all this to shake out.”
    Since all the generals were present, Bradley provided a situation update. The foothold in Normandy, secured at such horrific cost on the sixth of June, scant weeks ago, was stable. Allied forces were moving across the Channel steadily, but the Germans were able so far to bottle up the Allies in the Normandy peninsula with their forces, built-in fortifications and obstacles, and the natural terrain, especially the bocage hedgerows that bogged down armor and infantry so effectively. Nevertheless, Bradley was certain that the breakout would be relatively soon. “Operational details will be provided as soon as they have been fully developed. In the meantime, building up Allied forces on the ground remains the number one goal.” Thorough, professional, competent, and modest, Omar Bradley was Wakefield’s ideal of the right kind of career military officer. Never a hotshot, but always reliable. That’s what won wars in the long run. No one deserved his fourth star the way Bradley did. Perhaps he didn’t have all of Eisenhower’s renowned diplomatic skills, but he was the officer Wakefield most trusted to get any job done.
    After the meeting broke up, most of the generals stayed to chat and--in Wakefield’s eyes--kiss up. Grudgingly, he didn’t give into his first impulse, which was to bolt the room and head back at top jeep speed to Southampton. He made his way through the knots of people to Bradley’s side.
    “Henry! Good to see you,” Bradley said. ‘The star looks good on you.”
    Wakefield smiled. He knew that Bradley’s influence was one of the big reasons he got assigned to the Nineteenth with his newly minted star. “Thanks, General,” he said.
    “Hell, don’t thank me,” Bradley said with a grin. “I had nothing to do with it. Well