YOUR OPINION IS NOT MY REALITY

Major Richard Blaine and Sergeant-Major Savalas have been ordered to COSSAC headquarters at Norfolk House, St. James’s Square to report what they found along the Normandy coast.

YOUR OPINION IS NOT MY REALITY

“The more knowledge, the less ego. The less knowledge, the more ego.”

– Albert Einstein

 

I looked at the assembled greatness arrayed before Sgt. Savalas and myself. There was more egg salad on those puffed chests than modest men would have been comfortable in wearing. The key word there was “modest.”

I smiled drily.

Theo husked, “What are you smiling about?”

“What a trusted advisor, Sister Ameal, told me when she feared that I would be drafted.”

“Which was? I could use a smile right now.”

“Be polite, be professional, but have a plan to kill everyone you meet.”

“She was a nun?”

“And a professional assassin before entering the convent.”

“She was your advisor?”

“Yes.”

“Well, that explains a lot.”

Sentient chided me. ‘Behave yourself. You stand in COSSAC headquarters at Norfolk House, St. James’s Square. In front of you are Admiral Sir Bertram Home Ramsay, General Bradley, General Smith, four other generals, and five more admirals, plus Rear Adm. George Creasy, Ramsay’s chief of staff.’

Rear Admiral Ramsey looked as if something smelled rank … me. Too bad. I thought all military rank smelled foul. He was about to become even unhappier with me.

He flashed a phony smile. I reminded myself that he was responsible for the Dunkirk evacuation, codenamed Operation Dynamo. Working from the tunnels beneath Dover Castle, he and his staff worked for nine days straight to rescue troops trapped in France by the German forces.

I figured those troops had a harder time on that French beach than he and his staff had safe in those tunnels.

 For his success in bringing home 338,226 British and allied soldiers from the beaches of Dunkirk, he was asked to personally report on the operation to King George VI and was made a Knight Commander of the Order of the Bath.

“Ah,” he sneered, “the enigmatic Major Richard Blaine. You do know that you will not be keeping that rank for any length of time?”

“And I had such hopes.”

Montgomery poked an angry Bradley in the ribs. “That Cloverfield chap was right about his not genuflecting in front of superior officers, eh?”

Sir Ramsey gruffed, “Describe your reconnaissance.”

“I will bottom line it for you, sir. You are going to hurl 133,000 trusting men into a meat grinder needlessly.”

“What?” he roared.

“You have command of the skies over most of Europe, sir. You could fly hundreds of demoralizing raids on crucial targets until all the German oil reserves were destroyed, and the Nazi army a shambles.”

“You have the utter gall to talk strategy to your superiors?”

Montgomery seemed to be enjoying himself. “A 4oo I.Q., remember, Rear Admiral?”

“To Blazes with his damn I.Q! I know my plan is solid.”

I sighed, “Sir, shortly before World War I, the German Kaiser was the guest of the Swiss government to observe military maneuvers. The Kaiser asked a Swiss militiaman: “You are 500,000 and you shoot well, but if we attack with 1,000,000 men what will you do?” The soldier replied: “Shoot twice and go home.”

I thought Admiral Ramsey was about to strangle me. “Your point, private?”

I counseled myself with Al Capone’s words: “I’m a kind person, I’m kind to everyone, but if you are unkind to me, then kindness is not what you’ll remember me for.”

But Helen Mayfair would think less of me.

I drew a deep breath. “You want to know what Sergeant-Major Savalas and I found?”

“Yes, damn you!”

Theo muttered under his breath. “This is going well.”

The map on the offered desk was too broad as was the Normandy map on the wall. I dug into my left blouse pocket, taking out a stick of charcoal. I started to draw on the white wall beside the map.

“’ere now!” came a shout from one of the generals.

I quickly sketched in the style of Leonardo da Vinci as  Montgomery chuckled, “Now, mate, that is just showing off.”

Sir Ramsey growled something that nobility should not have known, much less said. I turned to the man. I pointed as I talked.

“The tidal-flat obstacles began with so-called Belgian gates, which are gate-like structures built of iron frames ten feet high. These sat in belts running parallel to the coastline, about 150 meters out from the high-water line. Teller mines (antitank mines carrying twelve pounds of TNT) ….

“I know what they are,” snapped Sir Ramsey.

I kept on as if I had not been interrupted, “ … were attached to the structures, or old French artillery shells, brought in from the Maginot Line, pointed out to sea and primed to fire.”

As Sgt. Savalas paled, I continued, “I hear that Nazi Admiral Ruge had no faith in land mines and artillery shells stuck underwater, as they had no waterproofing, but the marine mines he preferred were not available in sufficient quantity. Next, at about 100 meters out from the high-water mark, a band of heavy logs were driven into the water at an angle pointed seaward, with Teller mines lashed to the tips of some of the logs.”

By this point even Sir Ramsey began to look a little wilted, but I kept on ---

“At about seventy meters from shore, the main belt of obstacles featured hedgehogs (three or four steel rails cut in two-meter lengths and welded together at their centers) that could rip out the bottom of any landing craft.”

Admiral Ramsey by this time looked paler than an ancient leper. I heard a staccato of footfalls. I turned and sighed.

Major Laska was smartly saluting the admiral.

“About those Teller mines and artillery shells strapped to the fortifications, sir. I think we need to personally inspect one of each for ourselves. Surely, the redoubtable Major Blaine could succeed obtaining them for us. Alone, of course, to better slip past the Nazi defenses.”

Sgt. Savalas snapped, “It would be suicide.”

Admiral Ramsey flashed the kind of smile I figured Vlad the Impaler became famous for. “Excellent idea. Excellent.”