Hitler's Last Days by Bill O'Reilly Read Free Book Online Page A

attention and salute. “We will kill many Americans. This is war.”
    â€œOn your way, bud,” replies Harper.
    *   *   *
    Rumors and innuendo spread throughout the army. There is a rumor that C-47s are going to airdrop precious supplies of food and bullets into Bastogne. And the men are hearing that George S. Patton is sending an armored division to bail them out. Maybe two divisions. But they can’t be sure of this.
    In fact, at the moment Patton is asking for help from another source.

CHAPTER 12
    FONDATION PESCATORE
    LUXEMBOURG CITY, LUXEMBOURG DECEMBER 23, 1944 9 A.M.
    G EORGE S . P ATTON TAKES OFF HIS helmet as he enters the Catholic chapel. Though Episcopalian, he is in need of a place to worship. His boots echo on the stone floor as he walks reverently to the foot of the altar. The scent of melting wax from the many votive candles fills the small chamber. Patton kneels, unfolding the prayer he has written for this occasion, and bows his head.
    â€œSir, this is Patton talking,” he says, speaking candidly to the Almighty. “The past fourteen days have been straight hell. Rain, snow, more rain, more snow—and I am beginning to wonder what’s going on in Your headquarters. Whose side are You on anyway?”
    Patton and the Third Army are now thirty-three miles south of Bastogne. Every available man under his command has joined the race to rescue the city. The bulge in the American lines is sixty miles deep and thirty miles wide, with Bastogne an American island in the center. And while Patton’s men have so far been successful in maintaining their steady advance, there is still widespread doubt that he can succeed. Outnumbered and outgunned by the Germans, Patton faces the daunting challenge of attacking on icy roads in thick snow, with little air cover.
    So the general prays.
    For three years my chaplains have been telling me that this is a religious war. This, they tell me, is the Crusades all over again, except that we’re riding tanks instead of chargers. They insist that we are here to annihilate the Germans and the godless Hitler so that religious freedom may return to Europe. Up until now I have gone along with them, for You have given us Your unreserved cooperation. Clear skies and a calm sea in Africa made the landings highly successful and helped us to eliminate Rommel. Sicily was comparatively easy and You supplied excellent weather for the armored dash across France, the greatest military victory that You have thus far allowed me. You have often given me excellent guidance in difficult command situations and You have led German units into traps that made their elimination fairly simple.
    But now You’ve changed horses midstream. You seem to have given von Rundstedt [German field marshal and Hitler’s commander in chief on the western front] every break in the book, and frankly, he’s beating the hell out of us. My army is neither trained nor equipped for winter warfare. And as You know, this weather is more suitable for Eskimos than for southern cavalrymen.
    But now, Sir, I can’t help but feel that I have offended You in some way. That suddenly You have lost all sympathy for our cause. That You are throwing in with von Rundstedt and his paper-hanging god [Hitler]. You know without me telling You that our situation is desperate. Sure, I can tell my staff that everything is going according to plan, but there’s no use telling You that my 101st Airborne is holding out against tremendous odds in Bastogne, and that this continual storm is making it impossible to supply them even from the air. I’ve sent Hugh Gaffey, one of my ablest generals, with his Fourth Armored Division north toward that all-important road center to relieve the encircled garrison, and he’s finding Your weather more difficult than he is the Krauts.
    This isn’t the first time Patton has resorted to divine intervention. Every man in the Third Army now