"I will see it when God wishes me to see it," Richard said calmly. "It's a good war, old man, and a grand victory. I'll remember you in my prayers."
The Old Man's brow arched. "You'd pray for me?"
"I'd pray for the Devil himself if he'd given me Jerusalem," Richard said.
The Old Man's smile held for a moment the hint of a fang; and the foot beneath the white robe, for a moment, had the shape of a cloven hoof. But he was, after all, only a dream. Richard was waking already, roused by the sound of bells in the tower of Holy Sepulcher, and clear voices greeting the dawn. For the first time since Jerusalem fell to Saladin, Christians chanted the Psalms in the holy places, and in place of the muezzin's cry, Richard heard the morning hymn in the sonorous cadences of Rome.
He rose only to kneel, and crossed himself and began to pray. He thanked his God for this gift of Jerusalem, for this splendor of victory. And he prayed for the soul of Sinan ibn Salman, lord of Assassins, Old Man of the Mountain, who had given him his heart's desire. "For even the Devil may do good," he said to the numinous Presence in his heart, "and even the Devil's familiar may serve Your will."
He drew a deep breath, drinking in this air that was most holy in the world, and let it out again in a long and blessed sigh. "God wills it," he said.
Editorial Note: George Patton was dyslexic, and did not learn to read until he was twelve. His bad spelling was notorious, and is preserved in this chronicle.
George Patton Slept Here
Roland J. Green
Sicily, 1943
All roads don't lead to Messina, or at least they shouldn't. Ought to be just enough for Seventh Army to get there first. Two roads for us and two for Monty means it's still anybody's fox.
If the British get to Messina first, it will still be as hard as ever to convince them that Americans are worth a damn as fighters. That will mean we go on fighting the war with the British tail trying to wag the American dog.
Divine Destiny [Eisenhower] may like this. It surely gets him a lot of bootlick from the British. I don't.
Just heard that Mussolini has "resigned." Be happier to hear that he's been arrested and shot, or even better turned over to the Krauts. (They don't like losers.) We still have to push the Italians so hard that, running away, they'll block all the roads and keep the Germans from bringing up reinforcements.
The ballroom in the Royal Palace is large enough to maneuver jeeps. My bedroom could hangar a couple of fighters and the bed has four mattresses, all mildooed. What a waste to have a bed that size all to myself.
Slept badly. Even if we have the roads to reach Messina first, do we have the guts? Our veterans are about as good as the Germans. Our reinforcements are about as green as ever. I hear stories about more cases of "combat exhaustion." Somebody needs to knock some guts into men like that, if they can be called men.
Al Stiller [junior aide] says no wonder I couldn't sleep in this palace. He claims he's seen muskitos as big as the ones in Texas, and cockroaches the size of jeeps. He wants to find me a nice clean modern boarding house down by the harbor. I told him that he has no sense of history.
Will try no booze and only one cigar before bedtime, also some Swedish exercises. The best kind of exercise for an old married man can't be had when you're in Sicily and your wife is in Massachusetts.
Slept alone again in the same bed, but a lot better. After breakfast, inspected the salvage and repair work going on down by the harbor. I would feel sorry for the Sicilians living with all that noise if I hadn't seen everything else they live with. They are down at the level of the Arabs, which is pretty damned low.
Seeing the port gave me some ideas. I had a mix of Army and Navy engineers in for a good dinner and decent liquor. Asked them a few questions about how fast the port will be back in shape. Right now we are tied to the roads up from the south for most of what we need, and the ammo expenditures are already going up. 1stand 45thDivisions are both coming up against Germans in rugged territory. Will talk to the Air Force tomorrow, but that's probably still going to be like teaching a pig to sing.
Slept fine until the air-raid sirens went off. Turned out to be a German snooper, who was shot down by the antiaircraft. Crashed down by the harbor, and wrecked three apartment buildings. No loss, except to the people living there. Will ask the Cardinal about a joint effort, us and the Church, to find roofs for the people and arrange a funeral for the dead.
The engineers tell me we should be able to stage a fairly big shore-to-shore operation out of Palermo within a few days, if the Navy can provide the ships. The Navy engineers wouldn't promise anything. I told themthey didn't need to promise anything; it was their bosses I wanted. Did promise the engineers Distinguished Unit Citations if we brought it off.
Turns out that a colored supply battalion helped rescue the people from the wrecked buildings, including the one that was on fire. Some of the colored boys were hurt because they wouldn't leave some people to be burned. That took guts.
I visited them and some of the Sicilians in the hospital. One colored boy had gone on moving rubble with a broken arm. He said that after picking sugar beets in Louisiana since he was eight, there wasn't anything the Army or the Krauts could do to make him sweat. I gave him a Bronze Star.
That colored boy should talk to some of the "combat exhaustion" cases.
Tomorrow I talk to the admirals.
Another good night's sleep. Just as well. I talked to the admirals until I nearly lost my voice. Then I kissed their asses until I have a sore lip and will probably get some sort of mouth fungus as well. I think it paid off, though. They're promising enough for a reinforced battalion. I want to make it two battalions, one infantry and one tank, but they think the best they can do is a company of tanks and some towed AT guns.
The Navy isn't what it was in the days of Stephen Decatur. They talked about the sykological effect of having even a small force in the German rear. I told them without using too many rough words that you can't do anything to the Germans with sykology (?). None of the ones I've fought scare easily. You need a physical effect, like shooting the sons-of-bitches in the guts or running over them with tanks.
To top it all off, somebody must have read my mind. They're going to call the landing OPERATION DECATUR!
Maybe his ghost will haunt them.
No chance today to beg and plead with the admirals. Flew to 1stArmored Division for a quick inspection. They are not much dirtier than I had expected, and they are doing a fine job on vehicle maintenance under very bad conditions.
Back by way of 3rdInfantry Division. Lucian [Truscott] looks tired, even though I would still call him the best division commander in Seventh Army. I asked him if he was getting enough sleep, and if he lacked confidence in his staff and regimental commanders. He said he had complete confidence in his division-and also in the Germans' ability to require a total effort by everybody in it!
Even if the British say it, "He who has not fought the Germans, does not know war," may be true. What's completely true is that the British screwed up their early campaigns as badly as we did ours, and they got their "greater experience" by killing a lot of their own men. But try to tell Ike that.