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directions, searched every possible hiding place. This body was all we found.”
    Rommel turned toward the water again, pointed out. “Do we have any idea how many there were?”
    “No, sir. This one is wearing fatigue clothing, beneath a rubber suit. No firearm, no demolition equipment. There had to be more than one of them. This one apparently tripped a land mine. Along the beach, there are tracks in the sand, men running, toward the east, and we found a strip of some sort of marking ribbon. They must certainly have escaped in a boat.”
    “But you saw no boat?”
    “No, Field Marshal.”
    “And no equipment? His friends may have been able to carry it away.” Rommel stared out along the wide beach, scanned down into the sandy draw, the wide cut in the cliffs. “Where is the barbed wire I ordered?”
    “It has not yet arrived, sir.”
    Rommel rolled his hand tightly around his baton, slapped it into his palm.
    “No, of course it has not arrived. Never mind. I will make some calls. Again.”
    Below them, the tide had fallen quickly, and men were filing out onto the flat beach, a wide plain of wet sand. Rommel saw the pattern of steel and wood stakes, other barriers, more elaborate, crisscrossed steel beams, what the soldiers were calling hedgehogs. The columns of men began to move past the rows of stakes, some carrying poles, others in pairs hauling more steel, some with tools, shovels, one small bulldozer following behind. He watched them for a moment, spreading out over the exposed sand. Yes, he thought, move more slowly. Go about your job as though you have an eternity to complete it. He was angry, knew the feeling too well, slapped the baton into his hand again.
    “Colonel Heckner, I want more men on that job. You have four companies of infantry within a kilometer of here. Call upon them, under my authority. I did not order these works to be constructed to provide these men a holiday at the beach.” He watched for a response, saw a slight nod, weary obedience. “Are you paying attention, Colonel?”
    The man seemed to wake up, snapped his heels together. “Yes, certainly, Field Marshal. I will see that more men are put to work on the barriers.”
    Rommel could see there was more, the man hesitating with his words.
    “You have something to say, Colonel?”
    The man glanced down. “Well, yes, sir. There are reports…. I have heard that the enemy is planning an invasion of Norway. It seems to me, sir, that our energies should be directed to where we know he is coming. Forgive me, Field Marshal, but is that not reasonable?”
    “Colonel Heckner, I will not waste your time with a discussion about matters of strategy, of which you know nothing at all.” He felt his voice rising, the control slipping away. “You have orders. My orders! You will construct a strong line of obstacles to prepare against an invasion along this portion of this beach in which you hold command! In both directions, commanders have been ordered to perform the same task. What might occur in Norway is none of your concern. It is none of your concern what might occur anywhere along this entire front, except in your specific zone of command. Should I be explaining this to you, Colonel?”
    The man remained stiff, staring ahead, past Rommel. “Certainly not, Field Marshal.”
    Rommel turned away, fingered the binoculars at his chest, took a long breath, calmed himself. How much of this can be blamed on one colonel? These are soldiers, after all, and we put them to work beside laborers, so they begin to think like laborers. He stared out to sea, raised the binoculars, stared at the empty horizon: old habit.
    “What did they want here, Colonel?”
    “I have considered that, sir. The guns, perhaps. The shore batteries. All would make good targets.”
    “What shore batteries, Colonel? Most of them are not yet constructed. The largest piece I see here is a 105, not what I would call a target to inspire a commando attack. You said the man