Lieut. General George S. Patton Jr. rapped the map with his leather riding crop, which sheathes a glistening poniard. He pointed with it to the next objective, a town 50 miles away. Said he to a Third Army corps commander: "Get there—any way you want to." As he had before, he was demanding the impossible of his supply officers. As before, in this miraculous month, they would get the impossible done.
By last week "Georgie" Patton's supply lines reached more than halfway across France. He was getting gasoline by parachute for his forward tanks. Exactly how far along toward Germany's...
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