Lucky Rommel. It's 1944, and nobody wants him dead. Not the Germans, of course, and not the Allies either, since Operation Valkyrie is simmering in the Reich--that oft-reported, shorten-the-war plan to substitute the sane, surrender-prone Field Marshal for the expendable Adoff. Only ""Foxhound,"" a resourceful British agent in France, wants to pummel Rommel (a personal grudge), and, as he loses contact with London control and closes in on his target--near the Moisson forest--the multinational let-Rommel-live forces close in on him. Slowly. Very slowly--for this is the near-annual offering of carefully researched, intelligently organized, and agonizingly plodding maneuvers from the suddenly pseudonymed Clive Egleton. Churchill and Hitler and le Charles received much zippier attention from their would-be assassins and protectors. Poor Rommel.