September 2nd, 1944. Northern Belgium. A small farmhouse just behind the lines serves as the forward headquarters of the British 21st Army Group. Inside, under a single bare light bulb, Field Marshal Bernard Law Montgomery stands at a wooden table leaning over a paper map of Northwestern Europe. In his right hand, a freshly sharpened pencil.
In his left, a cup of strong tea long gone cold. He is marking phase lines, careful, deliberate, measured. The pencil moves an inch, then another inch. This is how Montgomery plans a war, slowly, methodically, by the book. Then the door opens. A staff officer steps in holding a single sheet of paper from Supreme Headquarters.
He walks straight to the map. He places the paper down beside it, and the Field Marshal’s pencil stops moving because the report in front of him does not match the map under his hand. According to the page, General George S. Patton’s Third Army is not where it is supposed to be. It is not 50 miles east of its starting line. It is not even 150 miles east.
In 30 days, Patton’s tanks have torn 400 miles across France, and no one, not Eisenhower, not Bradley, not Montgomery himself, formally ordered him to go that far. Welcome back to WWII Elite. Before we go deeper into one of the most extraordinary command stories of the Second World War, please take 1 second to subscribe to the channel, hit the like button, and drop a comment telling me which Allied general you respect the most.
Patton, Bradley, Montgomery, or Eisenhower? That single click helps us bring you more untold WWII stories like this one. Now, back to September 2nd, 1944 and the most awkward map in the entire European theater. Montgomery picks up the paper. He reads it again. Then he reads it a third time. His aide watches in silence. These positions cannot be right.
They have been confirmed twice, sir. Once by SHAEF Liaison. Once by 12th Army Group’s own situation room. Third Army is on the Meuse. Forward elements, yes, sir. Verdun has fallen. They are pushing toward the Moselle. Montgomery sets the paper down. He looks at the map. He measures the distance with two fingers.
Normandy on the left, the Meuse River on the right. The space between his fingers is enormous. That is more than 400 miles. Yes, sir. In 30 days. Yes, sir. That is not an advance. That is a flood. To understand what was running through Montgomery’s mind in that small Belgian farmhouse, we have to rewind exactly 1 month. To the moment Patton was finally let off the leash.
August 1st, 1944. Noon. The US Third Army is officially activated in France under the command of Lieutenant General George S. Patton Jr. For weeks, Patton has been waiting, watching, pacing. While the Allies fought a slow, bloody battle to break out of the hedgerows of Normandy, Patton has been kept in the background, almost a secret weapon.
Now, with the German line cracking open after Operation Cobra, Bradley turns to him and gives him the green light. The plan, as written, is simple. Third Army will swing south, then east, clearing the Brittany Peninsula and protecting the southern flank of the Allied advance. Bradley’s First Army will form the main effort.
Montgomery’s 21st Army Group will push on the northern wing. Patton’s role, on paper, is supporting, secondary, a flank guard. That is the plan on August 1. By August 7th, the plan has already stopped describing reality. Patton does not push toward Brittany alone. He sends one core west and three more core east.
He turns his army loose across open French country. Where Bradley’s planners have drawn careful phase lines, Patton’s tanks pass straight through them. Where Shafer has marked expected positions by August 15, Patton’s spearheads arrive on August 8. On August 9. On August 10. Inside Bradley’s headquarters, the maps cannot keep up.
A young staff officer at 12th Army Group later wrote in his diary, “We update the map at 0600 hours. By 0900 it is wrong. By noon, it is comedy.” Bradley, for his part, is not laughing. Bradley is the steady professional, the careful planner, the man who builds the system, then asks the system to work. And Patton is breaking the system from the inside.
By the second week of August, Bradley picks up the phone. “George.” “Brad, where are you?” “I’m in my command post.” “And where is your command post?” A long pause. Then, in a voice that is half apology and half pride, Patton answers, “Brad, the command post moved this morning. I’m not sure the new map has caught up yet.” Bradley closes his eyes.
He has known Patton for years. He knows exactly what this answer means. It means Patton’s forward elements are already somewhere the maps do not know about. “George, you are running ahead of the boundary lines.” “The boundary lines, Brad, were drawn for an enemy who is no longer there. The Germans are not holding a line. They are running.
And we are chasing. Supreme Headquarters wants a broad front. Ike has been very clear about that. Then give me the fuel, Brad, and I’ll be inside Germany before the broad front catches up. Bradley does not raise his voice. Bradley almost never raises his voice. But the line goes silent for a long moment.
George, you are going to outrun your own supply lines. Brad, I already have. And we are still winning. Then Patton hangs up. He turns to his staff officers in the room. According to one of them, his expression is calm, but his eyes are not. Gentlemen, we keep moving. If somebody up the chain wants me to stop, they can send a written order. As of this minute, I have not received one.
The army moves. Faster. Farther. By August 16, Third Army has crossed central France. By August 19, lead elements are at the Seine. By August 25, Paris is liberated, and Patton’s columns are already past the city, racing east. By August 28, his tanks are at the Meuse River, and his fuel trucks are running on fumes.
This is the part of the story most people forget. Patton did not run out of Germans. He ran out of gasoline. The Third Army was burning roughly 350 to 400,000 gallons of fuel every single day at the peak of the advance. The Allied supply chain, designed for a careful broad front war, simply could not feed an army moving 13 miles a day, every day, for a month.
So Patton’s men got They tapped captured German fuel dumps. They drained vehicles left behind by retreating Panzer units. They sent jeeps backward along the road with orders to find petrol, any color, any source, any nation. On August 27th, more than 25,000 gallons of fuel were flown in by air just to keep his lead divisions moving.
And still, the tanks kept rolling east. That is the situation that lands on Montgomery’s table on September 2. Section 2. The army that would not stop. Inside Bradley’s 12th Army Group headquarters, the chaos becomes its own story. Officers begin marking the map in pencil instead of ink because the situation changes too quickly to commit to.
Liaison teams drive for hours just to find Patton’s command post, then arrive to discover it has already moved again. One liaison officer, when asked where Third Army’s headquarters was, reportedly answered, “Sir, I last saw it through a cloud of dust at 50 miles an hour.” The phase lines are abandoned. The expected positions are rewritten daily.
The phrase that begins appearing in unit war diaries is striking. Third Army has once again exceeded planned objectives. Higher up the chain at Supreme Headquarters in Granville, France, Eisenhower has a problem that no Allied commander before him has faced. He has too much success in the wrong place. The Allied plan called for the main thrust to be in the north.
Montgomery’s drive toward Antwerp, the Rhine, and then the heart of Germany. That plan required fuel. It required priority. It required the entire logistical chain pointing north. But Patton, in the south, is producing the fastest, deepest, most spectacular advance any American army has ever made. To stop him is to throw away momentum.
To support him is to slow Montgomery. Eisenhower has to choose. And the choice is brutal. He chooses the north. On a single signal in late August, fuel that was rolling toward Patton’s Third Army is redirected to Montgomery’s 21st Army Group. The northern advance gets priority. Patton’s spearheads, the same spearheads that have just torn 400 miles across France, begin coasting on empty tanks.
When the news reaches Patton, his reaction is the kind of reaction that ends up in history books. He is reported to have said in front of his staff, “My men can eat their belts, but my tanks have to have gas.” He places a call to Bradley. “Brad, is this true? The fuel is gone?” “It’s not gone, George.
It’s been redirected. Ike’s orders.” “Brad, I am 60 miles from the German border. 60 miles. Give me 400,000 gallons and I’ll be over the Rhine in 10 days.” “I know, George.” “I will resign my commission, Brad, before I let this army stop. Do you hear me? Before I let it stop.” “I hear you, George. But the orders stand.
” The call ends. Patton walks out of the room. According to his own diary, he is angrier in that moment than at any point in the war. Not at the Germans, at the system. Inside his headquarters, his chief of staff sums it up in one quiet line. “Sir, we have been defeated by our own supply chain.” Patton stares at the map for a long time before answering. “Not defeated.
Delayed. There is a difference. Section three. The man on the Meuse. By the end of August, something strange begins to happen across the Allied command. Officers stop being able to say with certainty where General Patton actually is. Reports place him at three different towns on the same day. A reconnaissance unit swears he was at Verdun by dawn.
A signals officer reports him at Commercy by noon. A French liaison insists he passed through Saint-Mihiel an hour before sunset. The same general, the same day. Three different rivers between them. Inside 12 Army Group, Bradley turns to his chief of staff and says, simply, “Find him. I don’t care how. Find George.” At Supreme Headquarters, Eisenhower writes a private note that historians would later quote often.
“Patton is doing what we all hoped and what none of us authorized.” And in northern Belgium, Montgomery, watching the situation map fill with red Third Army symbols stretching across half of France, says to his aide, quietly, “He has pulled the whole front out of shape.” It is the most honest thing Montgomery says about Patton in the entire war.
By early September, the numbers begin to land. Third Army, in 30 days of operations, has liberated more French territory than the entire Allied force took in the two months following D-Day. It has captured tens of thousands of German prisoners. It has crossed major rivers. It has bypassed fortified cities.
It has done all of this while operating, for much of that time, beyond the boundary lines its own superiors had drawn for it. Patton’s lead divisions are not 50 miles east of where they started. They are 400 miles east. This is the situation map that lies on Montgomery’s table when the door of that Belgian farmhouse opens and the staff officer hands in the Shaef report on the morning of September 2nd, 1944.
Montgomery does not speak for a long time. He stares at the map. He stares at the report. He stares at the long red arrow of Third Army’s advance slicing across France like a knife. His aide finally speaks. Sir, what should we tell Supreme Headquarters? Montgomery does not look up. “Tell them,” he says slowly, “that General Patton has done in 30 days what our entire plan allowed for in 90.
” The aide does not know what to say to that. After a moment, he tries. Sir, is that a compliment? Montgomery looks up. His eyes are tired. His voice is flat. It is an admission. That single line is the moment the entire Allied command structure quietly accepts what has happened. The plan, the timetable, the careful broad front doctrine, all of it has been overtaken by one general who refused to wait for permission.
Montgomery is not praising Patton. He is not insulting him, either. He is admitting, out loud, that the war in the west has just been rewritten by an army that was not even supposed to be the main effort. Section four. What came after the 400 miles? The advance did not end with applause.
It ended with empty fuel tanks at the Moselle River. By mid-September, Patton’s Third Army, which had crossed 400 miles in 30 days, would spend the next 3 months trying to push forward another 40 to 60 miles in the Lorraine campaign. The same army that had outrun every map in France ground to a halt against fuel shortages, autumn rains, flooded rivers, and a German army that had finally been given time to dig in.
In that single comparison lies the meaning of the August advance. When Patton was given freedom, fuel, and a broken enemy, he produced the fastest American army movement of the war. When that freedom and fuel were withdrawn, even Patton could not break a prepared defense in a flooded country. The pause at the Moselle was not caused by the Germans.
It was caused by the same logistical system that had tried and failed to keep up with one general’s vision of speed. After the war, Eisenhower himself looked back on those 30 days and said, “On more than one occasion, that Patton’s pursuit across France was the single most spectacular military achievement of the European war.” Bradley, who had spent weeks on the phone trying to slow him down, later wrote in his memoirs that no commander had ever exploited a breakout the way Patton did in August 1944.
Even Montgomery, in later interviews, never disputed the speed. He disputed the wisdom. He never disputed the speed. And the men of Third Army, the tankers, the infantry, the supply drivers who tapped captured German fuel dumps just to keep the engines running, they remembered something simpler. They remembered a general who, when told to stop, kept going.
A general who, when told there was no fuel, found fuel. A general who, when told he was outrunning the maps, said the maps would have to catch up. 400 miles, 30 days, one army that did not wait for the plan to allow it. That is the story behind the line Montgomery delivered into the quiet of a Belgian farmhouse on September 2nd, 1944.
“General Patton has done in 30 days what our entire plan allowed for in 90.” Not a compliment. Not an insult. An admission. The kind a senior commander only makes when the man he is talking about has just changed the shape of a war. If this story gave you a new way to look at the breakout across France, do me one favor.
Hit that subscribe button, drop a like on this video, and tell me in the comments which Allied general you would have wanted leading your unit in August 1944. Every subscriber to WW2 Elite helps us reach more history fans like you and keeps these untold stories alive. Thank you for watching and here is the final fact to leave you with. When the war finally ended in May 1945, every other Allied advance in the European theater was in some way measured against those 30 days in August 1944.
None of them ever matched it. And that is why even today, when historians argue about who really won the breakout, they always end up arguing about the same name. George S. Patton. Third Army. 400 miles.
What Montgomery Said When Patton Somehow Crossed 400 Miles of France Without Orders
September 2nd, 1944. Northern Belgium. A small farmhouse just behind the lines serves as the forward headquarters of the British 21st Army Group. Inside, under a single bare light bulb, Field Marshal Bernard Law Montgomery stands at a wooden table leaning over a paper map of Northwestern Europe. In his right hand, a freshly sharpened pencil.
In his left, a cup of strong tea long gone cold. He is marking phase lines, careful, deliberate, measured. The pencil moves an inch, then another inch. This is how Montgomery plans a war, slowly, methodically, by the book. Then the door opens. A staff officer steps in holding a single sheet of paper from Supreme Headquarters.
He walks straight to the map. He places the paper down beside it, and the Field Marshal’s pencil stops moving because the report in front of him does not match the map under his hand. According to the page, General George S. Patton’s Third Army is not where it is supposed to be. It is not 50 miles east of its starting line. It is not even 150 miles east.
In 30 days, Patton’s tanks have torn 400 miles across France, and no one, not Eisenhower, not Bradley, not Montgomery himself, formally ordered him to go that far. Welcome back to WWII Elite. Before we go deeper into one of the most extraordinary command stories of the Second World War, please take 1 second to subscribe to the channel, hit the like button, and drop a comment telling me which Allied general you respect the most.
Patton, Bradley, Montgomery, or Eisenhower? That single click helps us bring you more untold WWII stories like this one. Now, back to September 2nd, 1944 and the most awkward map in the entire European theater. Montgomery picks up the paper. He reads it again. Then he reads it a third time. His aide watches in silence. These positions cannot be right.
They have been confirmed twice, sir. Once by SHAEF Liaison. Once by 12th Army Group’s own situation room. Third Army is on the Meuse. Forward elements, yes, sir. Verdun has fallen. They are pushing toward the Moselle. Montgomery sets the paper down. He looks at the map. He measures the distance with two fingers.
Normandy on the left, the Meuse River on the right. The space between his fingers is enormous. That is more than 400 miles. Yes, sir. In 30 days. Yes, sir. That is not an advance. That is a flood. To understand what was running through Montgomery’s mind in that small Belgian farmhouse, we have to rewind exactly 1 month. To the moment Patton was finally let off the leash.
August 1st, 1944. Noon. The US Third Army is officially activated in France under the command of Lieutenant General George S. Patton Jr. For weeks, Patton has been waiting, watching, pacing. While the Allies fought a slow, bloody battle to break out of the hedgerows of Normandy, Patton has been kept in the background, almost a secret weapon.
Now, with the German line cracking open after Operation Cobra, Bradley turns to him and gives him the green light. The plan, as written, is simple. Third Army will swing south, then east, clearing the Brittany Peninsula and protecting the southern flank of the Allied advance. Bradley’s First Army will form the main effort.
Montgomery’s 21st Army Group will push on the northern wing. Patton’s role, on paper, is supporting, secondary, a flank guard. That is the plan on August 1. By August 7th, the plan has already stopped describing reality. Patton does not push toward Brittany alone. He sends one core west and three more core east.
He turns his army loose across open French country. Where Bradley’s planners have drawn careful phase lines, Patton’s tanks pass straight through them. Where Shafer has marked expected positions by August 15, Patton’s spearheads arrive on August 8. On August 9. On August 10. Inside Bradley’s headquarters, the maps cannot keep up.
A young staff officer at 12th Army Group later wrote in his diary, “We update the map at 0600 hours. By 0900 it is wrong. By noon, it is comedy.” Bradley, for his part, is not laughing. Bradley is the steady professional, the careful planner, the man who builds the system, then asks the system to work. And Patton is breaking the system from the inside.
By the second week of August, Bradley picks up the phone. “George.” “Brad, where are you?” “I’m in my command post.” “And where is your command post?” A long pause. Then, in a voice that is half apology and half pride, Patton answers, “Brad, the command post moved this morning. I’m not sure the new map has caught up yet.” Bradley closes his eyes.
He has known Patton for years. He knows exactly what this answer means. It means Patton’s forward elements are already somewhere the maps do not know about. “George, you are running ahead of the boundary lines.” “The boundary lines, Brad, were drawn for an enemy who is no longer there. The Germans are not holding a line. They are running.
And we are chasing. Supreme Headquarters wants a broad front. Ike has been very clear about that. Then give me the fuel, Brad, and I’ll be inside Germany before the broad front catches up. Bradley does not raise his voice. Bradley almost never raises his voice. But the line goes silent for a long moment.
George, you are going to outrun your own supply lines. Brad, I already have. And we are still winning. Then Patton hangs up. He turns to his staff officers in the room. According to one of them, his expression is calm, but his eyes are not. Gentlemen, we keep moving. If somebody up the chain wants me to stop, they can send a written order. As of this minute, I have not received one.
The army moves. Faster. Farther. By August 16, Third Army has crossed central France. By August 19, lead elements are at the Seine. By August 25, Paris is liberated, and Patton’s columns are already past the city, racing east. By August 28, his tanks are at the Meuse River, and his fuel trucks are running on fumes.
This is the part of the story most people forget. Patton did not run out of Germans. He ran out of gasoline. The Third Army was burning roughly 350 to 400,000 gallons of fuel every single day at the peak of the advance. The Allied supply chain, designed for a careful broad front war, simply could not feed an army moving 13 miles a day, every day, for a month.
So Patton’s men got They tapped captured German fuel dumps. They drained vehicles left behind by retreating Panzer units. They sent jeeps backward along the road with orders to find petrol, any color, any source, any nation. On August 27th, more than 25,000 gallons of fuel were flown in by air just to keep his lead divisions moving.
And still, the tanks kept rolling east. That is the situation that lands on Montgomery’s table on September 2. Section 2. The army that would not stop. Inside Bradley’s 12th Army Group headquarters, the chaos becomes its own story. Officers begin marking the map in pencil instead of ink because the situation changes too quickly to commit to.
Liaison teams drive for hours just to find Patton’s command post, then arrive to discover it has already moved again. One liaison officer, when asked where Third Army’s headquarters was, reportedly answered, “Sir, I last saw it through a cloud of dust at 50 miles an hour.” The phase lines are abandoned. The expected positions are rewritten daily.
The phrase that begins appearing in unit war diaries is striking. Third Army has once again exceeded planned objectives. Higher up the chain at Supreme Headquarters in Granville, France, Eisenhower has a problem that no Allied commander before him has faced. He has too much success in the wrong place. The Allied plan called for the main thrust to be in the north.
Montgomery’s drive toward Antwerp, the Rhine, and then the heart of Germany. That plan required fuel. It required priority. It required the entire logistical chain pointing north. But Patton, in the south, is producing the fastest, deepest, most spectacular advance any American army has ever made. To stop him is to throw away momentum.
To support him is to slow Montgomery. Eisenhower has to choose. And the choice is brutal. He chooses the north. On a single signal in late August, fuel that was rolling toward Patton’s Third Army is redirected to Montgomery’s 21st Army Group. The northern advance gets priority. Patton’s spearheads, the same spearheads that have just torn 400 miles across France, begin coasting on empty tanks.
When the news reaches Patton, his reaction is the kind of reaction that ends up in history books. He is reported to have said in front of his staff, “My men can eat their belts, but my tanks have to have gas.” He places a call to Bradley. “Brad, is this true? The fuel is gone?” “It’s not gone, George.
It’s been redirected. Ike’s orders.” “Brad, I am 60 miles from the German border. 60 miles. Give me 400,000 gallons and I’ll be over the Rhine in 10 days.” “I know, George.” “I will resign my commission, Brad, before I let this army stop. Do you hear me? Before I let it stop.” “I hear you, George. But the orders stand.
” The call ends. Patton walks out of the room. According to his own diary, he is angrier in that moment than at any point in the war. Not at the Germans, at the system. Inside his headquarters, his chief of staff sums it up in one quiet line. “Sir, we have been defeated by our own supply chain.” Patton stares at the map for a long time before answering. “Not defeated.
Delayed. There is a difference. Section three. The man on the Meuse. By the end of August, something strange begins to happen across the Allied command. Officers stop being able to say with certainty where General Patton actually is. Reports place him at three different towns on the same day. A reconnaissance unit swears he was at Verdun by dawn.
A signals officer reports him at Commercy by noon. A French liaison insists he passed through Saint-Mihiel an hour before sunset. The same general, the same day. Three different rivers between them. Inside 12 Army Group, Bradley turns to his chief of staff and says, simply, “Find him. I don’t care how. Find George.” At Supreme Headquarters, Eisenhower writes a private note that historians would later quote often.
“Patton is doing what we all hoped and what none of us authorized.” And in northern Belgium, Montgomery, watching the situation map fill with red Third Army symbols stretching across half of France, says to his aide, quietly, “He has pulled the whole front out of shape.” It is the most honest thing Montgomery says about Patton in the entire war.
By early September, the numbers begin to land. Third Army, in 30 days of operations, has liberated more French territory than the entire Allied force took in the two months following D-Day. It has captured tens of thousands of German prisoners. It has crossed major rivers. It has bypassed fortified cities.
It has done all of this while operating, for much of that time, beyond the boundary lines its own superiors had drawn for it. Patton’s lead divisions are not 50 miles east of where they started. They are 400 miles east. This is the situation map that lies on Montgomery’s table when the door of that Belgian farmhouse opens and the staff officer hands in the Shaef report on the morning of September 2nd, 1944.
Montgomery does not speak for a long time. He stares at the map. He stares at the report. He stares at the long red arrow of Third Army’s advance slicing across France like a knife. His aide finally speaks. Sir, what should we tell Supreme Headquarters? Montgomery does not look up. “Tell them,” he says slowly, “that General Patton has done in 30 days what our entire plan allowed for in 90.
” The aide does not know what to say to that. After a moment, he tries. Sir, is that a compliment? Montgomery looks up. His eyes are tired. His voice is flat. It is an admission. That single line is the moment the entire Allied command structure quietly accepts what has happened. The plan, the timetable, the careful broad front doctrine, all of it has been overtaken by one general who refused to wait for permission.
Montgomery is not praising Patton. He is not insulting him, either. He is admitting, out loud, that the war in the west has just been rewritten by an army that was not even supposed to be the main effort. Section four. What came after the 400 miles? The advance did not end with applause.
It ended with empty fuel tanks at the Moselle River. By mid-September, Patton’s Third Army, which had crossed 400 miles in 30 days, would spend the next 3 months trying to push forward another 40 to 60 miles in the Lorraine campaign. The same army that had outrun every map in France ground to a halt against fuel shortages, autumn rains, flooded rivers, and a German army that had finally been given time to dig in.
In that single comparison lies the meaning of the August advance. When Patton was given freedom, fuel, and a broken enemy, he produced the fastest American army movement of the war. When that freedom and fuel were withdrawn, even Patton could not break a prepared defense in a flooded country. The pause at the Moselle was not caused by the Germans.
It was caused by the same logistical system that had tried and failed to keep up with one general’s vision of speed. After the war, Eisenhower himself looked back on those 30 days and said, “On more than one occasion, that Patton’s pursuit across France was the single most spectacular military achievement of the European war.” Bradley, who had spent weeks on the phone trying to slow him down, later wrote in his memoirs that no commander had ever exploited a breakout the way Patton did in August 1944.
Even Montgomery, in later interviews, never disputed the speed. He disputed the wisdom. He never disputed the speed. And the men of Third Army, the tankers, the infantry, the supply drivers who tapped captured German fuel dumps just to keep the engines running, they remembered something simpler. They remembered a general who, when told to stop, kept going.
A general who, when told there was no fuel, found fuel. A general who, when told he was outrunning the maps, said the maps would have to catch up. 400 miles, 30 days, one army that did not wait for the plan to allow it. That is the story behind the line Montgomery delivered into the quiet of a Belgian farmhouse on September 2nd, 1944.
“General Patton has done in 30 days what our entire plan allowed for in 90.” Not a compliment. Not an insult. An admission. The kind a senior commander only makes when the man he is talking about has just changed the shape of a war. If this story gave you a new way to look at the breakout across France, do me one favor.
Hit that subscribe button, drop a like on this video, and tell me in the comments which Allied general you would have wanted leading your unit in August 1944. Every subscriber to WW2 Elite helps us reach more history fans like you and keeps these untold stories alive. Thank you for watching and here is the final fact to leave you with. When the war finally ended in May 1945, every other Allied advance in the European theater was in some way measured against those 30 days in August 1944.
None of them ever matched it. And that is why even today, when historians argue about who really won the breakout, they always end up arguing about the same name. George S. Patton. Third Army. 400 miles.
