WE have now reached the turning-point of the Second World War. The entry of the United States into the struggle after the Japanese assault on Pearl Harbour made it certain that the cause of Freedom would not be cast away. The aggressors, both in Europe and Asia, had been driven to the defensive. Stalingrad in February 1943 marked the turn of the tide in Russia. By May all German and Italian forces in the African continent had been killed or captured. The American victories in the Coral Sea and at Midway Island a year before had stopped Japanese expansion in the Pacific Ocean. Australia and New Zealand were freed from the threat of invasion, and the leaders of Japan were already conscious that their onslaught had passed its zenith. Hitler had still to pay the full penalty of his fatal error in trying to conquer Russia by invasion. He had still to squander the immense remaining strength of Germany in many theatres not vital to the main result. Soon the German nation was to be alone in Europe, surrounded by an infuriated world in arms.
But between survival and victory there are many stages. Over two years of intense and bloody fighting lay before us all. Henceforward however the danger was not Destruction, but Stalemate. The Americans’ armies had to mature and their vast construction of shipping to become effective before the full power of the Great Republic could be hurled into the struggle, and the Western Allies could never strike home at Hitler’s Europe, and thus bring the war to a decisive end, unless another major favourable change came to pass. Anglo-American “maritime power”, a modern term expressing the combined strength of naval and air forces properly woven together, became supreme on and under the surface of the seas and the oceans during 1943. Without this no amphibious operations on the enormous scale required to liberate Europe would have been possible. Soviet Russia would have been left to face Hitler’s whole remaining strength while most of Europe lay in his grip.
The single-handed British struggle against the U-boats, the magnetic mines, and the surface raiders in the first two and a half years of the war has already been described. The long-awaited supreme event of the American alliance which arose from the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbour seemed at first to have increased our perils at sea. In 1940 and 1941 we lost four million tons of merchant shipping a year. In 1942, after the United States was our Ally, this figure nearly doubled, and the U-boats sank ships faster than the Allies could build them. During 1943, thanks to the immense shipbuilding programme of the United States, the new tonnage at last surpassed losses at sea from all causes, and the second quarter saw, for the first time, U-boat losses exceed their rate of replacement. The time was presently to come when more U-boats would be sunk in the Atlantic than merchant ships. But before this lay a long and bitter conflict.
The Battle of the Atlantic was the dominating factor all through the war. Never for one moment could we forget that everything happening elsewhere, on land, at sea, or in the air, depended ultimately on its outcome, and amid all other cares we viewed its changing fortunes day by day with hope or apprehension. The tale of hard and unremitting toil, often under conditions of acute discomfort and frustration and always in the presence of unseen danger, is lighted by incident and drama. But for the individual sailor or airman there were few moments of exhilarating action to break the monotony of an endless succession of anxious, uneventful days. Vigilance could never be relaxed. Dire crisis might at any moment flash upon the scene with brilliant fortune or glare with mortal tragedy. Many gallant actions and incredible feats of endurance are recorded, but the deeds of those who perished will never be known. Our merchant seamen displayed their highest qualities, and the brotherhood of the sea was never more strikingly shown than in their determination to defeat the U-boat.
In April 1943 we could see the balance turn. The U-boat packs were kept underwater and harried continually, while the air and surface escort of the convoys coped with the attackers. We were now strong enough to form independent flotilla groups to act like cavalry divisions, apart from all escort duties. This I had long desired to see. Two hundred and thirty-five U-boats, the greatest number the Germans ever achieved, were in action. But their crews were beginning to waver. They could never feel safe. Their attacks, even when conditions were favourable, were no longer pressed home, and our Atlantic losses fell by nearly 300,000 tons. In May alone forty U-boats perished in the ocean. The German Admiralty watched their charts with strained attention, and at the end of the month Admiral Doenitz recalled the remnants of his fleet to rest or to fight in less hazardous waters. By June the sinkings fell to the lowest figure since the United States had entered the war. The convoys came through intact, the supply line was safe, the decisive battle had been fought and won.
Our armies could now be launched across the sea against the underbelly of Hitler’s Europe. The extirpation of Axis power in North Africa opened to our convoys the direct route to Egypt, India, and Australia, protected from Gibraltar to Suez by sea and air forces working from the newly won bases along the route. The long haul round the Cape, which had cost us so dear in time, effort, and tonnage, would soon be ended. The saving of an average of forty-five days for each convoy to the Middle East increased magnificently at one stroke the fertility of our shipping.
As the defeat of the U-boats affected all subsequent events we must here carry the story forward. For a time they dispersed over the remote wastes of the South Atlantic and Indian Oceans, where our defences were relatively weak but we presented fewer targets. Our air offensive in the Bay of Biscay continued to gather strength. In July thirty-seven U-boats were sunk, mostly by air attack, and of these nearly half perished in the Bay. In the last three months of the year fifty-three were destroyed, while we lost only forty-seven merchant ships.
Throughout a stormy autumn the U-boats struggled vainly, and with small results, to retrieve their ascendancy in the North Atlantic. Although in the face of the harsh facts Admiral Doenitz was forced to recoil, he continued to maintain as many U-boats at sea as ever. But their attack was blunted and they seldom tried to cut through our defences. He did not however despair. “The enemy,” he declared in January 1944, “has succeeded in gaining the advantage in defence. The day will come when I shall offer Churchill a first-rate submarine war. The submarine weapon has not been broken by the setbacks of 1943. On the contrary, it has become stronger. In 1944, which will be a successful but a hard year, we shall smash Britain’s supply [line] with a new submarine weapon.”
This confidence was not wholly unfounded. A gigantic effort was being made in Germany to develop a new type of U-boat which could move more quickly underwater and travel much farther. At the same time many of the older boats were withdrawn so that they could be fitted with the “Schnorkel” and work in British coastal waters. This new device enabled them to recharge their batteries while submerged with only a small tube for the intake of air remaining above the surface. Their chances of eluding detection from the air were thus improved, and it soon became evident that the Schnorkel-fitted boats were intended to dispute the passage of the English Channel whenever the Allied invasion was launched. What happened will be narrated in due course. It is high time to return to the Mediterranean scene and the month of July, 1943.
General Eisenhower considered that Sicily should only be attacked if our purpose was to clear the Mediterranean sea-route. If our real aim was to invade and defeat Italy he thought that our proper initial objectives were Sardinia and Corsica, “since these islands lie on the flank of the long Italian boot and would force a very much greater dispersion of enemy strength in Italy than the mere occupation of Sicily, which lies off the mountainous toe of the peninsula.”* This was no doubt a military opinion of high authority, although one I could not share. But political forces play their part, and the capture of Sicily and the direct invasion of Italy were to bring about results of a far more swift and far-reaching character.
“Husky”, as the capture of Sicily was called in our code-names, was an undertaking of the first magnitude. Although eclipsed by events in Normandy, its importance and its difficulties should not be underrated. The landing was based on the experience gained in North Africa, and those who planned “Overlord” learned much from “Husky”. In the initial assault nearly 3,000 ships and landing-craft took part, carrying between them 160,000 men, 14,000 vehicles, 600 tanks, and 1,800 guns. These forces had to be collected, trained, equipped, and eventually embarked, with all the vast impedimenta of amphibious warfare, at widely dispersed bases in the Mediterranean, in Great Britain, and in the United States. In spite of anxieties all went forward smoothly and proved a remarkable example of joint Staff work. For reasons of policy we had hitherto yielded the command and direction of the campaign in North Africa to the United States. But now we had entered upon a new stage—the invasion of Sicily, and what should follow from it. It was agreed that action against Italy should be decided in the light of the fighting in Sicily. As the Americans became more attracted to this larger adventure, instead of being content for the rest of the year with Sardinia, and while the prospects of another joint campaign unfolded, I felt it necessary that the British should be at least equal partners with our Allies. The proportions of the armies available in July were: British, eight divisions; United States, six. Air: the United States, 55 per cent.; British, 45 per cent. Naval, 80 per cent. British. Besides all this there remained the considerable British armies in the Middle East and in the Eastern Mediterranean, including Libya, which were independently commanded by General Maitland Wilson, from the British headquarters at Cairo. It did not seem too much in these circumstances that we should have at least an equal share of the High Command. And this was willingly conceded by our loyal comrades. We were moreover given the direct conduct of the fighting. Alexander was to command the Fifteenth Army Group, consisting of the Seventh United States Army under General Patton and the Eighth British Army under Montgomery. Air Chief Marshal Tedder commanded the Allied Air Force, and Admiral Cunningham the Allied naval forces. The whole was under the overall command of General Eisenhower.
Intense air attack upon the island began on July 3 with the bombing of airfields both there and in Sardinia, which made many unusable. The enemy fighters were thrown on to the defensive, and their long-range bombers forced to withdraw their bases to the Italian mainland. Four of the five train ferries operating across the Straits of Messina were sunk. By the time our convoys were approaching the island air superiority was firmly established, and Axis warships and aircraft made no serious effort to interfere with the seaborne assault. By our cover plans the enemy were kept in doubt until the last moment where our stroke would fall. Our naval movements and military preparations in Egypt suggested an expedition to Greece. Since the fall of Tunis they had sent more planes to the Mediterranean, but the additional squadrons had gone, not to Sicily, but to the Eastern Mediterranean, North-West Italy, and Sardinia. July 10 was the appointed day. On the morning of July 9 the great armadas from east and west were converging south of Malta, and it was time for all to steam for the beaches of Sicily. On my way to Chequers, where I was to await the result, I spent an hour in the Admiralty War Room. The map covered an entire wall, and showed the enormous convoys, escorts, and supporting detachments moving towards their assault beaches. This was the greatest amphibious operation so far attempted in history. But all depended on the weather.
The morning was fine, but by noon a fresh and unseasonable north-west wind sprang up. During the afternoon the wind increased, and by evening there was a heavy swell, which would make landings hazardous, particularly on the western beaches in the American sector. The landing-craft convoys plunging northward from Malta and from many African ports between Bizerta and Benghazi were having a rough voyage.
Arrangements had been made for postponing the landing in case of necessity, but a decision would have to be taken not later than midday. Watching anxiously from the Admiralty, the First Sea Lord inquired by signal about the weather conditions. Admiral Cunningham replied at 8 p.m., “Weather not favourable, but operation proceeding.” “It was,” he says, “manifestly too late for postponement, but considerable anxiety was felt, particularly for the small-craft convoys making up against the sea.” They were indeed much delayed and became scattered. Many ships arrived late, but fortunately no great harm resulted. “The wind,” says Cunningham, “mercifully eased during the night, and by the morning of the 10th had ceased, leaving only a tiresome swell and surf on the western beaches.”
The bad weather helped to give us surprise. Admiral Cunningham continues: “The very efficient cover plan and deceptive routeing of convoys played their part. In addition the vigilance of the enemy was undoubtedly relaxed owing to the unfavourable phase of the moon. Finally came this wind, dangerously close at the time to making some, if not all, of the landings impracticable. These apparently unfavourable factors had actually the effect of making the weary Italians, who had been alert for many nights, turn thankfully in their beds, saying, ‘To-night at any rate they can’t come.’ BUT THEY CAME.”
The airborne forces met hard fortune. More than one-third of the gliders carrying our 1st Air Landing Brigade were cast off too early by their American towing aircraft and many of the men they carried were drowned. The rest were scattered over south-eastern Sicily, and only twelve gliders arrived at the important bridge which was their aim. Out of eight officers and sixty-five men who seized and held it until help came twelve hours later only nineteen survived. This was a forlorn feat of arms. On the American front the air landings were also too widely dispersed, but the many small parties creating damage and confusion inland worried the Italian coastal divisions.
The seaborne landings, under continuous fighter protection, were everywhere highly successful. Twelve airfields were soon in our hands, and by July 18 there were only twenty-five serviceable German aircraft in the island. Eleven hundred planes, more than half of them German, were left behind destroyed or damaged. The enemy, once they had recovered from the initial surprise, had fought stubbornly. The difficulties of the ground were great. The roads were narrow, and cross-country movement was often impossible except for men on foot. On the Eighth Army front the towering mass of Mount Etna blocked the way, and enabled the enemy to watch our moves. As they lay on the low ground of the Catania plain malaria ran riot among our men. Nevertheless, once we were safely ashore and our Air Forces were operating from captured airfields the issue was never in doubt. Contrary to our earlier hopes, the bulk of the Germans successfully withdrew across the Straits of Messina, but after thirty-eight days of fighting General Alexander telegraphed: “By 10.0 a.m. this morning, August 17, 1943, the last German soldier was flung out of Sicily and the whole island is now in our hands.”
Our next strategic move was still in suspense. Should we cross the Straits of Messina and seize the toe of Italy, should we seize the heel at Taranto, or should we land higher up the west coast, in the Gulf of Salerno, and capture Naples? Or, again, must we restrict ourselves to the occupation of Sardinia? The progress now achieved clarified the scene. On July 19 a strong force of American bombers had attacked the railway yards and airport at Rome. Havoc was wrought and the shock was severe. The speedy collapse of Italy became probable. The Americans, however, held that none of the operations elsewhere, especially “Overlord”, should be prejudiced by more vigorous action in the Mediterranean. This reservation was to cause keen anxiety during the landing at Salerno. While somewhat sharp discussions were in progress the scene had been completely transformed by the fall of Mussolini.
The Duce had now to bear the brunt of the military disasters into which he had, after so many years of rule, led his country. He had exercised almost absolute control and could not cast the burden on the Monarchy, Parliamentary institutions, the Fascist Party, or the General Staff. All fell on him. Now that the feeling that the war was lost spread throughout well-informed circles in Italy the blame fell upon the man who had so imperiously thrust the nation on to the wrong and the losing side. These convictions formed and spread widely during the early months of 1943. The lonely dictator sat at the summit of power, while military defeat and Italian slaughter in Russia, Tunis, and Sicily were the evident prelude to direct invasion.
In vain he made changes among the politicians and generals. In February General Ambrosio had succeeded Cavallero as Chief of the Italian General Staff. Ambrosio, together with the Duke of Acquarone, the Minister of Court, were personal advisers of the King and had the confidence of the Royal circle. For months they had been hoping to overthrow the Duce and put an end to the Fascist régime. But Mussolini still dwelt in the European scene as if he were a principal factor. He was affronted when his new military chief proposed the immediate withdrawal of the Italian divisions from the Balkans. He regarded these forces as the counterpoise to German predominance in Europe. He did not realise that defeats abroad and internal demoralisation had robbed him of his status as Hitler’s ally. He cherished the illusion of power and consequence when the reality had gone. Thus he resisted Ambrosio’s formidable request. So durable however was the impression of his authority and the fear of his personal action in extremity that there was prolonged hesitation throughout all the forces of Italian society about how to oust him. Who would “bell the cat”? Thus the spring had passed with invasion by a mighty foe, possessing superior power by land, sea, and air, drawing ever nearer.
The climax had now come. Since February the taciturn, cautiousminded, constitutional King had been in contact with Marshal Badoglio, who had been dismissed after the Greek disasters in 1940. He found in him at length a figure to whom he might entrust the conduct of the State. A definite plan was made. It was resolved that Mussolini should be arrested on July 26, and General Ambrosio agreed to find the agents and create the situation for this stroke. The General was aided unwittingly by elements in the Fascist Old Guard, who sought a new revival of the party, by which, in many cases, they would not be the losers. They saw in the summoning of the highest party organ, the Fascist Grand Council, which had not met since 1939, the means of confronting the Duce with an ultimatum. On July 13 they called on Mussolini and induced him to convene a formal session of the Council of July 24. The two movements appear to have been separate and independent, but their close coincidence in date is significant.
On July 19, accompanied by General Ambrosio, he left by air to meet Hitler at a villa at Feltre, near Rimini. “There was a most beautiful cool and shady park,” writes Mussolini in his memoirs, ‘and a labyrinthine building which some people found almost uncanny. It was like a crossword puzzle frozen into a house.” All preparations had been made to entertain the Fuehrer for at least two days, but he left the same afternoon. “The meeting,” says Mussolini, “was, as usual, cordial, but the entourage and the attitude of the higher Air Force officers and of the troops was chilly.”*
The Fuehrer held forth lengthily upon the need for a supreme effort. The new secret weapons, he said, would be ready for use against England by the winter. Italy must be defended, “so that Sicily may become for the enemy what Stalingrad was for us.”† The Italians must produce both the man-power and the organisation. Germany could not provide the reinforcements and equipment asked for by Italy owing to the pressure on the Russian front.
Ambrosio urged his chief to tell Hitler plainly that Italy could not continue in the war. It is not clear what advantage would have come from this, but the fact that Mussolini seemed almost dumbstruck finally decided Ambrosio and the other Italian generals present that no further leadership could be expected from him.
In the midst of Hitler’s discourse on the situation an agitated Italian official entered the room with the news, “At this moment Rome is undergoing a violent enemy air bombardment.” Apart from a promise of further German reinforcements for Sicily, Mussolini returned to Rome without anything to show. As he approached he flew into a huge black cloud of smoke rising from hundreds of wagons on fire in the Littorio railway station. He had an audience of the King, whom he found “frowning and nervous”. “A tense situation,” said the King. “We cannot go on much longer. Sicily has gone west now. The Germans will double-cross us. The discipline of the troops has broken down. …” Mussolini answered, according to the records, that he hoped to disengage Italy from the Axis alliance by September 15. The date shows how far he was out of contact with reality.
The chief actor in the final drama now appeared on the scene. Dino Grandi, veteran Fascist, former Foreign Minister and Ambassador to Britain, a man of strong personal determination, who had hated the Italian declaration of war upon Britain, but had hitherto submitted to the force of events, arrived in Rome to take the lead at the meeting of the Grand Council. He called on his old leader on July 22, and told him brutally that he intended to propose the formation of a National Government and the restoration to the King of the supreme command of the armed forces.
At 5 p.m. on the 24th the Grand Council met. Care appears to have been taken by the Chief of Police that they should not be disturbed by violence. Mussolini’s musketeers, his personal bodyguard, were relieved of their duty to guard the Palazzo Venezia, which was also filled with armed police. The Duce unfolded his case, and the Council, who were all dressed in their black Fascist uniform, took up the discussion. Mussolini ended: “War is always a party war—a war of the party which desires it; it is always one man’s war—the war of the man who declared it. If to-day this is called Mussolini’s war, the war in 1859 could have been called Cavour’s war. This is the moment to tighten the reins and assume the necessary responsibility. I shall have no difficulty in replacing men, in turning the screw, in bringing forces to bear not yet engaged, in the name of our country, whose territorial integrity is to-day being violated.”
Grandi then moved a resolution calling upon the Crown to assume more power and upon the King to emerge from obscurity and assume his responsibilities. He delivered what Mussolini describes as “a violent philippic”, “the speech of a man who was at last giving vent to a long-cherished rancour.” The contacts between members of the Grand Council and the Court became evident. Mussolini’s son-in-law, Ciano, supported Grandi. Everyone present was now conscious that a political convulsion impended. The debate continued till midnight, when Scorza, secretary of the Fascist Party, proposed adjourning till next day. But Grandi leaped to his feet, shouting, “No, I am against the proposal. We have started this business and we must finish it this very night!” It was after two o’clock in the morning when the voting took place. “The position of each member of the Grand Council,” writes Mussolini, “could be discerned even before the voting. There was a group of traitors who had already negotiated with the Crown, a group of accomplices, and a group of uninformed who probably did not realise the seriousness of the vote, but they voted just the same.” Nineteen replied “Yes” to Grandi’s motion and seven “No”. Two abstained. Mussolini rose. “You have provoked a crisis of the régime. So much the worse. The session is closed.” The party secretary was about to give the salute to the Duce when Mussolini checked him with a gesture, saying, “No, you are excused.” They all went away in silence. None slept at home.
Meanwhile the arrest of Mussolini was being quietly arranged. The Duke of Acquarone, the Court Minister, sent instructions to Ambrosio, whose deputies and trusted agents in the police and the Carabinieri acted forthwith. The key telephone exchanges, the police headquarters, and the offices of the Ministry of the Interior were quietly and unobtrusively taken over. A small force of military police was posted out of sight near the Royal villa.
Mussolini spent the morning of Sunday, July 25, in his office, and visited some quarters in Rome which had suffered by bombing. He asked to see the King, and was granted an audience at five o’clock. “I thought the King would withdraw his delegation of authority of June 10, 1940, concerning the command of the armed forces, a command which I had for some time past been thinking of relinquishing. I entered the villa therefore with a mind completely free from any forebodings, in a state which, looking back on it, might really be called utterly unsuspecting.” On reaching the Royal abode he noticed that there were everywhere reinforcements of Carabinieri. The King, in Marshal’s uniform, stood in the doorway. The two men entered the drawing-room. The King said, “My dear Duce, it’s no longer any good. Italy has gone to bits. Army morale is at rock-bottom. The soldiers don’t want to fight any more. … The Grand Council’s vote is terrific—nineteen votes for Grandi’s motion, and among them four holders of the Order of the Annunciation! … At this moment you are the most hated man in Italy. You can no longer count on more than one friend. You have one friend left, and I am he. That is why I tell you that you need have no fears for your personal safety, for which I will ensure protection. I have been thinking that the man for the job now is Marshal Badoglio.…”
Mussolini replied, “You are taking an extremely grave decision. A crisis at this moment would mean making the people think that peace was in sight, once the man who declared war had been dismissed. The blow to the Army’s morale would be serious. The crisis would be considered as a triumph for the Churchill-Stalin set-up, especially for Stalin. I realise the people’s hatred. I had no difficulty in recognising it last night in the midst of the Grand Council. One can’t govern for such a long time and impose so many sacrifices without provoking resentments. In any case, I wish good luck to the man who takes the situation in hand.” The King accompanied Mussolini to the door. “His face,” says Mussolini, “was livid and he looked smaller than ever, almost dwarfish. He shook my hand and went in again. I descended the few steps and went towards my car. Suddenly a Carabinieri captain stopped me and said, ‘His Majesty has charged me with the protection of your person’ I was continuing towards my car when the captain said to me, pointing to a motor-ambulance standing near by, ‘No. We must get in there.’ I got into the ambulance, together with my secretary. A lieutenant, three Carabinieri, and two police agents in plain clothes got in as well as the captain, and placed themselves by the door armed with machine-guns. When the door was closed the ambulance drove off at top speed. I still thought that all this was being done, as the King had said, in order to protect my person.”
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Later that afternoon Badoglio was charged by the King to form a new Cabinet of Service chiefs and civil servants, and in the evening the Marshal broadcast the news to the world. Two days later the Duce was taken on Marshal Badoglio’s order to be interned on the island of Ponza.
Thus ended Mussolini’s twenty-one years’ dictatorship in Italy, during which he had raised the Italian people from the Bolshevism into which they might have sunk in 1919 to a position in Europe such as Italy had never held before. A new impulse had been given to the national life. The Italian Empire in North Africa was built. Many important public works in Italy were completed. In 1935 the Duce had by his will-power overcome the League of Nations—“Fifty nations led by one”—and was able to complete his conquest of Abyssinia. His régime was far too costly for the Italian people to bear, but there is no doubt that it appealed during its period of success to very great numbers of Italians. He was, as I had addressed him at the time of the fall of France, “the Italian lawgiver.” The alternative to his rule might well have been a Communist Italy, which would have brought perils and misfortunes of a different character both upon the Italian people and Europe. His fatal mistake was the declaration of war on France and Great Britain following Hitler’s victories in June 1940. Had he not done this he could well have maintained Italy in a balancing position, courted and rewarded by both sides and deriving an unusual wealth and prosperity from the struggles of other countries. Even when the issue of the war became certain Mussolini would have been welcomed by the Allies. He had much to give to shorten its course. He could have timed his moment to declare war on Hitler with art and care. Instead he took the wrong turning. He never understood the strength of Britain, nor the long-enduring qualities of Island resistance and seapower. Thus he marched to ruin. His great roads will remain a monument to his personal power and long reign.
At this time Hitler made a crowning error in strategy and war direction. The impending defection of Italy, the victorious advance of Russia, and the evident preparations for a cross-Channel attack by Britain and the United States should have led him to concentrate and develop the most powerful German army as a central reserve. In this way only could he use the high qualities of the German command and fighting troops, and at the same time take full advantage of the central position which he occupied, with its interior lines and remarkable communications. As General von Thoma said while a prisoner of war in our charge, “Our only chance is to create a situation where we can use the Army.” Hitler, as I have pointed out earlier in this account, had in fact made a spider’s web and forgotten the spider. He tried to hold everything he had won. Enormous forces were squandered in the Balkans and in Italy which could play no part in the main decisions. A central reserve of thirty or forty divisions of the highest quality and mobility would have enabled him to strike at any one of his opponents advancing upon him and fight a major battle with good prospects of success. He could, for instance, have met the British and Americans at the fortieth or fiftieth day after their landing in Normandy a year later with fresh and greatly superior forces. There was no need to consume his strength in Italy and the Balkans, and the fact that he was induced to do so must be taken as the waste of his last opportunity.
Knowing that these choices were open to him, I wished also to have the options of pressing right-handed in Italy or left-handed across the Channel, or both. The wrong dispositions which he made enabled us to undertake the main direct assault under conditions which offered good prospects and achieved success.
Hitler had returned from the Feltre meeting convinced that Italy could only be kept in the war by purges in the Fascist Party and increasing pressure by the Germans on the Fascist leaders. Mussolini’s sixtieth birthday fell on July 29, and Goering was chosen to pay him an official visit on this occasion. But during the course of July 25 alarming reports from Rome began to come in to Hitler’s headquarters. By the evening it was clear that Mussolini had resigned or had been removed, and that Badoglio had been nominated by the King as his successor. It was finally decided that any major operation against the new Italian Government would require withdrawals of more divisions than could be spared from the Eastern Front in the event of the expected Russian offensive. Plans were made to rescue Mussolini, to occupy Rome, and to support Italian Fascism wherever possible. If Badoglio signed an armistice with the Allies, further plans were drawn up for seizing the Italian Fleet and occupying key positions throughout Italy, and for overawing Italian garrisons in the Balkans and in the Ægean.
“We must act,” Hitler told his advisers on July 26. “Otherwise the Anglo-Saxons will steal a march on us by occupying the airports. The Fascist Party is at present only stunned, and will recover behind our lines. The Fascist Party is the only one that has the will to fight on our side. We must therefore restore it. All reasons advocating further delays are wrong; thereby we run the danger of losing Italy to the Anglo-Saxons. These are matters which a soldier cannot comprehend. Only a man with political insight can see his way clear.”
