LIBERATING Normandy was a supreme event in the European campaign of 1944, but it was only one of several concentric strokes upon Nazi Germany. In the east the Russians were flooding into Poland and the Balkans, and in the south Alexander’s armies in Italy were pressing towards the river Po. Decisions had now to be taken about our next move in the Mediterranean, and it must be recorded with regret that these occasioned the first important divergence on high strategy between ourselves and our American friends.
The design for final victory in Europe had been outlined in prolonged discussion at the Teheran Conference in November 1943. Its decisions still governed our plans, and it would be well to recall them. First and foremost we had promised to carry out “Overlord”. Here was the dominating task, and no one disputed that here lay our prime duty. But we still wielded powerful forces in the Mediterranean, and the question had remained, what should they do? We had resolved that they should capture Rome, whose near-by airfields were needed for bombing Southern Germany, advance up the peninsula as far as the Pisa-Rimini line, and there hold as many enemy divisions as possible. This however was not all. A third operation was also agreed upon, namely, an amphibious landing in the south of France, and it was on this project that controversy was about to descend. It was originally conceived as a feint or threat to keep German troops on the Riviera and stop them joining the battles in Normandy, but the Americans had pressed for a real attack by ten divisions, and Stalin had supported them. I accepted the change, largely to prevent undue diversions to Burma, although I contemplated other ways of exploiting success in Italy, and the plan had been given the code-name “Anvil”.
But there were several reservations. Many of the forces would have to come from Italy, and they had first to accomplish the arduous and important task of seizing Rome and the airfields. Until this was done little could be spared or taken from Alexander. Rome must fall before “Anvil” could start. And it must also start about the same time as “Overlord”. The troops would have a long way to go before they could reach Eisenhower’s armies in Normandy, and unless they landed in good time they would be too late to help and the battle of the beaches would be over. All turned on the capture of Rome. At Teheran we had confidently expected to reach it early in the spring, but this had proved impossible. The descent at Anzio to accelerate its capture had drawn eight or ten German divisions away from the vital theatre, or more than was expected to be attracted to the Riviera by “Anvil”. This in effect superseded it by achieving its object. Nevertheless the Riviera project went forward as if nothing had happened.
Apart from “Anvil” hanging somewhat vaguely in the future, some of the finest divisions of the armies in Italy had rightly been assigned to the main operation of “Overlord” and had sailed for England before the end of 1943. Alexander had thus been weakened and Kesselring had been strengthened. The Germans had sent reinforcements to Italy, had parried the Anzio swoop, and had stopped us entering Rome until just before D Day. The hard fighting had of course engulfed important enemy reserves which might otherwise have gone to France, and it certainly helped “Overlord” in its critical early stages, but none the less our advance in the Mediterranean had been gravely upset. Landing-craft were another obstacle. Many of them had been sent to “Overlord”. “Anvil” could not be mounted until they came back, and this in its turn depended on events in Normandy. These facts had been long foreseen, and as far back as March 21 General Maitland Wilson, the Supreme Commander in the Mediterranean, reported that “Anvil” could not be launched before the end of July. Later he put it at mid-August, and declared that the best way to help “Overlord” was to abandon any attack on the Riviera and concentrate on Italy. Both he and Alexander thought their best contribution to the common end would be to press forward with all their resources into the Po valley. Thereafter, with the help of an amphibious operation against the Istrian peninsula, at the head of the Adriatic, which is dominated by and runs south from Trieste, there would be attractive prospects of advancing through the Ljubljana Gap into Austria and Hungary and striking at the heart of Germany from another direction.
When Rome fell on June 4 the problem had to be reviewed. Should we go on with “Anvil” or should we make a new plan?
General Eisenhower naturally wanted to strengthen his attack in North-West Europe by all available means. Strategic possibilities in Northern Italy did not attract him, but he consented to return the landing-craft as soon as possible if this would lead to a speedy “Anvil”. The American Chiefs of Staff agreed with Eisenhower, holding rigidly to the maxim of concentration at the decisive point, which in their eyes meant only North-West Europe. They were supported by the President, who was mindful of the agreements made with Stalin many months before at Teheran. Yet all was changed by the delay in Italy.
Mr. Roosevelt admitted that an advance through the Ljubljana Gap might contain German troops, but it would not draw any of their divisions from France. He therefore urged that “Anvil” should be undertaken, at the expense of course of our armies in Italy, since “in my view the resources of Great Britain and the United States will not permit us to maintain two major theatres in the European war, each with decisive missions.” The British Chiefs of Staff took the opposite view. Rather than land on the Riviera they preferred to send troops from Italy by sea direct to Eisenhower. With much prescience they remarked: “We think that the mounting of ‘Anvil’ on a scale likely to achieve success would hamstring General Alexander’s remaining forces to such an extent that any further activity would be limited to something very modest.”
This direct conflict of opinions, honestly held and warmly argued by either side, could only be settled, if at all, between the President and myself, and an interchange of telegrams now took place.
“The deadlock,” I telegraphed on June 28, “between our Chiefs of Staff raises most serious issues. Our first wish is to help General Eisenhower in the most speedy and effective manner. But we do not think this necessarily involves the complete ruin of all our great affairs in the Mediterranean, and we take it hard that this should be demanded of us.… I most earnestly beg you to examine this matter in detail for yourself.… Please remember how you spoke to me at Teheran about Istria, and how I introduced it at the full Conference. This has sunk very deeply into my mind, although it is not by any means the immediate issue we have to decide.”
Mr. Roosevelt’s reply was prompt and adverse. He was resolved to carry out what he called the “grand strategy” of Teheran, namely, exploiting “Overlord” to the full, “victorious advances in Italy, and an early assault on Southern France”. Political objects might be important, but military operations to achieve them must be subordinated to striking at the heart of Germany by a campaign in Europe. Stalin himself had favoured “Anvil” and had classified all other operations in the Mediterranean as of lesser importance, and Mr. Roosevelt declared he could not abandon it without consulting him. The President continued:
My interest and hopes centre on defeating the Germans in front of Eisenhower and driving on into Germany, rather than on limiting this action for the purpose of staging a full major effort in Italy.* I am convinced we will have sufficient forces in Italy, with “Anvil” forces withdrawn, to chase Kesselring north of Pisa-Rimini and maintain heavy pressure against his army at the very least to the extent necessary to contain his present force. I cannot conceive of the Germans paying the price of ten additional divisions, estimated by General Wilson, in order to keep us out of Northern Italy.
We can—and Wilson confirms this—immediately withdraw five divisions (three United States and two French) from Italy for “Anvil”. The remaining twenty-one divisions, plus numerous separate brigades, will certainly provide Alexander with adequate ground superiority.
But it was Mr. Roosevelt’s objections to a descent on the Istrian peninsula and a thrust against Vienna through the Ljubljana Gap that revealed both the rigidity of the American military plans and his own suspicion of what he called a campaign “in the Balkans”. He claimed that Alexander and Smuts, who also favoured my view, “for several natural and very human reasons”, were inclined to disregard two vital considerations. First, the operation infringed “the grand strategy”. Secondly, it would take too long and we could probably not deploy more than six divisions. “I cannot agree,” he wrote, “to the employment of United States troops against Istria and into the Balkans, nor can I see the French agreeing to such use of French troops.… For purely political considerations over here, I should never survive even a slight setback in ‘Overlord’ if it were known that fairly large forces had been diverted to the Balkans.”
No one involved in these discussions had ever thought of moving armies into the Balkans; but Istria and Trieste were strategic and political positions, which, as he saw very clearly, might exercise profound and widespread reactions, especially after the Russian advances. For the time being, however, I resigned myself, and on July 2 General Wilson was ordered to attack the south of France on August 15. Preparations began at once, but the reader should note that “Anvil” was renamed “Dragoon”. This was done in case the enemy had learnt the meaning of the original code-word.
By early August however a marked change had come over the battlefield in Normandy and great developments impended, and on the 7th I visited Eisenhower at his headquarters near Portsmouth and unfolded to him my last hope of stopping an assault on the south of France. After an agreeable luncheon we had a long and serious conversation. Eisenhower had with him Bedell Smith and Admiral Ramsay. I had brought the First Sea Lord, as the movement of shipping was the key. Briefly, what I proposed was to continue loading the “Dragoon” expedition, but when the troops were in the ships to send them through the Straits of Gibraltar and enter France at Bordeaux. The matter had been long considered by the British Chiefs of Staff, and the operation was considered feasible. I showed Eisenhower a telegram I had sent to the President, whose reply I had not yet received, and did my best to convince him. The First Sea Lord strongly supported me. Admiral Ramsay argued against any change of plan. Bedell Smith, on the contrary, declared himself strongly in favour of this sudden deflection of the attack, which would have all the surprise that sea-power can bestow. Eisenhower in no way resented the views of his Chief of Staff. He always encouraged free expression of opinion in council at the summit, though of course whatever was settled would receive every loyalty in execution.
However, I was quite unable to move him, and next day I received the President’s reply. “It is my considered opinion,” he cabled, “that ‘Dragoon’ should be launched as planned at the earliest practicable date, and I have full confidence that it will be successful and of great assistance to Eisenhower in driving the Huns from France.”
There was no more to be done about it. It is worth noting that we had now passed the day in July when for the first time in the war the movement of the great American armies into Europe and their growth in the Far East made their numbers in action greater than our own. Influence on Allied operations is usually increased by large reinforcements. It must also be remembered that had the British views on this strategic issue been accepted the tactical preparations might well have caused some delay, which again would have reacted on the general argument.
I now decided to go myself to Italy, where many questions could be more easily settled on the spot than by correspondence. It would be a great advantage to see the commanders and the troops from whom so much was being demanded, after so much had been taken. Alexander, though sorely weakened, was preparing his armies for a further offensive. I was anxious to meet Tito, who could easily come to Italy from the island of Vis, where we were protecting him. The Greek Prime Minister, M. Papandreou, and some of his colleagues could come from Cairo, and plans could be made to help them back to Athens when the Germans departed. I reached Naples on the afternoon of August 11 and was installed in the palatial though somewhat dilapidated Villa PJvalta, with a glorious view of Vesuvius and the bay. Here General Wilson explained to me that all arrangements had been made for a conference next morning with Tito and Subasic, the new Yugoslav Prime Minister of King Peter’s Government in London. They had already arrived in Naples, and would dine with us the next night.
On the morning of August 12 Marshal Tito came up to the villa. He wore a magnificent gold and blue uniform which was very tight under the collar and singularly unsuited to the blazing heat. The uniform had been given him by the Russians, and, as I was afterwards informed, the gold lace came from the United States. I joined him on the terrace of the villa, accompanied by Brigadier Maclean and an interpreter. I suggested that the Marshal might first like to see General Wilson’s War Room, and we moved inside. The Marshal, who was attended by two ferocious-looking bodyguards, each carrying automatic pistols, wanted to bring them with him in case of treachery on our part. He was dissuaded from this with some difficulty, and proposed to bring them to guard him at dinner instead.
I led the way into a large room, where maps of the battlefronts covered the walls, and we had a long conversation. I pointed on the map to the Istrian peninsula. He was all in favour of our attacking it, and promised to help. Then and in the following days we did our best to strengthen and intensify the Yugoslav war effort and to heal the breach between him and King Peter.
On the afternoon of August 14 I flew in General Wilson’s Dakota co Corsica in order to see the Riviera landing which I had tried so hard to stop, but to which I wished all success. From the British destroyer Kimberley we watched the long rows of boats filled with American storm troops steaming in continuously to the Bay of St. Tropez. As far as I could see or hear not a shot was fired either at the approaching flotillas or on the beaches. The battleships stopped firing, as there seemed to be nobody there. On the 16th I got back to Naples, and rested there for the night before going up to meet Alexander at the front. I had at least done the civil to “Anvil-Dragoon”, and I thought it was a good tiling I was near the scene to show the interest I took in it. We may here note briefly what happened.
The Seventh Army, under General Patch, had been formed to carry out the attack. Seven French and three U.S. divisions, together with a mixed American and British airborne division, were supported by no fewer than six battleships, twenty-one cruisers, and a hundred destroyers. In the air we were overwhelmingly superior and in the midst of the Germans in Southern France over 25,000 armed men of the Resistance were ready to revolt. The assault took place early on the 15th between Cannes and Hyères. Casualties were relatively few and the Americans moved fast. On the 28th they were beyond Valence and Grenoble. The enemy made no serious attempt to stop them, except for a stiff fight at Montélimar by a Panzer division. The Allied Tactical Air Force was treating them roughly and destroying their transport. Eisenhower’s pursuit from Normandy was cutting in behind them, having reached the Seine at Fontainebleau on August 20. Five days later it was well past Troyes. The surviving elements of the German Nineteenth Army, amounting to a nominal five divisions, were in full retreat, leaving 50,000 prisoners in our hands. Lyons was taken on September 3, Besançon on the 8th, and Dijon was liberated by the Resistance Movement on the 11th. On that day “Dragoon” and “Overlord” joined hands at Sombernon. In the triangle of South-West France, trapped by these concentric thrusts, were the isolated remnants of the German First Army, over 20,000 strong, who freely gave themselves up.
To sum up the story, the original proposal at Teheran in November 1943 was for a descent in the south of France to help take the weight off “Overlord”. The timing was to be either in the week before or the week after D Day. All this was changed by what happened in the interval. The latent threat from the Mediterranean sufficed in itself to keep ten German divisions on the Riviera. Anzio alone had meant that the equivalent of four enemy divisions was lost to other fronts. When, with the help of Anzio, our whole battle line advanced, captured Rome and threatened the Gothic Line, the Germans hurried a further eight divisions to Italy. Delay in the capture of Rome and the dispatch of landing-craft from the Mediterranean to help “Overlord” caused the postponement of “Anvil”–“Dragoon” till mid-August, or two months later than it had been proposed. It therefore did not in any way affect “Overlord”. When it was belatedly launched it drew no enemy down from the Normandy battle theatre. Therefore none of the reasons present in our minds at Teheran had any relation to what was done and “Dragoon” caused no diversion from the forces opposing General Eisenhower.* In fact, instead of helping him, he helped it by threatening the rear of the Germans retiring up the Rhone valley. This is not to deny that the operation as carried out eventually brought important assistance to General Eisenhower by the arrival of another army on his right flank and the opening of another line of communications thither. For this a heavy price was paid. The army of Italy was deprived of its opportunity to strike a most formidable blow at the Germans, and very possibly to reach Vienna before the Russians, with all that might have followed therefrom. But once the final decision was reached I of course gave “Anvil-Dragoon” my full support, though I had done my best to constrain or deflect it.
On the morning of August 17 I set out by motor to meet General Alexander. I was delighted to see him for the first time since his victory and entry into Rome. He drove me all along the old Cassino front, showing me how the battle had gone and where the main struggles had occurred. Alexander brought his chief officers to dinner, and explained to me fully his difficulties and plans. The Fifteenth Group of Armies had indeed been skinned and starved. The far-reaching projects we had cherished must now be abandoned. It was still our duty to hold the Germans in the largest numbers on our front. If this purpose was to be achieved an offensive was imperative; but the well-integrated German armies were almost as strong as ours, composed of so many different contingents and races. It was proposed to attack along the whole front early on the 26th. Our right hand would be upon the Adriatic, and our immediate objective Rimini. To the westward, under Alexander’s command, lay the Fifth American Army. This had been stripped and mutilated for the sake of “Anvil”, but would nevertheless advance with vigour.
On August 19 I set off to visit General Mark Clark at Leghorn. We lunched in the open air by the sea. In our friendly and confidential talks I realised how painful the tearing to pieces of this fine army had been to those who controlled it. The General seemed embittered that his army had been robbed of what he thought—and I could not disagree—was a great opportunity. Still, he would drive forward to his utmost on the British left and keep the whole front blazing. It was late and I was thoroughly tired out when I got back to the château at Siena, where Alexander came again to dine.
When one writes things on paper to decide or explain large questions affecting action there is mental stress. But all this bites much deeper when you see and feel it on the spot. Here was this splendid army, equivalent to twenty-five divisions, of which a quarter were American, reduced till it was just not strong enough to produce decisive results against the immense power of the defensive. A very little more, half of what had been taken from us, and we could have broken into the valley of the Po, with all the gleaming possibilities and prizes which lay open towards Vienna. As it was our forces, about a million strong, could play a mere secondary part in any commanding strategic conception. They could keep the enemy on their front busy at the cost and risk of a hard offensive. They could at least do their duty. Alexander maintained his soldierly cheerfulness, but it was in a sombre mood that I went to bed. In these great matters failing to gain one’s way is no escape from the responsibility for an inferior solution.
As Alexander’s offensive could not start till the 26th I flew to Rome on the morning of the 21st. Here another set of problems and a portentous array of new personages to meet awaited me. First I had to deal with the impending Greek crisis, which had been one of the chief reasons for my Italian visit. Rumours of the German evacuation of Greece raised intense excitement and discord in M. Papandreou’s Cabinet, and revealed the frail and false foundation upon which common action stood. This made it all the more necessary for me to see Papandreou and those he trusted. We met that evening. Neither his Government nor the Greek State itself had either arms or police. He asked for our help to unite Greek resistance against the Germans. At present only the wrong people had arms, and they were a minority. I told him we could make no promise and enter into no obligations about sending British forces into Greece, and that even the possibility should not be talked about in public; but I advised him to transfer his Government at once from Cairo, with its atmosphere of intrigue, to somewhere in Italy near the headquarters of the Supreme Allied Commander. This he agreed to do. As for the future, I told him we had no intention of interfering with the solemn right of the Greek people to choose between monarchy and a republic. But it must be for the Greek people as a whole, and not a handful of doctrinaires, to decide so grave an issue. Although I personally gave my loyalty to the constitutional monarchy which had taken shape in England, His Majesty’s Government were quite indifferent as to which way the matter was settled for Greece provided there was a fair plebiscite. We shall in due course see what happened.
I stayed while in Rome at the Embassy, and our Ambassador, Sir Noel Charles, and his wife devoted themselves to my business and comfort. Guided by his advice, I met most of the principal figures in the débris of Italian politics produced by twenty years of dictatorship, a disastrous war, revolution, invasion, occupation, Allied control, and other evils. I had talks with, among others, Signor Bonomi and General Badoglio, also with Comrade Togliatti, who had returned to Italy at the beginning of the year after a long sojourn in Russia. The leaders of all the Italian parties were invited to meet me. None had any electoral mandate, and their party names, revived from the past, had been chosen with an eye to the future. “What is your party?” I asked one group. “We are the Christian Communists,” their chief replied. I could not help saying, “It must be very inspiring to your party, having the Catacombs so handy.” They did not seem to see the point, and, looking back, I am afraid their minds must have turned to the cruel mass executions which the Germans had so recently perpetrated in these ancient sepulchres. One may however be pardoned for making historical references in Rome. The Eternal City, rising on every side, majestic and apparently invulnerable, with its monuments and palaces, and with its splendour of ruins not produced by bombing, seemed to contrast markedly with the tiny and transient beings who flitted within its bounds. I also met for the first time the Crown Prince Umberto, who, as Lieutenant of the Realm, was commanding the Italian forces on our front. His powerful and engaging personality, his grasp of the whole situation, military and political, were refreshing, and gave one a more lively feeling of confidence than I had experienced in my talks with the politicians. I certainly hoped he would play his part in building up a constitutional monarchy in a free, strong, united Italy. However, this was none of my business.
Early on August 24 I returned by air to Alexander’s headquarters at Siena, living in the château a few miles away, and next afternoon we flew to General Leese’s battle headquarters of the Eighth Army, on the Adriatic side. Here we had tents overlooking a magnificent panorama to the northward. The Adriatic, though but twenty miles away, was hidden by the mass of Monte Maggiore. General Leese told us that the barrage to cover the advance of his troops would begin at midnight. We were well placed to watch the long line of distant gun-flashes. The rapid, ceaseless thudding of the cannonade reminded me of the First World War. Artillery was certainly being used on a great scale. After an hour of this I was glad to go to bed, for Alexander had planned an early start and a long day on the front. He had also promised to take me wherever I wanted to go.
Alexander and I started together at about nine o’clock. His aide-decamp and Tommy came in a second car. We were thus a conveniently small party. The advance had now been in progress for six hours, and was said to be making headway. But no definite impressions could yet be formed. We first climbed by motor up a high outstanding rock pinnacle, upon the top of which a church and village were perched. The inhabitants, men and women, came out to greet us from the cellars in which they had been sheltering. It was at once plain that the place had just been bombarded. Masonry and wreckage littered the single street. “When did this stop?” Alexander asked the small crowd who gathered round us, grinning rather wryly. “About a quarter of an hour ago,” they said. There was certainly a magnificent view from the ramparts of bygone centuries. The whole front of the Eighth Army offensive was visible. But apart from the smoke puffs of shells bursting seven or eight thousand yards away in a scattered fashion there was nothing to see. Presently Alexander said that we had better not stay any longer, as the enemy would naturally be firing at observation posts like this and might begin again. So we motored two or three miles to the westward, and had a picnic lunch on the broad slope of a hillside, which gave almost as good a view as the peak and was not likely to attract attention.
News was now received that our troops had pushed on a mile or two beyond the river Metauro. Here Hasdrubal’s defeat had sealed the fate of Carthage, so I suggested that we should go across too. We got into our cars accordingly, and in half an hour were across the river, where the road ran into undulating groves of olives, brightly patched with sunshine. Having got an officer guide from one of the battalions engaged, we pushed on through these glades till the sounds of rifle and machine-gun fire showed we were getting near to the front line. Presently warning hands brought us to a standstill. It appeared there was a minefield, and it was only safe to go where other vehicles had already gone without mishap. Alexander and his aide-de-camp now went off to reconnoitre towards a grey stone building which our troops were holding, which was said to give a good close-up view. It was evident to me that only very loose fighting was in progress. In a few minutes the aide-de-camp came back and brought me to his chief, who had found a very good place in the stone building, which was in fact an old château overlooking a rather sharp declivity. Here one certainly could see all that was possible. The Germans were firing with rifles and machine-guns from thick scrub on the farther side of the valley, about five hundred yards away. Our front line was beneath us. The firing was desultory and intermittent. But this was the nearest I got to the enemy and the time I heard most bullets in the Second World War. After about half an hour we went back to our motor-cars and made our way to the river, keeping very carefully to our own wheel tracks or those of other vehicles. At the river we met the supporting columns of infantry, marching up to lend weight to our thin skirmish line, and by five o’clock we were home again at General Leese’s headquarters, where the news from the whole of the Army front was marked punctually on the maps. On the whole the Eighth Army had advanced since daybreak about seven thousand yards on a ten- or twelve-mile front, and the losses had not been at all heavy. This was an encouraging beginning.
The next morning plenty of work arrived, both by telegram and pouch. It appeared that General Eisenhower was worried by the approach of some German divisions which had been withdrawn from Italy. I was glad that our offensive, prepared under depressing conditions, had begun. I drafted a telegram to the President explaining the position as I had learned it from the generals on the spot and from my own knowledge. I wished to convey in an uncontroversial form our sense of frustration, and at the same time to indicate my hopes and ideas for the future. If only I could revive the President’s interest in this sphere we might still keep alive our design of an ultimate advance to Vienna. After explaining Alexander’s plan, I ended as follows:
I have never forgotten your talks to me at Teheran about Istria, and I am sure that the arrival of a powerful army in Trieste and Istria in four or five weeks would have an effect far outside purely military values. Tito’s people will be awaiting us in Istria. What the condition of Hungary will be then I cannot imagine, but we shall at any rate be in a position to take full advantage of any great new situation.
I did not send this message off till I reached Naples, whither I flew on the 28th, nor did I receive the answer till some days after I got home. Mr. Roosevelt then replied:
I share your confidence that the Allied divisions we have in Italy are sufficient to do the task before them and that the battle commander will press the battle unrelentingly with the objective of shattering the enemy forces.… As to the exact employment of our forces in Italy in the future, this is a matter we can [soon] discuss.… With the present chaotic conditions of the Germans in Southern France, I hope that a junction of the north and south forces may be obtained at a much earlier date than was first anticipated.
We shall see that both these hopes proved vain. The army which we had landed on the Riviera at such painful cost to our operations in Italy arrived too late to help Eisenhower’s first main struggle in the north, while Alexander’s offensive failed, by the barest of margins, to achieve the success it deserved and we so badly needed. Italy was not to be wholly free for another eight months; the right-handed drive to Vienna was denied to us; and, except in Greece, our military power to influence the liberation of South-Eastern Europe was gone.
The rest of the story is soon told. The Eighth Army attack prospered and augured well. It surprised the Germans, and by September 1 had penetrated the Gothic Line on a twenty-mile front. By the 18th the line had been turned at its eastern end by the Eighth Army, and pierced in the centre by the Americans.
Though at the cost of grievous casualties, great success had been achieved and the future looked hopeful. But Kesselring received further reinforcements, until his German divisions amounted to twenty-eight in all. Scraping up two divisions from quiet sectors, he started fierce counter-attacks, which, added to our supply difficulties over the mountain passes, checked the Allied advance. The defence was stubborn, the ground very difficult, and it was raining hard. The climax came near Bologna between October 20 and 24, when General Mark Clark very nearly succeeded in cutting in behind the enemy facing the Eighth Army. Then, in Alexander’s words, “assisted by torrential rains and winds of gale force, and the Fifth Army’s exhaustion, the German line held firm.” The weather was appalling. Heavy rains had swollen the numberless rivers and irrigation channels and turned the reclaimed agricultural land into the swamp it had originally been. Off the roads movement was often impossible. It was with the greatest difficulty that the troops toiled forward. Although hopes of decisive victory had faded, it remained the first duty of the armies in Italy to keep up the pressure and deter the enemy from sending help to the hard-pressed German armies on the Rhine. And so we fought forward whenever there was a spell of reasonably fine weather. But from mid-November no major offensive was possible. Small advances were made as opportunity offered, but not until the spring were the armies rewarded with the victory they had so well earned, and so nearly won, in the autumn.