THE PRESIDENT AND HIS GROUP OF ADVISERS went on to Teheran from Cairo, but I returned to my own theater. Forward headquarters were then in the process of moving to Caserta, a castle near Naples.1 Plans were going ahead rapidly for moving the entire main headquarters to that location, a change that I felt necessary. By such a move I could be closer to the scene of operations. Moreover, our affairs in Africa were no longer so important because our need for the African ports would constantly diminish as shipments could be made directly from the homelands into captured Italian ports. Another reason for moving was to permit concentration of command and logistical systems solidly in proximity to the battle line. Finally, it is always a good thing to move a headquarters when its personnel begin to get so well “dug in” as they were in Algiers—when directing staffs become too much concerned with the conveniences of living they grow away from troops and from the real problems of war.
An immediate visit along the entire battle front convinced me again of the soundness of our view that winter operations in Italy would be accompanied by the utmost hardship and difficulty, especially as they would be undertaken without the constant support of our great asset, an overwhelming air force.2 I felt that maintenance of morale would require careful control of operations and the best efforts of all commanders. Certainly I intended to be close by to help.
A new piece of equipment that we began receiving about this time was a godsend to us. It was the “tank-dozer.” Whenever the German gave up even a foot of ground he made certain that every culvert and bridge on the miserable roads was blown out; every shelf road cut into the steep mountainsides was likewise destroyed. To restore these to some semblance of usefulness we had to use the ever-present bulldozer. They had to work with, sometimes even in front of, our front lines in order that necessary supplies could be brought up to the troops and wounded could be evacuated.
The enemy countered this by hidden machine guns and other long-range light-caliber weapons, which, from the safety of a thousand yards’ distance, picked off operating personnel and often destroyed the machines themselves. Some imaginative and sensible man on the home front, hearing of this difficulty, solved the problem by merely converting a number of Sherman tanks into bulldozers. These tanks were impervious to all types of small-arms fire and could not be destroyed except by shells from a large-caliber gun or by big mines. From that time on our engineering detachments on the front lines began to enjoy a degree of safety that actually led them to seek this kind of adventurous work. None of us could identify the individual responsible for developing this piece of equipment but had he been present he would have, by acclamation, received all the medals we could have pinned upon him.
A basic principle for the conduct of a supporting or auxiliary operation is that it be carried out as cheaply as possible. Since its purpose is to induce dispersion of hostile power, the operation, to be successful, must force a heavier relative drain upon enemy resources than upon our own. Obviously, however, there must be something valuable to the enemy under threat by the auxiliary operation, and our forces must be strong enough to sustain the threat. If these two conditions are not present the enemy can afford to ignore the whole effort.
For several reasons we were certain that the enemy would react to our threat and would sustain himself to the limit of his ability. The “conqueror complex” almost forced him to do so; just as it had induced him to keep pouring men and munitions into Tunisia long after there was any possible chance of salvaging the situation. On a smaller scale he had done the same in Sicily. Moreover, there was a very considerable psychological value to Rome, while the industrial resources of northern Italy were economically important to the German.
With our command of the sea and our communications firmly anchored in Naples it was much easier for us to sustain active operations in southern and central Italy than it was for the enemy, who had to bring in everything he used over the long, tortuous, and exposed lines through the Alps. Our problem became that of forcing the fighting, but with economy and caution so as to avoid unnecessary diversion of units and supplies that could be used in Overlord. We had to follow a plan that would avoid reverses, costly attacks, and great expenditures of supplies but which would continue to keep the enemy uneasy and, above all, would prevent him from reducing his Italian forces to reinforce his position in northwest Europe.
Carefully planned minor offensives, with success assured in each, comprised the campaign I expected to use during the winter; it was dictated by the objective and by the need to sustain morale amidst the inescapably miserable conditions of the Italian mountains.3
With the coming of autumn, wretched weather had overtaken us. American soldiers frequently referred, in terms of sarcastic disgust, to “sunny Italy.” With railroads wrecked, bridges destroyed, and many sections of roads blown out, the advance was difficult enough even without opposition from the enemy. The country itself was ideal for defensive fighting. The terrain was cut up by rivers, large and small, which ran athwart the route of advance. Some of these were so winding that they had to be crossed several times.
The forward route of the 34th Division took it across the Volturno three times. One night the assistant commander, Brigadier General B. F. Caffey, was returning from the front with a jeep driver who remarked that he simply could not understand such a “crazy” country. Caffey asked him why he felt that way about Italy. The soldier’s reply was a classic: “Why, every durn river in the fool country is named Volturno.”
In the mountain passes the Germans constructed defenses almost impregnable to frontal attack. Yankee ingenuity and resourcefulness were tested to the limit. Shortly after the capture of Mount Camino, I was taken to a spot where, in order to outflank one of these mountain strongpoints, a small detachment had put on a remarkable exhibition of mountain climbing. With the aid of ropes a few of them climbed steep cliffs of great height. I have never understood how, encumbered by their equipment, they were able to do it. In fact I think that any Alpine climber would have examined the place doubtfully before attempting to scale it. Nevertheless, the detachment reached the top and ferreted out the location of the German company headquarters. They entered this and seized the captain, who ejaculated, “You can’t be here. It is impossible to come up those rocks.”4
The fronts of both the American Fifth and British Eighth Armies were difficult, although on the American sector the country was more mountainous. On Montgomery’s front the principal factors of the problem during the late fall were the rivers, the mud, and the enemy. Nevertheless, all along the line slow but steady advances were made.5
On November 15, 1943, the Fifth Army was composed of the American 3d, 34th, 45th Infantry, 82d Airborne, and 1st Armored Divisions and the British 46th, 56th Infantry, and 7th Armored Divisions. However, the 1st Armored Division had not yet completed movement to Italy and the 82d Airborne and the 7th Armored Divisions were to be withdrawn soon for transfer to England. In Montgomery’s Eighth Army there were six divisions, the 5th, 78th, 1st Canadian, 8th Indian, 2d New Zealand, and 1st Airborne Divisions.6
In the fall we made arrangements for the transfer of General Juin’s French corps from North Africa to the Italian battlefield. To provide more strength for a campaign that I felt would be of great assistance to the later operation in northwest Europe, I suggested to Washington that the American contingent be reinforced by two or three new divisions, as soon as this should prove feasible.7
On December 2, 1943, a most regrettable and disturbing incident took place at the port of Bari. We were using that port to assist in the support of the Eighth Army and the large air forces we were rapidly building up in Italy. It was constantly crowded with ships and the port itself was located uncomfortably close to some of the enemy air bases just across the narrow Adriatic.
One night the port was subjected to a raid and we suffered the greatest single loss from air action inflicted upon us during the entire period of Allied campaigning in the Mediterranean and in Europe. We lost sixteen vessels, some of them loaded with extremely valuable cargo. The greatest damage arose from the fact that a fuel ship was struck and the escaping oil carried fiery catastrophe to many of the neighboring vessels. One circumstance connected with the affair could have had the most unfortunate repercussions. One of the ships was loaded with a quantity of mustard gas, which we were always forced to carry with us because of uncertainty of German intentions in the use of this weapon. Fortunately the wind was offshore and the escaping gas caused no casualties. Had the wind been in the opposite direction, however, great disaster could well have resulted. It would have been indeed difficult to explain, even though we manufactured and carried this material only for reprisal purposes in case of surprise action on the part of the enemy.8
An outcome of the unfortunate affair was the establishment of a very much better informational and control machinery for anti-aircraft defense among the naval, ground, and air forces. It was the last serious blow that forces under my command suffered from the enemy air forces in the Mediterranean.
An incident connected with this affair illustrates clearly that war is always conducted in the realm of the possible and of the estimated rather than of the certainly known. It never pays to be too sure about the future! On the afternoon preceding the attack on Bari, Air Marshal Sir Arthur Coningham, commanding the British air forces supporting the Eighth Army, held a press conference. The German air forces had been so thoroughly defeated—almost eliminated from the immediate front—that Coningham estimated they had no power to intervene further in the operation. To the assembled press he stated flatly: “I would regard it as a personal affront and insult if the Luftwaffe should attempt any significant action in this area.” The next morning he was definitely more than embarrassed. His newspaper friends did not, by any means, allow him to forget his arbitrary and unqualified statement of the day before.
By Christmas Day, the last time that I visited the Italian forces, our front generally ran along the line Ortona–Arielli–Orsogna–east bank of Sangro, Peccia, and Gorigliano rivers.9 The long and costly battle for Mount Cassino began after I left the theater.
To the soldier at the front the high command’s designation of an operation as “secondary” makes little difference. In this case it certainly meant no amelioration of his hardships. Heavy rains fell and the streams were habitually torrents. The weather grew colder day by day. Men and vehicles sank in the mud. But the dogged fighting was constant. The enemy’s emplacements, often dug into solid rock, covered every approach—every foot of ground was gained only by weary maneuvers over mountain slopes and by blasting and digging the hostile gunners out of their shelters.
In early December, I had received word the President would return to the United States through our area. I went to Tunis to meet him.10 A few hours before his arrival I received a somewhat garbled radiogram from General Marshall that discussed some administrative details incident to my forthcoming change in assignment. When he wrote the message General Marshall apparently assumed that I had already received specific information concerning the new assignment through staff channels. But, lacking such information, I was unable to deduce his meaning with certainty. The President arrived in midafternoon and was scarcely seated in the automobile when he cleared up the matter with one short sentence. He said, “Well, Ike, you are going to command Overlord.”
Because I had to discuss with him, at once, details of his next day’s plans, we had no opportunity, at the moment, to talk further about the new assignment, but I did manage to say, “Mr. President, I realize that such an appointment involved difficult decisions. I hope you will not be disappointed.”
During the remainder of the afternoon we made arrangements to conduct the President to Malta and to Sicily. At the former place he wanted to award to Lord Gort and the island’s garrison a Presidential Citation for the gallant defense of 1941 and 1942, while at the latter he wanted to inspect an American airfield and personally confer a decoration on General Clark.11 Both these desires he accomplished but, owing to a delay at Malta because of mechanical difficulty with his plane, he could not continue on his homeward trip that day, as had been planned. The Secret Service men were irritated and fearful, but the President confided to me that he had made up his mind to stay at Carthage an extra night and if a legitimate reason for the delay had not been forthcoming he would have invented one. I remarked that I assumed the President of the United States would not be questioned in dictating the details of his own travel. He replied with considerable emphasis, “You haven’t had to argue with the Secret Service!”
During his visit the President on several occasions discussed matters in connection with my imminent transfer to London. He said that, with the full concurrence of General Marshall, he had designated me to command Overlord because he felt that the time element permitted no further delay in naming a commander. He said also that he had originally planned to give that command to General Marshall, observing that senior officers might well rotate in sharing the burdens and honors of staff and command duty. However, after consideration he had decided that Marshall could not be spared from Washington and particularly from his post on the Combined Chiefs of Staff. The President said that it was Marshall’s commanding presence on the Combined Staff that always inspired his own great feeling of confidence in the decisions of that body. He added that though the British would gladly accept Marshall as the Overlord commander the fact was that all the President’s associates appeared pleased with the present decision.
The President was quite concerned with two points that did not seem particularly important to me, but to which both he and Mr. Harry Hopkins attached significance. The first of these was the timing of the announcement. It was finally decided that the President would do this from Washington; in the meantime my change in assignment would be a closely guarded secret.12 The second point was my title as commander of Overlord. He toyed with the word “Supreme” in his conversation but made no decision at the moment. He merely said that he must devise some designation that would imply the importance the Allies attached to the new venture.13
A few days after the President’s departure I received from General Marshall a scrap of paper that is still one of my most cherished mementos of World War II.
BOMBERS’ HOLOCAUST
In Italy, “head-on attacks against the enemy on his mountainous frontiers would be slow and extremely costly.” This page. Only by utter destruction of his strongholds could the battle toll be tolerable.
Smoke Pall Shrouds Cassino as Bombing Begins (illustration credit 12.1)
BEYOND THE DUNE—EUROPE
“ ‘You will enter the continent of Europe and … undertake operations aimed at the heart of Germany and the destruction of her Armed Forces.’ ” This page
Assault Troops Hit Normandy Beach on D-day (illustration credit 12.2)
For me the real value of this informal memorandum is in Marshall’s postscript. Already in the fall of 1943 false and malicious gossip was circulating to the effect that Marshall and I had been conducting a private vendetta, the prize to be the command of Overlord. Many of my friends knew that I hoped to remain somewhere in the field rather than return to Washington for duty. Yet never had I, or General Marshall, stooped to the level of conniving for position in either peace or war. I had never, and I know he had not, expressed to anyone a personal preference for a particular assignment. In fact from the personal viewpoint I would have preferred, over anything else, to remain as the Mediterranean commander.
Marshall’s thoughtfulness in sending me a memento he knew I would value was certainly not the action of a disgruntled and defeated opponent for a “job.” While I have never discussed the matter directly with him, I have always been confident that it was his decision, more than anyone else’s, that sent me to the Overlord post. Since I first met General Marshall at the beginning of the war I felt for him only intense loyalty and respect, and I had already informed the President of my conviction that no one could undertake the Overlord command with greater prospect of success than could Marshall. I believed then, and I believe now, that he would have been as pre-eminent in field work as he was in the complicated duties he encountered in Washington.
The honor and confidence implied by my selection for this critical post were, of course, tremendous, and of this I was well aware and appreciative. Nevertheless, there is always some degree of emotional letdown when a military commander in war is removed from one task to enter upon another. By the nature of his work he has become so intimately tied up with close friends and assistants and with innumerable intricate problems that he feels almost a resentful shock at facing again the problem of building up organizations, staffs, and plans necessary for the conduct of another operation. On top of this we were in the midst of active campaigning and I and all those I took with me were going, for a period of some months, from the scene of immediate and fierce action to one of study, investigation, and planning.
The command organization that existed in the Mediterranean at Christmastime, 1943, was the result of an evolutionary process, the beginnings of which were far back in the hectic London days of the summer and fall of 1942.
We had entered Africa in November 1942 with preconceived notions of the areas in which British and American troops would be respectively employed. The command organization had been designed to fit the anticipated situation. The moment we found that the military requirements differed radically from those expected, we had to begin reorganization of command and staff. The lesson was plain that in the new venture we should avoid the necessity of major revision of the command structure in the midst of battle and should adopt one whose basic soundness and flexibility would meet any probable eventuality in combat.
Our Mediterranean experiences had reaffirmed the truth that unity, co-ordination, and co-operation are the keys to successful operations. War is waged in three elements but there is no separate land, air, or naval war. Unless all assets in all elements are efficiently combined and co-ordinated against a properly selected, common objective, their maximum potential power cannot be realized. Physical targets may be separated by the breadth of a continent or an ocean, but their destruction must contribute in maximum degree to the furtherance of the combined plan of operation. That is what co-ordination means.
Not only would I need commanders who understood this truth, but I must have those who appreciated the importance of morale and had demonstrated a capacity to develop and maintain it. Morale is the greatest single factor in successful war. Endurable comparisons with the enemy in other essential factors—leadership, discipline, technique, numbers, equipment, mobility, supply, and maintenance—are prerequisite to the existence of morale. It breeds most readily upon success; but under good leaders it will be maintained among troops even during extended periods of adversity. The methods employed by successful leaders in developing morale differ so widely as to defy any attempt to establish rules. One observation, however, always applies: in any long and bitter campaign morale will suffer unless all ranks thoroughly believe that their commanders are concerned first and always with the welfare of the troops who do the fighting. A human understanding and a natural ability to mingle with all men on a basis of equality are more important than any degree of technical skill.
I was happy to secure Air Chief Marshal Tedder as my deputy for Overlord. In the Mediterranean he had won the respect and admiration of all his associates not only as a brilliant airman but as a staunch supporter of the “allied” principle as practiced in that command. Authority was also granted to take along my chief of staff, General Smith, without whose services it would have been difficult to organize a staff for the conduct of a great allied operation.14 I at first understood that originally either General Alexander or General Montgomery was available for the command of the British forces in the new venture. At that time I expressed a preference for Alexander, primarily because I had been so closely associated with him and had developed for him an admiration and friendship which have grown with the years. I regarded Alexander as Britain’s outstanding soldier in the field of strategy. He was, moreover, a friendly and agreeable type; Americans instinctively liked him.15
The Prime Minister finally decided, however, that Alexander should not be spared from the Italian operation, which would have an important effect on the one we were to undertake the following summer, and from which he still hoped for almost decisive results. Consequently General Montgomery was assigned to command the British forces in the new operation, a choice acceptable to me.16 General Montgomery has no superior in two most important characteristics. He quickly develops among British enlisted men an intense devotion and admiration—the greatest personal asset a commander can possess. Montgomery’s other outstanding characteristic is his tactical ability in what might be called the “prepared” battle. In the study of enemy positions and situations and in the combining of his own armor, artillery, air, and infantry to secure tactical success against the enemy he is careful, meticulous, and certain.
I was particularly pleased to secure the services of Admiral Ramsay as the naval commander in chief.17 Admiral Cunningham had left us some weeks earlier to become First Sea Lord of the Admiralty, but Admiral Ramsay was a most competent commander of courage, resourcefulness, and tremendous energy. Moreover, all of us knew him to be helpful and companionable, even though we sometimes laughed among ourselves at the care with which he guarded, in British tradition and practice, the “senior service” position of the British Navy.
On Christmas Eve we listened to the radio, having learned that President Roosevelt was to make a significant speech. During that talk he made the first public announcement of my transfer to command of Overlord and included in the statement the designation of the title I was to assume. The title was Supreme Commander, Allied Expeditionary Forces.18 This sounded very imposing and inspired Commander Butcher, my naval aide, to say that his major problem for the next week or so would be to design proper stationery to carry my exalted title.
The most significant of my final acts in the Mediterranean took place on Christmas Day, 1943. On that day I had just completed another tour along the front lines in Italy and I then took off for Tunisia, where I met the Prime Minister. Present with him were the new commander in chief of the Mediterranean, General Sir Henry Maitland Wilson, along with General Alexander and a number of staff officers. The matter for discussion was a proposed amphibious operation against Anzio. The operation could not be launched before January, after my departure, and my own conclusions on the matter were not decisive. Nevertheless, I was involved because of the fact that launching the attack would require a delay in the planned schedule for shipping certain landing craft to England. Consequently my concurrence in the project was sought.19
As the situation then stood in Italy it was apparent that a steady advance up the peninsula demanded a succession of outflanking operations by sea, preferably on both flanks. Head-on attacks against the enemy on his mountainous frontiers would be slow and extremely costly. The real question to be decided was whether the over-all interests of the Allies would be best served by allocating to the Italian operation sufficient resources to maintain momentum in the advance, or whether on the contrary we should content ourselves with minor, well-prepared attacks in the mountains with limited aims but with maximum economy in men and resources. Neither troops nor landing craft were immediately available in sufficient numbers to carry out large-scale operations on both flanks, and because of comparative ease in their later support such operations were more feasible on the western than on the eastern flank of Italy.
I agreed to the general desirability of continuing the advance but pointed out that the landing of two partially skeletonized divisions at Anzio, a hundred miles beyond the front lines as then situated, would not only be a risky affair but that the attack would not by itself compel the withdrawal of the German front. Military strategy may bear some similarity to the chessboard, but it is dangerous to carry the analogy too far. A threatened king in chess must be protected; in war he may instead choose to fight! The Nazis had not instantly withdrawn from Africa or Sicily merely because of threats to their rear. On the contrary, they had reinforced and fought the battle out to the end. In this case, of course, one of the principal objects was to induce the enemy to reinforce his Italian armies, but it was equally important that this be done in such a way that our own costs would be minimized. It was from the standpoint of costs that I urged careful consideration of the whole plan. I argued that a force of several strong divisions would have to be established in Anzio before significant results could be achieved. I pointed out also that, because of distance, rapid building up of the attacking force at Anzio would be difficult and landing craft would be needed long after the agreed-upon date for their release.
The Prime Minister was nevertheless determined to carry out the proposed operation. He and his staff not only felt certain that the assault would be a great and prompt success but they engaged to release the landing craft as quickly as the two divisions had been established on the beach. Although I repeated my warning as to the probable outcome, I accepted their firm commitments on the date of the release of these craft, which would be so badly needed in England, and agreed to recommend to the United States Chiefs of Staff that the equipment remain in the Mediterranean for an additional two weeks.20
In the final outcome the Anzio operation paid off handsomely but in its initial stages it developed exactly as my headquarters thought it would. In addition, the landing craft scheduled for transfer to the United Kingdom had to remain in the Mediterranean for a considerable length of time to provide rapid reinforcement for the hard-pressed troops at Anzio. Fortunately this circumstance did no harm to Overlord. But before real results were achieved the Anzio force had to be built up to more than six divisions and had to fight under adverse conditions for some four months. On the other hand, the move undoubtedly convinced Hitler that we intended to push the Italian campaign as a major operation and he reinforced his armies there with eight divisions. This was a great advantage to the Allies elsewhere.21
Facing an early transfer to London, I found myself entangled in a mass of terminal detail in the Mediterranean theater. I could not escape a feeling of uneasiness over the Anzio project and was disturbed to learn that my plan for concentrating the entire AFHQ in Caserta was to be abandoned. To me this decision seemed to imply a lack of understanding of the situation and of the duties of the highest commander in the field; regardless of preoccupation with multitudinous problems of great import, he must never lose touch with the “feel” of his troops. He can and should delegate tactical responsibility and avoid interference in the authority of his selected subordinates, but he must maintain the closest kind of factual and spiritual contact with them or, in a vast and critical campaign, he will fail. This contact requires frequent visits to the troops themselves. An allied commander finds that these visits to troops of other nationalities inevitably assume a regrettable formality—but he can and should avoid ceremony when visiting troops of his own country.
It was a simple affair to turn over to another responsibility for controlling operations. The great bulk of the staffs and principal subordinates would remain in the Mediterranean. They were familiar with plans and resources, as was the new commander, General Wilson of the British Army, who had been on duty in the eastern Mediterranean. He was present at the Christmas Day conference with the Prime Minister in Tunis, where every factor of our military situation was exhaustively reviewed. Mr. Murphy and Mr. Macmillan were to remain in their political capacities to assist General Wilson. Consequently I had no fear that his lack of acquaintanceship with the principal French officials, and with plans for arming French forces by the American Government, would cause him embarrassment.
On the administrative side, however, there was much to do. In addition to my Allied responsibilities I was, of course, the commander of American forces in the theater. Administration of such a force, with its eternal questions of supply, maintenance, replacement, promotion, demotion, and a voluminous correspondence with the War Department, is a very intricate and sometimes very personal process.
One of the first questions to be settled was the choice of the American officer who would now become deputy to General Wilson and who would therefore take over American administrative duties in the Mediterranean.
This brought up the problem of filling high American positions in both theaters—General Marshall and I of course wanted to place each man in the post where we felt his special qualifications could best assist in the prosecution of the war.
At that time my own ideas as to the best possible allocation of American commanders to the two theaters were given in a telegram sent to General Marshall on December 23, 1943:
In the early stages of Overlord I see no necessity for British and American Army Group Commanders. In fact, any such setup would be destructive of the essential coordination between Ground and Air Forces. When Army Group Commanders become necessary, I profoundly hope to designate an officer who has had combat experience in this War. My preference for American Army Group Commander, when more than one American Army is operating in Overlord, is General Bradley. One of his Army Commanders should probably be Patton; the other, a man that may be developed in Overlord operations or, alternatively, somebody like Hodges or Simpson, provided such officer could come over to United Kingdom at an early date and accompany Bradley through the early stages of the operations.
To my mind, Bradley should be the United States Assaulting Army Commander, and become Army Group Commander when necessary.
I have sent to you at Washington a long letter outlining my ideas for the American Command setup, both here and in Overlord. I hope that letter will be awaiting you when you arrive in Washington, but I summarize it here for your immediate information. The American Theater Commander here in the Mediterranean should be Devers, leaving Clark free at the appropriate time to take complete charge of Anvil.22
My high opinion of Bradley, dating from our days at West Point, had increased daily during our months together in the Mediterranean. At my request he had come to Africa in February 1943 as a major general to assist me in a role that we called “Eyes and Ears.”23 He was authorized and expected to go where and when he pleased in the American zone to observe and report to me on anything he felt worthy of my attention. He was especially suited to act in such an intimate capacity, not only by reason of our long friendship, but because of his ability and reputation as a sound, painstaking, and broadly educated soldier. Soon after his arrival in Africa he was assigned as deputy commander in the U. S. II Corps, then fighting in the Tebessa area. He was promoted to command this corps on April 16, 1943, and demonstrated real capacity for leadership. He was a keen judge of men and their capabilities and was absolutely fair and just in his dealings with them. Added to this, he was emotionally stable and possessed a grasp of larger issues that clearly marked him for high office. I looked forward to renewal of our close association in the cross-Channel operation.
I foresaw some possibility of friction in advancing Bradley to the highest American ground command in Overlord because I was also planning to use Patton in that operation, provided he concurred in the new arrangement, which would involve a reversal of the relative positions the two men had held in the successful Sicilian campaign. Both were my intimate friends of many years’ standing and I knew that each would loyally accept any assigned duty. I was hopeful, however, that Patton, who for certain types of action was the outstanding soldier our country has produced, would wholeheartedly support the plan I had in mind. I had a frank talk with him and was gratified to find that he thoroughly agreed that the role for which he personally was ideally suited was that of an army commander. At that moment he wanted no higher post. With these two able and experienced officers available for the cross-Channel operation, I foresaw little immediate need in the same organization for Lieutenant General Jacob L. Devers, then commanding United States forces in the United Kingdom. He had a reputation as a very fine administrator. In Africa these qualifications would be vastly important, whereas his lack of battle experience would not be critical because the American tactical operations in Italy would be under General Clark, commanding the U. S. Fifth Army. With these views the War Department agreed, and General Devers was ordered to the Mediterranean theater to serve as the senior American officer in that region.24
I also desired to take General Spaatz to England. By agreement reached in Cairo the American strategic bombers in the Mediterranean and in England were to be combined under Spaatz’s single operational command, a circumstance that made it more than ever necessary that he should be in the United Kingdom, where the principal effort was to be mounted. This was arranged by bringing Lieutenant General Ira C. Eaker from the United Kingdom to the Mediterranean to serve as the air commander in chief in that theater. In the United Kingdom, Eaker’s post as commander of the U. S. Eighth Air Force was given to General Doolittle.25
While engaged in all of these details and counting on getting away to England about the tenth of January, I received a Christmas telegram from General Marshall. He urged me to come immediately to Washington for short conferences with him and the President and for a brief breather before undertaking the new assignment. I protested, on the ground that time was vital and that, moreover, I could accomplish little by a visit to Washington until I had been in London at least long enough to familiarize myself with the essentials of the problems there. General Marshall did not agree. He advised me to “allow someone else to run the war for twenty minutes,” and to come on to Washington.26 Strictly speaking, my commanders were the Combined Chiefs of Staff but, realizing General Marshall’s earnestness in the matter, I quickly cleared the point with the British side of the house and made ready to leave for the United States. After a week I planned to return briefly to Africa to complete the details of turning over the American command to General Devers, who had not yet arrived from London.27 All this would consume time, the most precious element of all.
To provide guidance to the staff in London pending my arrival, I thought it necessary to send there someone who was acquainted with my general ideas. Fortunately General Montgomery was available to leave for England at once. He came to my headquarters for a conference and I told him that some weeks earlier I had seen a sketchy outline of the proposed attack across the Channel, brought to my office by Brigadier General William E. Chambers of the American Army.28 I was doubtful about the adequacy of the tactical plan because it contemplated an amphibious attack on a relatively narrow, three-division front with a total of only five divisions afloat at the instant of the assault. I informed Montgomery, moreover, that in addition to being disturbed by the constricted nature of the proposed maneuver, I was also concerned because the outline I had seen failed to provide effectively for the quick capture of Cherbourg. I was convinced that the plan, unless it had been changed since I had seen it, did not emphasize sufficiently the early need for major ports and for rapid build-up.29
I directed him therefore to act, pending my arrival in London, as my representative in analyzing and revising the ground plan for the beach assault with special reference to the points on which I was uneasy.30 I told him that he could communicate with me quickly and easily in Washington. I gave these views also to my chief of staff, General Smith, who was to proceed to London as soon as his successor was familiar with the nature of the intricate staff work of the Mediterranean headquarters.31
While I was taking care of these details in Italy and in Algiers, the Prime Minister had become seriously ill at Tunis. He had recovered sufficiently by the year’s end to proceed as far as Marrakech, Morocco, where the doctors decided he would have to remain for several weeks in recuperation. He sent me an urgent message, asking me to a conference on my way to the United States. I joined him at that place on the afternoon of December 31.32
At this time the Anzio operation had been definitely agreed upon and the Prime Minister was, with his habitual energy and in spite of the serious threat to his health, devoting himself intensively to the task of unearthing every possible resource in order to strengthen the attack and to launch it at the earliest moment. He hoped it would immediately result in the overrunning of Italy, although I continued to voice doubts of such an optimistic outcome. The Prime Minister made the personal request that I allow General Smith to remain in the Mediterranean as chief of staff, but to this I could not agree. The relationship between a commander and his chief of staff is a very individual thing. That relationship differs with every commander and General Smith suited me so completely that I felt it would be unwise to break up the combination just as we were on the eve of the war’s greatest venture. Moreover, I felt that General Wilson would have his own ideas about such an important member of his Mediterranean team and would be resentful if someone were forced on him from the outside, even by the head of his own government. The Prime Minister was obviously ill and badly run down, but he was so interested in the Anzio venture that the conference lasted until late in the evening.
We left Marrakech about 4:45 a.m. on New Year’s Day, arriving in Washington at 1:00 a.m. the following morning. The trip was without incident except that a nervous battery of Portuguese anti-aircraft artillery tossed a few ineffective shots in our direction as we passed along the edge of one of the Azores Islands.33
Upon arrival in the United States I met with the War Department staff and later with the President. Mr. Roosevelt was temporarily ill with influenza but seemed quite cheerful and kept me at his bedside for more than an hour as we discussed a hundred details of past and future operations. As always he amazed me with his intimate knowledge of world geography. The most obscure places in faraway countries were always accurately placed on his mental map. He took occasion to brief me on his post-hostilities occupational plans for Germany. He definitely wanted the northwest section as the United States area but listened attentively as I voiced my objection to dividing Germany into “national sectors.” I admitted all the difficulties of true joint occupation but said we should insist upon that plan as the only practicable one—and one, moreover, which would quickly test the possibilities of real “quadripartite action.” I urged, again, that occupied territories be turned over, as quickly as possible, to civil authority. He seemed impressed but did not commit himself.
In none of the various talks I had with the President were domestic politics ever mentioned except casually. His son Elliott, whom I sometimes saw both in Africa and in England, likewise avoided politics as a subject of conversation except to refer to himself occasionally, in a jocular tone, as the “black sheep and reactionary of the family.”
As I left the President I said, “I sincerely trust that you will quickly recover from your indisposition.” He quickly replied, “Oh, I have not felt better in years. I’m in bed only because the doctors are afraid I might have a relapse if I get up too soon.” I never saw him again.
During my short stay in the United States I had a treasured opportunity of going with my wife to see our son at West Point. Later I made a hasty trip to see my mother and brothers, my wife’s parents, and a few other members of our families, all gathered for the occasion in the town of Manhattan, Kansas. These family visits were a rejuvenating experience—until then I had not fully realized how far war tends to carry its participants away from the interests, objectives, and concerns of normal life.
Of course my temporary removal from the preoccupations of war was far from complete. Telegrams arrived periodically from London, posing most serious questions and in certain instances asking me to make final determinations before I personally could familiarize myself with all the factors in the problem. However, I was pleased to find that Montgomery was definitely working on a plan for a five-division assault front, with two follow-up divisions afloat, and this knowledge kept me from worrying too much until I could reach the United Kingdom.
In the meantime a certain uneasiness developed in the British Government over the prevailing command situation in the Mediterranean. As long as I was nominally in command of all forces in that region there was a lack of decisiveness in the preparatory work for the Anzio attack, an attack which was to be executed after my own connection with the Mediterranean should be terminated. I learned that the individuals who would bear final responsibility felt some hesitancy in making decisions because my assignment had not yet been officially concluded. Therefore I instantly abandoned the plan for returning to Africa and recommended to General Marshall that prompt action be taken to terminate my connection with the theater and to place all authority in the Mediterranean in the hands of General Wilson. This involved a point of personal regret because I was thereby barred from going back to my old command to say thank you and good-by to all the people who had served with me loyally, efficiently, and devotedly. I had, however, already issued a final written farewell to the troops, predicting that we would meet again in the heart of the enemy homeland.