MAY 3, 1944*
LONDON, ENGLAND
1100 HOURS
General George S. Patton is being relieved of command.
Just across the English Channel from where his rival, Erwin Rommel, also fights for his livelihood, Patton stands at attention in the office of General Dwight Eisenhower, summoned to hear his fate. Ike will note that Patton is “resplendent as always in his get-up. He wore very shiny highly polished cavalry boots; his riding trousers were perfectly creased and immaculate; those two ivory-handled pistols were hanging in holsters at his waist; the left chest of his tunic was laden with ribbons; his shiny steel combat helmet bore three stars in front.”
Patton’s hunger for the fight has never been greater. His skills as a commander and leader never more honed. Now, one month before what should be the biggest battle of his career, his life as a soldier is about to vanish—all because he can’t keep his mouth shut.
A cigarette smolders in Eisenhower’s desktop ashtray. As supreme commander for the Allied invasion of Europe, Ike relies on cigarettes and cowboy novels to take the edge off, yet his stress grows with each passing day. The greatest buildup of men and material in world history is taking place in Britain. More than 160,000 Allied troops will land on the Normandy beaches.
And Ike is in charge of it all.
Every aspect of planning falls on General Eisenhower’s shoulders—including its ultimate success or failure. It is not enough that he frets about soldiers and planes and ships. Patton also weighs heavily on Eisenhower’s mind. The general’s impulsivity and theatrics have created a rift between these two old friends. Whether it be Patton slapping a hospitalized soldier for cowardice in Sicily or the most recent infraction, alluding to a postwar future in which Britain and America rule the world at the expense of the Soviet Union, Patton’s impulsive antics are a distraction to the Allied cause.
Winston Churchill shrugged when he heard of the general’s comments about the Soviets to a women’s group in the English town of Knutsford, stating that Patton was “only speaking the truth.” The prime minister understands that Patton’s words were offhanded and meant to be witty. No one knew a reporter was present.
But these are sensitive times. American generals can’t be dictating global foreign policy. U.S. Army Chief of Staff General George C. Marshall, Eisenhower’s boss in Washington, demands Patton’s resignation.
Ike now hands Patton three telegrams, one at a time. The first is Marshall’s demand for Patton to be fired and sent home.
Patton reads the telegram. He is shaken but not surprised.
The second is a shock. This is Eisenhower’s response to Marshall, stating, “If I am not considered capable in wartime of handling problems of my own efforts and troops, I can no longer properly continue to command in these posts. I therefore propose to accompany General Patton to the United States.”
The third telegram is Marshall backing down.
“Regarding Patton, the decision is yours.”
Eisenhower knows Patton’s depth of emotion. Despite his reputation as “Old Blood and Guts,” the general wept openly when a young aide was killed by a German bomber in North Africa—even cutting off a lock of the young man’s hair and kissing him on the forehead before the desert burial, then writing a personal letter home to the officer’s mother, an old family friend from California.
Yet, on the other hand, Patton openly encourages his men to grease their tank treads with the guts of their enemies.
No one can predict what General George S. Patton cares about.
So nothing prepares Eisenhower for what happens next.
“He started to sob,” Ike will long remember of this moment. “Since he was so much taller than I, he put his head on my right shoulder and continued to sob. Then his helmet fell off and bounced on the floor.”
Patton immediately stops crying. He bends down and picks the polished helmet off the floor and places it back on his head.
Then Patton starts sobbing all over again.
This is too much for Eisenhower, who collapses onto his office couch in laughter.
“George couldn’t even cry without his helmet off,” Eisenhower will recall. “Imagine that.”
Ever the soldier, Patton remains at strict attention, weeping, eyes forward and chin rigid, even as his longtime friend laughs.
Eisenhower finally stops giggling.
“I expect, George, from now on that you will please keep your goddamned mouth shut. When it is time for you to speak, I will tell you,” Ike scolds.
“I intend to use you to the fullest—you will have every opportunity to get into all the combat you ever dreamed of,” he adds.
Executing a perfect salute, Patton turns in an about-face and marches from Eisenhower’s office.
On to France.