Crusade in Europe

by Dwight D. Eisenhower

  A second message from General Wainwright reported that heavy attacks were continuing on the Bataan front and the enemy was making progress against our center positions. The hospital there had again been bombed and this time, he added, intentionally—the Japanese had apologized for an earlier bombing.

  In rapid sequence came messages notifying us that additional airports would be developed in Central and South America and in Liberia under the supervision of the Chief of Engineers; that the Coast Guard would assign four guards to each vessel during transit of the Soo Canal between Lakes Superior and Michigan, where we had long feared sabotage at the most critical transportation bottleneck in the United States; that Lieutenant General John L. De Witt requested authority to issue 3000 rifles to the Alaskan Territorial Guard; that Lieutenant General Delos C. Emmons, having inspected the New Zealand defense measures in the Fiji Islands, found them inadequate against a major Japanese attack; that General MacArthur asked shipment of personnel to organize five staging areas and one replacement camp in Australia; that Major General Charles H. Bonesteel wanted confirmation of a report that the convoy bringing American reinforcements to Iceland in mid-April would be used to transport relieved British troops to the United Kingdom; that the Caribbean Defense Command recommended installation of a coastal battery on Patos Island; that the Southern Defense Command was activating a new headquarters on the coastal frontier along the Gulf of Mexico, where it was feared Axis submarine activity was likely to increase.

  Outgoing instructions concerning defense in the Pacific were radioed to Australia and to our commanders on Christmas, Bora-Bora, Canton, and Fiji Islands. To Iceland a directive was sent that General Bonesteel would assume command of the forces there when American units reached two thirds of the total troop strength on the island. To General Wainwright we relayed President Roosevelt’s congratulations upon the Bataan garrison’s magnificent resistance to Japanese mass assaults during the previous week. To General MacArthur went a message asking information on the inclusion of Dutch officers on his staff in the Southwest Pacific.

  The study of messages received and the preparation of those to be sent was interrupted constantly by conferences on a multitude of topics with representatives of all the armed services, with government officials and industrial leaders, and with Allied agents.

  Most of the conferences were held in my own office. Out of them were developed decisions, many minor but some of great significance. Each required action at some point within the Operations Division or the War Department or at some remote point where troops of the Army were stationed. To insure that none would be forgotten and that records for subordinates would always be available, we had resorted to an automatic recording system that proved most effective.

  The method was a complete wiring of my war room with dictaphones so placed as to pick up every word uttered in the room. Conversations were thus recorded on a machine just outside my office where a secretary instantly transcribed them into notes and memoranda for the benefit of my associates in the Operations Division. As a consequence, and often without further reference to me, the staff was able to translate every decision and agreement into appropriate action and to preserve such records as were necessary.

  I made it a habit to inform visitors of the system that we used so that each would understand its purpose was merely to facilitate the execution of business. It saved me hours of work in the dictation of notes and directives and relieved my mind of the necessity of remembering every detail of fact and opinion that was presented to me.

  On April 7 there was also a conference of the Combined Chiefs at which I had to represent OPD. Before we adjourned the discussion covered topics as specific as the allocation of planes originally intended for the Dutch East Indies while resistance continued there and as nebulous as the German intentions in Syria, Turkey, and Iraq.

  By nightfall of April 7 an average day had been spent by everyone in Operations Division. Directly or indirectly, we had been in touch with the principal sectors of our war effort and with many distant places that a year before had been only place names on a map.

  As early as February 1942 we were worrying about the production of landing craft. Landing craft are primarily designed for offensive operations; it was difficult to develop a widespread interest in them when everyone was desperately concerned with defense. Although the Navy would have to take charge of building landing craft, it informed us that it could not even provide crews for them. General Somervell promptly retorted that he would do so. With characteristic energy he set about the task and performed it successfully. Months later, when he tried to transfer the organization to the Navy, we ran up against the curious proposition that the Navy could not take drafted men.

  What a difference it would have made if we had had a co-ordinated policy and a single head at that time! Throughout the spring of 1942 attempts were made, through joint conferences and interoffice visits, to reach an agreement on the character and volume of our needs in landing craft and to get some one person to assume the responsibility for procuring them. Naturally such a program had to be articulated with general naval construction so that it would develop without interfering fatally with the production of the escort vessels, submarines, and other types of equipment vital to the execution of plans. At that time, however, the Navy was thinking only in terms of restoring the fleet. They were not particularly interested in landing craft for future offensives. But if we didn’t start building we would never attack.

  About this time President Quezon became the head of yet another government-in-exile when he was evacuated from the Philippines by submarine before the final capitulation.4 He eventually made his way to the United States. Within a week of his arrival he called at my office in the War Department and gave to me and my staff many of the intimate details of the Philippines mobilization, campaign, and final defeat. His gratitude to America was profound; he clearly understood all the reasons why more effective help could not be rendered at that moment, but he knew the Philippines would again live under its own flag. From this conviction he never wavered.

  The history of those days of the Pacific war will one day be written in detail. The various decisions, movements, and actions will all be brought into their proper perspective and might-have-beens will be weighed against what was actually accomplished by Washington and by commanders in the field. This brief recitation is necessary only because, in some of its aspects, the Southwest Pacific situation had a bearing upon plans for the conduct of war in the Atlantic theater, with which I was to be closely associated. But, strive as we did, we could not save the Philippines. The epic of Bataan came to a tragic end on April 9; Corregidor surrendered on May 6.

  Naturally I saw and conferred with General Marshall periodically. We fell into a practice of holding at least one general review a week, during which we often sat alone to evaluate the changing situation; sometimes others were called in, so that the conference took the form of a general orientation for key members of the staff. Marshall’s rapid absorption of the fundamentals of a presentation, his decisiveness, and his utter refusal to entertain any thought of failure infused the whole War Department with energy and confidence. His ability to delegate authority not only expedited work but impelled every subordinate to perform beyond his own suspected capacity.

  True delegation implies the courage and readiness to back up a subordinate to the full; it is not to be confused with the slovenly practice of merely ignoring an unpleasant situation in the hope that someone else will handle it. The men who operate thus are not only incompetent but are always quick to blame and punish the poor subordinate who, while attempting to do both his own and his commander’s jobs, has taken some action that produces an unfortunate result.

  One problem that gave the War Department continuing concern was that of securing practical battlefield experience for portions of the Army before the whole of it should finally be thrown into a life-and-death struggle. In Asia and Africa our Allies were conducting active operations and it app
eared logical to take advantage of these circumstances to obtain experience on a wider scale than could be accomplished through the mere assignment of American military observers to various areas.

  One morning we received a suggestion that appeared so completely sensible that the entire operations staff started to work on it. The idea was to ship one of our armored divisions to reinforce the British Army in the Egyptian desert. Then when definite American need for this division arose, we would bring out only the personnel, leaving its equipment as replacement items for the British forces.5 The proposition seemed all the more attractive because we were then engaged in producing an improved tank, and by the time we should be ready to use the division ourselves, we counted on having the new equipment ready for issue.

  For commander of such a unit my mind turned instantly to one of my oldest friends, Major General George S. Patton, Jr., who was not only a tank expert but an outstanding leader of troops. I was astonished to find my choice flatly opposed by a considerable portion of the staff, but I was convinced that this was due entirely to Patton’s rather bizarre mannerisms and his sometimes unpredictable actions. He conformed to no pattern—a circumstance that made many fearful of his ability to fit into a team. Such doubts had no influence with me because of my confidence in his fighting heart and my conviction that he would provide effective leadership for combat troops. I felt that I knew him well because, at the end of the first World War, he and I had formed a fast friendship that could even include heated, sometimes almost screaming, argument over matters that more often than not were doctrinal and academic rather than personal or material.

  With approval of the Chief of Staff, I called Patton to Washington and, though I knew the answer in advance, asked him whether he was willing to step down from command of his training corps to take a division into actual battle. His answer was in pleasing contrast to that of another corps commander who, when asked to take command of an American combat corps in the Pacific, declined on the basis that it was not fitting that he, a senior corps commander, should serve under an Australian “amateur” soldier.

  The desert project for the employment of Patton’s division was defeated largely by lack of available shipping. To transport an armored division by sea there are required, entirely aside from escorting combat vessels, a total of 45 troop and cargo ships.6 In this instance the convoy would have had to reach Cairo by the long route circling the Cape of Good Hope. The absence of so many ships from other vital supply missions could not be tolerated at the moment.

  The incident was a valuable lesson to me, however. I realized that selection of personnel for key positions would, even in war, frequently be opposed only on the basis of routine consideration and commonly accepted standards, and would sometimes be influenced by nothing more important than the single factor of deportment. Also I learned that combat commanders must be selected from among those who preferred a battle-line position to any other, regardless of lesser considerations.

  Development of the Operations Division went so well that my key assistants and I gradually gained more time for thinking and study. We could safely leave routine operations in the hands of a group of outstanding young staff officers, supervised by Brigadier Generals Thomas T. Handy, Matthew B. Ridgway, and Robert W. Crawford and Colonels John E. Hull and Albert C. Wedemeyer, all of whom came into deserved Army prominence before the end of the war.

  In the security of victory and with the benefit of hindsight it is easy to point out instances in which the War Department made mistakes. But none of us, not even the most sincere and analytical, can recapture in his own heart and mind the fears and worries of those days. These were reflected in the intensity of emotional and mental strain to which responsible officials were subjected. Time was vital—decisions had to be made promptly on whatever estimates and information were available at the time.

  For instance, there were projects for building a pipe line into Alaska and an international highway into South America. Both ideas were born out of the very lively fear that we could never produce the tankers and naval escorts needed for all war requirements, and that these two developments might prove the saviors of important areas and the means of preserving access to vital oil supplies. The Operations Division gave the snap judgment that neither would prove decisive in the war effort, but those who made the positive decision had the advice of experts in the particular problem of petroleum supply.

  In the development of a concrete plan to implement the approved Allied policy of defeating the European Axis first, we attempted to study and analyze each step and each important factor so thoroughly that no opportunity, risk, or needed preparation would be overlooked. Always, in war, whether problems of tactics, strategy, or logistics are involved, concentration for positive, offensive purposes must be calculated in the light of minimum needs in areas where the enemy might damage us decisively. This meant that during January, February, and March 1942 basic strategic plans had to be drawn in cognizance of the irreducible requirements of the Southwest Pacific.

  Among the United Nations, only America could produce great amounts of disposable reserves. Great Britain’s air force and, to a lesser extent, her ground and sea forces were largely pinned down to the defense of her home country, a base that had to be protected at all costs if ever any offensive action was to be undertaken across northern Europe. Britain’s war effort was already creating a definite strain on her manpower, and only by resorting to the conscription of women was she able to meet her commitments and to maintain herself precariously in the Middle East, Persia, and India. The Soviet forces, though vast in numbers, were committed against an enemy that was threatening Russia’s very existence.

  The question before the War Department resolved itself into the selection of the exact line of operations along which the potential power of the United States would be best directed against the European Axis. This decision, once reached, would be the guiding principle of the war until Germany was defeated; all other operations and efforts would necessarily be considered as auxiliary or secondary to the main thrust, and would be designed either to defend vital links in our defensive structure or to support the principal effort when once the main attacking forces should be ready.

  To use American forces for an attack on Germany through the Russian front was impossible. The only lines of approach were the long, tortuous, and difficult routes through Murmansk on the north and the Persian Gulf on the south, via the Cape of Good Hope. These lines could carry nothing additional to the equipment and supplies that were necessary to keep the Russian forces in the struggle until their own badly torn industrial fabric could be repaired.

  Plans for attacking through Norway, through Spain and Portugal, and even for not attacking with ground forces at all but depending exclusively on the effect of sea and air superiority, were all studied in infinite detail.7

  Another area to be considered as a possible theater of operations for the main effort against Germany was the Mediterranean. In the early spring of ’42 the British situation in the Middle East was not too bad. Auchinleck was standing in the Western Desert with the hope that the arrival of reinforcements from England, together with promised equipment from America, would eventually allow him to undertake an offensive that might drive Rommel out of Africa. But the central Mediterranean was closed to the Allies. Malta was beleaguered, pounded incessantly by bombers based in Sicily and Italy. Any attack that attempted to move straight in from Gibraltar against Italy and Sicily was doomed to failure from the start because the invading forces, without defensive air support, would have to pass directly under an overwhelming strength of land-based aviation.

  Even at that early date we studied the possibility of launching an expedition to seize French holdings on the Atlantic coast of North Africa and make that area a principal base from which to attack Festung Europa.8 One senior officer seriously proposed that we make our initial landing in Liberia, and begin from there to fight our way laboriously up the coast of Africa toward Europe.9

&nb
sp; For a number of reasons the Mediterranean route was rejected as the principal avenue of attack. The first disadvantage was the distance of the North African bases from the heart of Germany. While conceivably Italy might readily be eliminated as an enemy, the heart of the opposition was Germany—an Italian collapse would not be decisive. The difficulty of attacking Germany through the mountainous areas on her southern and southwestern flanks was obvious, while we always had to face the fact that the full might of Great Britain and the United States could not possibly be concentrated in the Mediterranean. This could be done only in an operation which used England as a base. The remaining strength of her land armies and, above all, the air and naval strength required for the defense of England could be employed offensively only if it were hurled across the Channel directly at the continent of Europe. Moreover, between the coast line of northwest Europe and the border of Germany there was no natural obstacle to compare in importance with the Alps.

  Another very important reason for making Great Britain the principal base from which to launch the attack was that the transatlantic journey from New York was shortest when terminated in the United Kingdom. This would permit the most rapid turn-around of ships and would utilize the great British ports, already constructed and in good working order. Selection of this base would save shipping in another way. The U-boat packs then infesting the North Atlantic could best be combated by means of heavy escorts.10 No matter what line of military operations might be selected, we still had to keep open Britain’s life line.

  For her minimum existence needs she had to import something between twenty and twenty-five million tons per year—her peacetime imports were over fifty million—and a considerable portion of this amount came from the United States.11 This line, therefore, had to be maintained, and by placing our troops and military cargo convoys on the same route we could achieve a greater safety from the U-boat until such time as that menace could be nullified.