At the very least it was clear to the Chiefs of Staff that no significant invasion of western Europe was possible in 1942. We kept General Marshall informed of our developing conclusions, primarily through verbal communications carried by trusted staff officers. In mid-July 1942, General Marshall and Admiral King came to London to meet with the British Chiefs of Staff.25 They were to discuss problems arising out of realization that a very considerable period must elapse before a full-blooded, decisive operation could be undertaken against the coasts of northwest Europe. They had to reckon with these factors:
The agreed-upon major strategical operation to be carried out jointly by Great Britain and the United States could not be put into effect, because of lack of forces and equipment, before late 1943 at the earliest, and, since the fall of the year would be a most unpropitious time to begin such a campaign, the prospective D-day, in the absence of some unforeseen, radical change in the situation, might be postponed until the spring of 1944.
Russia was insistently demanding an offensive move by Great Britain and the United States during 1942, and there was a lively fear that unless such a move was undertaken the gravest consequences might ensue on the Russian front.
The psychological reaction in the United States and Great Britain and in all the occupied countries of Europe might be little short of disastrous if positive action of some kind were not undertaken during 1942.
Whatever was attempted in 1942 would necessarily be on a much smaller scale than the contemplated invasion of Europe and, so far as possible, it should not seriously cut into the production and preparatory program then getting under way to make possible the final major operation.
The President had specifically ordered the United States Chiefs of Staff to launch some kind of offensive ground action in the European zone in 1942.26
In view of these circumstances there seemed to be three lines of action deserving of earnest study.
The first was the direct reinforcement of the British armies in the Middle East via the Cape of Good Hope route, in an effort to destroy Rommel and his army and, by capturing Tripolitania, to gain secure control of the central Mediterranean.
The second was to prepare amphibious forces to seize northwest Africa with the idea of undertaking later operations to the eastward to catch Rommel in a giant vise and eventually open the entire Mediterranean for use by the United Nations.
The third was to undertake a limited operation on the northwest coast of France with a relatively small force but with objectives limited to the capture of an area that could be held against German attack and which would later form a bridgehead for use in the large-scale invasion agreed upon as the ultimate objective. The places indicated were the Cotentin Peninsula or the Brittany Peninsula. This proposed operation was called Sledgehammer.
No other course of action seemed feasible at the moment. The discussions were long and exhaustive. A major factor in all American thinking of that time was a lively suspicion that the British contemplated the agreed-upon cross-Channel concept with distaste and with considerable mental reservations concerning the practicability of ever conducting a major invasion of northwest Europe. So, though we could not plead for a do-nothing policy while all the impedimenta of major invasion were being produced and accumulated, we looked askance on any project that seemed to be an effort to lead us to indefinite commitment to a strategy in which we did not believe. I was well aware of sincere British misgivings—often voiced in a general way by Mr. Churchill, but definitely and specifically by General Paget—concerning the major cross-Channel venture, then known as Roundup. General Marshall heartily agreed that, no matter what decision should be reached by the London Conference then in progress, we must secure from the British unequivocal reaffirmation of the cross-Channel strategy.
Influenced by these considerations, I personally favored, at that time, the third course of action; that is, the attempt to seize a small bridgehead on the northwest coast of France. However, I told General Marshall that the project was a hazardous one and that my only real reason for favoring it was the fear of becoming so deeply involved elsewhere that the major cross-Channel attack would be indefinitely postponed, possibly even canceled. Almost certainly any 1942 operation in the Mediterranean would eliminate the possibility of a major cross-Channel venture in 1943.
Later developments have convinced me that those who held the Sledgehammer operation to be unwise at the moment were correct in their evaluation of the problem. Our limited-range fighter craft of 1942 could not have provided sufficiently effective air cover over the Cotentin or Brittany peninsulas, against the German air strength as it then existed. At least, the operation would have been very costly. Another reason is that out of the northwest African operation flowed benefits to the Allied nations that were felt all through the war and materially helped to achieve the great victory when the invasion actually took place in 1944. Only meager advantages would have followed capture of Cherbourg; the desirable features of that project were merely that it would have initiated a small “second front” at once and would have launched our first offensive effort in the direction and along the same line that would later be taken by our full-out assault.
In any event the Combined Chiefs of Staff first concluded that it would be unprofitable and uneconomical to attempt direct reinforcement of the British Eighth Army then in Egypt. On this there was unanimous agreement. The British and American Chiefs of Staff had therefore to decide, in late July 1942, between the northwest African invasion and the seizing of a bridgehead in northwest France.
As far as I know, there was no argument based upon nationalistic lines. The conferees were merely searching for the most profitable line of combined action to be undertaken in 1942.
On July 24 it was determined to proceed with the planning for the invasion of northwest Africa with an Allied force of all arms, to be carried out under an American commander.27 The operation received the name Torch. Its execution was approved by the President on July 25. Both governments agreed that the whole venture should have, initially at least, a completely American complexion. The hope was that French North Africa would receive the invading troops with no more than a nominal show of resistance, and the chances of this favorable development were considered to be much brighter if the operation was advertised as purely American. British standing in France was at a low ebb because of the Oran, Dakar, and Syrian incidents, in which British forces had come into open conflict with the French.
In his headquarters in the Claridge Hotel on July 26, General Marshall informed me that I was to be the Allied commander in chief of the expedition. He stated that while this decision was definite some little time would be necessary to accomplish all the routine of official designation. In August the appointment as commander in chief was made official in a directive from the Combined Chiefs of Staff.28
The decision to invade North Africa necessitated a complete reversal in our thinking and drastic revision in our planning and preparation. Where we had been counting on many months of orderly build-up, we now had only weeks. Instead of a massed attack across narrow waters, the proposed expedition would require movement across open ocean areas where enemy submarines would constitute a real menace. Our target was no longer a restricted front where we knew accurately terrain, facilities, and people as they affected military operations, but the rim of a continent where no major military campaign had been conducted for centuries. We were not to have the air power we had planned to use against Europe and what we did have would be largely concentrated at a single, highly vulnerable base—Gibraltar—and immediate substantial success would have to be achieved in the first engagements. A beachhead could be held in Normandy and expanded, however slowly; a beachhead on the African coast might be impossible even to maintain.
This violent shift in target, timing, and the circumstances of attack might have had a serious psychological effect on all those who were convinced that victory could not be attained except by an offensive aimed directly at the enemy’s
continental vitals. But fortunately the decision to attack Africa definitely did not constitute or imply any abandonment by the Combined Chiefs of Staff of their determination to carry out, when practicable, the invasion of Europe by the route across the English Channel. The African venture was looked upon as diversionary in character but necessitated by the circumstances of the moment and in the hope that from it we would achieve great results. The least of these results was that northwest Africa would be denied to the Axis for a submarine and aircraft base. Next, it was expected that through an advance to the eastward Malta would be succored. The final hope expressed at that early date was that all North Africa might be cleared of the Axis; and that the Mediterranean, at least along its southern shores, could be used by the convoys of the Allied nations, thus eliminating the long route around the Cape of Good Hope to reach both the Middle East and India.
Curiously enough, it was believed by some officers that even if we succeeded in driving Rommel out of Africa we would not be able to use the Mediterranean because the Germans would still have aircraft in south Europe. One lieutenant general of the United States Army had been convinced from the beginning of the war that any hope of using the Mediterranean was completely illusory. Even before I went to London he several times urged me to resist the attempt, which he labeled as “idiocy.” This pessimistic attitude was flatly repudiated by the Navy, particularly by the British Navy, which insisted that, given some land-based fighter craft along the north coast of Africa, they would guarantee to put the convoys through the Mediterranean without abnormal loss.
Immediately the decision to invade North Africa had been taken, General Marshall and Admiral King left for Washington and I remained in command of the American forces in the European theater. But I now had the additional task of organizing and leading an Allied force into northwest Africa.
We were definitely embarked upon the type of Allied problem that would engage my attention and that of my close associates for the remainder of the war.
Chapter 5
PLANNING
TORCH
THE FIRST TASK WAS TO SELECT AMERICAN AND British officers to fill key positions in the command and staff organizations we would need for the African invasion.
In modern war, battle areas frequently extend over hundreds of miles of front and are equally extensive in depth. Throughout such a theater are combat troops, replacement camps, hospital centers, lines of communication, repair shops, depots, ports, and a myriad of service organizations, both air and ground. In the same region dwells a civil population, sometimes friendly, sometimes hostile, sometimes neutral or mixed in attitude. All these units, individuals, and activities must be carefully controlled, so that everything is co-ordinated toward the achievement of the commander’s strategic plan. Even when all this is done the task of the highest headquarters is not finished. Everything needed by the theater commander comes from his supporting nation or nations. Daily there are exchanged between his staff and the governments to his rear hundreds of messages dealing with plans, estimates, losses, requisitions, individuals, shipping, and all the other things necessary to carry out the purposes assigned him by his superiors. The military methods and machinery for making and waging war have become so extraordinarily complex and intricate that high commanders must have gargantuan staffs for control and direction. Because of this it is sometimes assumed that the influence of the individual in war has become submerged, that the mistakes of one responsible officer are corrected or concealed in the mass action of a great number of associates. This is not true.
The individual now works differently; indeed, one of the most important characteristics of the successful officer today is his ability to continue changing his methods, almost even his mental processes, in order to keep abreast of the constant change that modern science, working under the compelling urge of national self-preservation, brings to the battlefield. But personal characteristics are more important than ever before in warfare. The reasons for this are simple. It was not a matter of great moment if a Wellington happened to be a crusty, unapproachable individual who found one of his chief delights in penning sarcastic quips to the War Office. He was the single head, who saw the whole battlefield and directed operations through a small administrative staff and a few aides and orderlies. As long as he had the stamina and the courage to make decisions and to stand by them, and as long as his tactical skill met the requirements of his particular time and conditions, he was a great commander. But the teams and staffs through which the modern commander absorbs information and exercises his authority must be a beautifully interlocked, smooth-working mechanism. Ideally, the whole should be practically a single mind; consequently misfits defeat the purpose of the command organization essential to the supply and control of vast land, air, sea, and logistical forces that must be brought to bear as a unit against the enemy. The personalities of senior commanders and staff officers are of special importance. Professional military ability and strength of character, always required in high military position, are often marred by unfortunate characteristics, the two most frequently encountered and hurtful ones being a too obvious avidity for public acclaim and the delusion that strength of purpose demands arrogant and even insufferable deportment. A soldier once remarked that a man sure of his footing does not need to mount a horse!
Staffs develop plans from basic decisions made by responsible commanders. The planning process sometimes, as in the case of a vast triphibious undertaking, takes weeks and months. As a consequence these plans must be founded in fact and intelligent conclusion, and once made they must be fixed and clear. Deviation from fundamental concepts is permissible only when significant changes in the situation compel it. The high commander must therefore be calm, clear, and determined—and in all commands, especially allied organizations, his success will be measured more by his ability to lead and persuade than by his adherence to fixed notions of arbitrary command practices. This truth applies with particular force during the time necessary to build up confidence—a confidence that reaches back into the governments at home as well as throughout the length and breadth of the command. But whenever any incident or problem requires the commander to exert and maintain his authority, then compliance must be exacted promptly and fully.
An early, happily minor, break of security by an American officer who had taken too much to drink brought to my attention the need for exercising particular care as to the habits of every individual assigned to an important post. Loyalty and efficiency were not enough—discretion, reliability, and sobriety were mandatory. Where individuals were relatively unknown or untested our highly efficient Secret Service organization was called upon to conduct a confidential investigation. All on my personal staff, without their knowledge, were so checked and tested over a period of weeks. The issues were too great to trust to chance; even chauffeurs had occasional opportunity to pick up information of value to the enemy.
In the organization, operation, and composition of my staff we proceeded as though all its members belonged to a single nation. Nevertheless we tried to include in every section individuals from both nationalities, and certain modifications in normal United States organization were compelled by differences in the staff procedures of the two countries. In the early days officers of the two nationalities were apt to conduct their business in the attitude of a bulldog meeting a tomcat, but as time went on their own discoveries of mutual respect and friendship developed a team that in its unity of purpose, devotion to duty, and absence of friction could not have been excelled if all its members had come from the same nation and the same service.
Because of the chance that through accident something might incapacitate me, particularly in the early stages of the operation, it was decided best to have the deputy also an American, so that the fiction of a practically exclusively American operation would be preserved as long as possible. To this post was named General Clark, who had come to England as commander of the II Corps.1 He was a relatively young man but an extremely able p
rofessional, with a faculty for picking fine assistants and for developing a high morale within his staff. During the planning stages of Torch, General Clark acted as deputy and, until the arrival of General Smith in early September, as chief of staff. More than any other one person, Clark was responsible for the effective co-ordination of detail achieved in this, the first Allied plan for amphibious attack in the Mediterranean.
Considering our problem in London in early August 1942, it was obvious that if we were to launch a serious attack during that year there was not a moment to waste in preparation. Summer was already fading and good campaigning weather would soon be gone. The need for haste was so great as to admit of no opportunity for planning for the surest or the best—the satisfactory had to become the ideal.
A thousand intricacies had to be solved in close co-ordination with the British Ministry of Transport, the Director of Movements, the War Office, the Admiralty, the Air Ministry, the Director of Shipping, and the Prime Minister. In the United States these processes were equally involved. The venture was new—it was almost new in conception. Up to that moment no government had ever attempted to carry out an overseas expedition involving a journey of thousands of miles from its bases and terminating in a major attack.
One of our earliest and continuing problems was the determination of exactly what ground, air, and naval forces could and would be made available for the operation. Ordinarily a commander is given, along with a general objective, a definite allocation of force upon which to construct his strategical plan, supported by detailed tactical, organizational, and logistical programs. In this case the situation was vague, the amount of resources unknown, the final object indeterminate, and the only firm factor in the whole business our instructions to attack. We were still existing in a state of scarcity; there was no such thing as plenty of anything. A diary of the time quotes excerpts of dozens of messages, most of them transatlantic, on the one subject of possible availability of United States ground, air, and naval forces.2 The United States Navy, in particular, was loath to commit itself firmly to an estimate of the vessels it could provide for the expedition. It was a nerve-racking state of uncertainty in which we had to work and plan.
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