Crusade in Europe

by Dwight D. Eisenhower

  “(e) The attitude of the Spanish Army.

  “While there have been no indications to date that the Spaniards would take sides in the war as a result of this particular operation, this contingency must be looked on as a possibility, particularly if Germany should make a definite move toward entering Spain. In any event, Spain’s entry would instantly entail the loss of Gibraltar as a landing field and would prevent our use of the Strait of Gibraltar until effective action could be taken by the Allies. In view of available resources, it would appear doubtful that such effective action is within our capabilities.

  “(f) The possibility that the German air forces now in western Europe may rapidly enter Spain and operate against our line of communications.

  “This would not be an easy operation for the Germans except with the full acquiescence and support of Spain. Gasoline, bombs, and lubricants do not exist at the Spanish airfields and the transfer to the country of ground and maintenance crews and supplies would require considerable time. Certain facts that bear upon the likelihood of such enemy action are, first, that Germany already has excellent landing fields in Sicily, from which their long-range aircraft can operate without going to the trouble of establishing new bases. Secondly, the advantages to Germany of occupying the Iberian Peninsula in force have always existed. The fact that Germany has made no noticeable move in this direction, even under the conditions lately existing when substantial parts of the British naval strength have been inside the Mediterranean, is at least some evidence that the enemy does not consider this an easy operation.

  “(g) Other factors that we have considered in arriving at the conclusions given below are the experiences of the recent Malta convoy and the assumption that Allied naval losses within the past ten days have been considerable. The Malta convoy did not come under air attack until it was practically south of Sardinia and its difficulties west of that point were from submarine action.

  “Based on all the above, we consider that the operation has more than a fair chance of success provided Spain stays neutral and the French forces either offer only token resistance or are so badly divided by internal dissension and by Allied political maneuvering that effective resistance will be negligible. It is our opinion that Spain will stay neutral, at least during the early stages of the operation, provided we are successful in maintaining profound secrecy in connection with our intentions. She has done so in the past when similar large convoys passed through the strait. We believe, on the other hand, that we will encounter very considerable resistance from certain sections of the French forces. We believe the area in which the French will be most favorable to us is around Algiers, with the areas in which we will probably encounter resistance those between Oran and Casablanca and near Tunis.

  “We believe that the chances of effecting initial landings are better than even but that the chances of over-all success in the operation, including the capture of Tunis before it can be reinforced by the Axis, are considerably less than fifty per cent. This takes into account the great difficulty surrounding the building up of a land-based air force, the low capacity of ports and consequent slowness in building up of land forces, the very poor character of the long line of communications from Casablanca to Oran, and finally the uncertainty of the French attitude.

  “Further eventualities which might involve a change in Spanish attitude, as well as increasing naval and shipping difficulties and consequent slowing up in our reinforcements, are difficult to evaluate. Any sign of failure at this stage and a delay of reinforcements to arrive might be seized upon by the Axis as a reason for coming into Spain, and if Spain should then enter the war the results would be most serious.”27

  Week after week this sort of thing went on. Although the essentials of our operational plan had been crystallized early, every day brought some slight change in detail until almost the final day before sailing.

  Along with planning went inspections of training and physical preparation. Our final and most ambitious training exercise in landing operations took place in western Scotland, during abominable weather. A group of the staff accompanied me to observe the operation and were far from encouraged by the evident lack of skill, particularly among ship companies and boat crews. However, since these had been assembled at the last minute, to minimize interference in Allied shipping programs, we hoped and believed that major errors revealed by the exercises would not be repeated in actual operations. This proved to be the case.

  While on this trip I received a piece of information that carried me back again to America’s traditional peacetime indifference toward preparedness. I was told by a troop commander that his unit had just received its final consignment of “bazookas,” the infantryman’s best weapon of defense against tanks. Since his command was to begin embarking the next day, he was completely at a loss as to how to teach his men the use of this vitally needed weapon. He said, “I don’t know anything about it myself except from hearsay.”

  Nothing more could now be done in London. It was a relief to lock up a desk. To account for my absence from London an elaborate story was circulated that I was making a visit to Washington. Even the President helped out in this particular deception. Actually we took off for Gibraltar, in a flight of five Fortresses, on November 5, 1942.28 At Gibraltar we were greeted by the governor, Lieutenant General Sir F. N. Mason MacFarlane, who most hospitably welcomed us to Government House for quarters. By a series of minor mishaps the plane in which I was flying was unreported in London for several hours after the safe arrival of the others in the group had been reported. This caused some consternation among the staff, the larger portion of which was still in the United Kingdom, but of this we were unaware at the moment. One plane, which had failed to take off with us, made the flight on the following day and was attacked by two German JU-88s.29 One man was wounded but the gunners on the Fortress finally drove off the attacking planes.

  I went to the tunnels of the Fortress, where our offices were located and where I met Admiral Cunningham, who had made the journey from London in a fast cruiser. He and I began to scan the reports of weather and of operation, to check and recheck everything we had done, and to talk over all the things that have so far been related in this book.

  Chapter 6

  INVASION

  OF AFRICA

  AT GIBRALTAR OUR HEADQUARTERS WAS established in the most dismal setting we occupied during the war. The subterranean passages under the Rock provided the sole available office space, and in them was located the signal equipment by which we expected to keep in touch with the commanders of the three assault forces. The eternal darkness of the tunnels was here and there partially pierced by feeble electric bulbs. Damp, cold air in block-long passages was heavy with a stagnation that did not noticeably respond to the clattering efforts of electric fans. Through the arched ceilings came a constant drip, drip, drip of surface water that faithfully but drearily ticked off the seconds of the interminable, almost unendurable, wait which occurs between completion of a military plan and the moment action begins.

  There was no other place to use. In November 1942 the Allied nations possessed, except for the Gibraltar Fortress, not a single spot of ground in all the region of western Europe, and in the Mediterranean area, nothing west of Malta. Britain’s Gibraltar made possible the invasion of northwest Africa. Without it the vital air cover would not have been quickly established on the North African fields. In the early phases of the invasion the small airdrome there had necessarily to serve both as an operational field and as a staging point for aircraft making the passage from England to the African mainland. Even several weeks before D-day it became jammed with fighter craft. Every inch was taken up by either a Spitfire or a can of gasoline. All this was exposed to the enemy’s reconnaissance planes and not even an attempt at camouflage could be made. Worse, the airfield itself lay on the Spanish border, separated from Spanish territory only by a barbed-wire fence. Politically, Spain was leaning toward the Axis, and, almost physically, leaning against the
barbed-wire fence were any number of Axis agents. Every day we expected a major attack by hostile bombers; as each day went by without such an attack we went to bed puzzled, even astonished.

  The only explanation for it was that our measures for deceiving the enemy were working well. We knew that long before the attack could take place the Axis would learn of increased activity at Gibraltar. We hoped the enemy would conclude that we were making another, unusually ambitious attempt to reinforce Malta, which had been in dire straits for months.

  Yet in spite of the certain consequences of any enemy air attack, of dreary surroundings, and of all the thousand and one things that could easily go wrong in the great venture about to be launched, within the headquarters there was a definite buoyancy. Soldiers, sailors, and airmen congregated there were stimulated by that feeling of exhilaration that invariably ensues when one leaves months of grinding preparation and irksome inaction behind and turns his eyes expectantly to the outcome of a bold venture.

  True, there was tenseness—one could feel it in every little cave makeshifting for an office. It was natural. Within a matter of hours the Allies would know the initial fate of their first combined offensive gesture of the war. Aside from the seesaw campaigns of advance and retreat that had been going on in the Western Desert for two full years and the island battle of Guadalcanal, nowhere in the world had the Allies been capable of undertaking on the ground anything more than mere defense. Even our defensive record was tragically draped in defeats, of which Dunkirk, Bataan, Hong Kong, Singapore, Sourabaya, and Tobruk were black reminders.

  During those hours that we paced away among Gibraltar’s caverns, hundreds of Allied ships, in fast- and slow-moving convoys, were steaming across the North Atlantic toward a common center on the coast of northwest Africa. To attack Algiers and Oran, most of these ships would pass through the narrow Strait of Gibraltar, flanked by guns that might at any moment speak up in favor of the Nazis. Other ships, coming from America, were to proceed directly against Casablanca and port towns to its north and south.

  The three main expeditions were plowing through seas infested with U-boats. At Gibraltar most of our separate convoys would enter an area where they would come under the threat of enemy bombers. Our troops had been only hastily trained for this complicated type of landing operation and, for the most part, had never participated in battle. Available shipping did not permit us to carry along all the forces and equipment necessary to assure success. Of course we were tense.

  Even our flight to Gibraltar had been hazardous. It had been accomplished only after two previous attempts to make the passage from England had been frustrated by foul weather. Before we finally took off from England the officer commanding the six Fortresses assigned to take our party to Gibraltar deliberately placed before me, together with his technical advice against making the flight, the decision as to whether or not he should take off. It was the only time in my life I was faced with that situation because normally the air commander’s decision is final. It did not seem a propitious omen for the great adventure, but we had to go through. We flew at an average height of a hundred feet. When the great Rock of Gibraltar finally loomed out of its concealing haze my pilot remarked, “This is the first time I have ever had to climb to get into landing traffic at the end of a long trip!”

  In spite of the inaction imposed upon us at Gibraltar, there was work we could do. Already we were planning steps to follow a successful landing, including the early transfer of headquarters to Algiers. There was no lack of future problems to attract our interest, but each could be solved, could even be undertaken, only if the initial attack proved successful. So back and back again to the immediate issue our minds and our talk inevitably came.

  We had three days to wait. Finally the leading ships steamed in at night through the narrow strait and we stood on the dark headlands to watch them pass. Still no news of air or submarine attack! We became more hopeful that the enemy, following his tactics of the past against Malta convoys, would keep his air, submarine, and surface forces concentrated to the eastward around Sicily, in anticipation of making a devastating attack as ships approached the narrow passage between that island and the African mainland.

  In the original planning the probability of encountering impossible conditions at Casablanca was one of the factors that made me reluctant to commit the largest of our contingents to this particular operation.1 The danger of last-minute postponement at Casablanca was a lively one, and if this should happen there were only two alternatives.

  The first was merely to direct that great convoy to delay its landing and to steam in circles through the adjacent sea areas, awaiting a favorable moment. The disadvantages of this scheme were several. All surprise in the western attack would be lost; secondly, the ships would remain exposed to the attacks of hostile submarines which swarmed in the Bay of Biscay and southward; thirdly, the appearance of overwhelming power resulting from simultaneous assault of all three ports would be greatly diminished. Finally, there is a limit to the fuel capacity of ships.

  The alternative was to bring the entire western convoy inside the Mediterranean to cluster about the already crowded port of Gibraltar. Here it could save fuel and be ready to return to Casablanca for the landing as originally planned, or the troops could follow in the assault at Oran and push backward down the railway toward the northwest coast. Neither alternative was attractive, since each required hasty revision and adjustment of plans already in execution. But the law of probabilities indicated that we would have to adopt one of them.

  Even as late as the afternoon before the attack the weather reports from one of our submarines in the Casablanca region were gloomy, and I tentatively decided, unless conditions should improve, to divert the expedition into Gibraltar. All our plans would thus be badly upset, but this seemed better than to steam aimlessly around the ocean, dodging submarines.

  At no time during the war did I experience a greater sense of relief than when, upon the following morning, I received a meager report to the effect that beach conditions were not too bad and the Casablanca landing was proceeding as planned.2 I said a prayer of thanksgiving; my greatest fear had been dissipated.

  An unexpected difficulty involved radio communication. In the early stages of the campaign the Allied Headquarters would have to depend exclusively upon the radio for communication with the several expeditions, and it was little short of dismaying to find that our radios constantly functioned poorly, sometimes not at all. The trouble was attributed largely to the overloading of the naval channels on our headquarters ships and of the signal center at Gibraltar. But whatever the cause, the result was that I determined to move headquarters to the mainland as quickly as possible.

  Our first battle contact report was disappointing. The USS Thomas Stone, proceeding in convoy toward Algiers and carrying a reinforced battalion of American troops, was torpedoed on November 7, only one hundred and fifty miles from its destination.3 Details were lacking and there existed the possibility of a very considerable loss of life. Though our good fortune to this point had been amazing, this did not lessen our anxiety for the men aboard. We could get no further information of their fate that evening but later we learned that the incident had a happy outcome so far as the honor of American arms was concerned. Casualties were few and the ship itself was not badly damaged. There was no danger of sinking. Yet officers and men, unwilling to wait quietly until the ship could be towed to a convenient port, cheered the decision of the commander4 to take to the boats in an attempt to reach, on time, the assault beach to which they were assigned. Heavy weather, making up during the afternoon, foiled their gallant purpose and they had to be taken aboard destroyers and other escort vessels, but they were finally placed ashore some twenty hours behind schedule.5 Fortunately the absence of these troops had no appreciable effect upon our plans.

  That same afternoon, November 7, brought to me one of my most distressing interviews of the war.

  Because of the earnest conviction held
in both London and Washington that General Giraud could lead the French of North Africa into the Allied camp, we had started negotiations in October, through Mr. Murphy, to rescue the general from virtual imprisonment in southern France. An elaborate plan was devised by some of our French friends and Mr. Murphy, who had returned to Africa after his visit to London. General Giraud was kept informed of developments through trusted intermediaries and at the appointed time reached the coast line in spite of the watchfulness of the Germans and the Vichyites. There he embarked in a small boat, in the dark of night, to keep a rendezvous with one of our submarines, lying just offshore. A British submarine, commanded for this one trip by Captain Jerauld Wright of the United States Navy, made a most difficult contact with General Giraud and put out to sea. At another appointed place the submarine met one of our flying boats, and the general, with but three personal aides and staff officers, flew to my headquarters during the afternoon of November 7. The incident, related thus briefly, was an exciting story of extraordinary daring and resolution.6

  General Giraud, though dressed in civilian clothes, looked very much a soldier. He was well over six feet, erect, almost stiff in carriage, and abrupt in speech and mannerisms. He was a gallant if bedraggled figure, and his experiences of the war, including a long term of imprisonment and a dramatic escape, had not daunted his fighting spirit.

  It was quickly apparent that he had come out of France laboring under the grave misapprehension that he was immediately to assume command of the whole Allied expedition. Upon entering my dungeon he offered himself to me in that capacity. I could not accept his services in such a role. I wanted him to proceed to Africa, as soon as we could guarantee his safety, and there take over command of such French forces as would voluntarily rally to him. Above all things, we were anxious to have him on our side because of the constant fear at the back of our minds of becoming engaged in a prolonged and serious battle against Frenchmen, not only to our own sorrow and loss, but to the detriment of our campaign against the German.