So far as there was discernible any difference between the professional views of the British and American groups it appeared to me and to my associates at the Cairo Conference that the British still favored a vigorous and all-out prosecution of the Mediterranean campaign even, if necessary, at the expense of additional delay in launching Overlord; while the Americans declined to approve anything that would detract from the strength of the attack to be delivered across the Channel early in the following summer. The Americans insisted upon examining all projects for the Mediterranean exclusively in the light of their probable assistance to the 1944 cross-Channel attack; on the other hand, the British felt that maximum concentration on the Italian effort might lead to an unexpected break that would make the Channel operation either unnecessary or nothing more than a mopping-up affair.
The Prime Minister and some of his chief military advisers still looked upon the Overlord plan with scarcely concealed misgivings; their attitude seemed to be that we could avoid the additional and grave risks implicit in a new amphibious operation by merely pouring into the Mediterranean all the air, ground, and naval resources available. They implied that by pushing the Italian campaign, invading Yugoslavia, capturing Crete, the Dodecanese, and Greece, we would deal the Germans a serious blow without encountering the admitted dangers of the full-out effort against northwest Europe. My own staff, including its British members, and I continued to support the conclusions reached a year and a half previously that only in the cross-Channel attack would our full strength be concentrated and decisive results achieved.7
Because, later, the landing in Normandy was successfully accomplished without abnormal loss, it is easy to ignore the very real risks and dangers implicit in the plan. Had we encountered there a disastrous reverse, those who now criticize the concern with which some looked forward to the prospect would have been loudest in condemning the others who insisted upon the validity of the plan. One thing that opponents feared was a repetition of the trench warfare of World War I. The British had vivid and bitter memories of Passchendaele and Vimy Ridge. None of us wanted any repetition of those experiences. Moreover, the Dieppe raid of the summer of 1942 did not promise any easy conquest of the beaches themselves. That raid, carried out by a strong force of Canadians, had resulted in a high percentage of losses. From it we learned a number of lessons that we later applied to our advantage, but the price paid by the Canadians still rankled.8
Mindful of such past experiences, a number of persons, among them some Americans, were moved to consider the wisdom of avoiding the risks of a Channel crossing and, instead, to push the Italian and other campaigns in the Mediterranean to the limit of Allied ability.
However, I never at any time heard Mr. Churchill urge or suggest complete abandonment of the Overlord plan. His conviction, so far as I could interpret it, was that at some time in the indefinite future the Allies would have to cross the Channel. But he seemed to believe that our attack should be pushed elsewhere until the day came when the enemy would be forced to withdraw most of his troops from northwest Europe, at which time the Allies could go in easily and safely.
The view presented by the Allied Headquarters staff to the Cairo Conference was that the immediate and prescribed purposes of the Italian campaign had already been accomplished, namely the capture of a line covering the Foggia airfields, with Naples as a port to meet logistic needs. We agreed that the greatest possible support to the north European campaign would be rendered by the Allied armies in the Mediterranean if they could promptly advance to and be concentrated in the valley of the Po. From that region Allied forces could threaten to enter France over the mountainous roads of the Riviera. They could develop an equal threat to advance northeastward to Trieste and the Ljubljana Gap into Austria and would be in position also to launch, over the shortest possible water distances, amphibious operations either against southern France or across the Adriatic. But an advance to the Po, we believed, was possible during the winter of 1943–44 only in the event that the departure of troops from the Mediterranean to England be immediately halted and the Allied forces built up to maximum strength. We believed that with the troops then in sight there was no hope of attaining the valley of the Po before summer weather should again make possible air, land, and sea operations.9
This meant that a more modest objective had to be accepted in the Mediterranean, because to insure seizure of the Po Valley would necessitate withholding from the United Kingdom so many troops and so much vital equipment that the cross-Channel operation could not be undertaken in the spring of 1944.
My own recommendation, then as always, was that no operation should be undertaken in the Mediterranean except as a directly supporting move for the Channel attack and that our planned redeployment to England should proceed with all possible speed. Obviously a sufficient strength had to be kept in the Mediterranean to hold what we had already gained and to force the Nazis to maintain sizable forces in that area.
This was the program adopted by the Cairo Conference, and our shipment of troops and equipment to England continued without abatement.10 The psychological value of the capture of Rome was, however, emphasized to us, particularly by the Prime Minister.
Again I had an opportunity for private talks with the President, at one of which he informally presented me with the Legion of Merit. His conversation revolved more around postwar problems than those of immediate operations. He gave me his ideas on the post-hostilities occupation of Germany and listened sympathetically to my contention that occupation should become a responsibility of civil agencies of government as soon as the exigencies of war might permit. He mentioned domestic politics only to say that, much as he’d like to go back to private life, it looked as if he’d have to stand again for the presidency.
One evening General Marshall asked me with some others to dinner. It was a splendid American dinner with turkey and all that goes with it. As the guests were leaving, one said to General Marshall, “Thank you very much for a fine Thanksgiving dinner.” I turned around in complete astonishment and said, “Well, that shows what war does to a man. I had no idea this was Thanksgiving Day.”
A personally pleasing incident of the Cairo trip was an order from the Chief of Staff that I take two days’ rest and recreation. I employed them for a quick visit to Luxor, site of the ancient Egyptian city of Thebes, and a visit of a few hours to Jerusalem and Bethlehem. This was my first glimpse of these areas and the intense interest that I felt in viewing the remains of ancient civilizations came closer than had anything else during the war to lifting briefly from my mind the constant preoccupation with military problems.
Chapter 12
ITALY
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 forc
es 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.”
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