The Steel Wave

by Jeff Shaara

  Patton’s mood changed abruptly. Eisenhower saw he was curious. “What kind of job?”

  “The enemy knows very well what you mean to us, how you inspire the troops, what the newspapers say about you, all of that. Despite everything we’ve done to keep word of your whereabouts secret, the enemy’s intelligence knows you’re here.”

  Patton seemed to puff up again, and Eisenhower thought, Of course, he’s proud they keep track of him.

  “I’ll keep my head down, Ike. We find any Kraut spies, I’ll string ’em up myself.”

  “Actually, George, we’ve already found a few spies. The Brits have done one hell of a job nailing Hitler’s intelligence people here. Better than that, we’ve been able to turn them around.”

  “You’re asking Kraut spies to work for us?”

  “Asking isn’t the word I’d use. They either work for us or they’re executed. It’s called a strong bargaining position. Point is, so far, it’s worked out well. We’ve been feeding the enemy false information; then we sit back to see if they respond. Stupid little tests, like information about some raid we’re going to launch on a weather station or some fortified gun battery. It’s worked. The Germans have responded just like we wanted them to. They still believe their agents are doing their job. What they don’t know is that their communications are being monitored by our people.”

  “How long do you think this is going to work? Sooner or later, one of these turncoats is going to remember his beloved Führer and stick someone in the back.”

  “Could happen. The Brits are all over this. Double and triple cover. A lot of stuff I don’t even want to know about, details I don’t need to know.”

  “Don’t like this, Ike. A Kraut is a Kraut.”

  “I don’t care if you like it or not, George. I need you to follow orders. And this is a beauty. We plan to let it leak that you’ve arrived in London, for one very specific command.”

  “They’ll learn about that sooner or later, Ike. You can’t hide a whole damned army.”

  “We don’t plan to hide one. We plan to create one. The plans are being put into place. The First United States Army Group, commanded by General George Patton.”

  He had never seen Patton so confused. “A fake army? What the hell for?”

  “To convince the enemy that we’re going to make our landing at Calais. That you are going to make our landing at Calais. We’re still figuring out some of the details, but the plan we’re putting together calls for you to become visible in every place where it makes sense for an army group commander to be. The Brits are jumping on this like flies on a dead mule, George. They’ve already got construction people lining up to build fake wharves, shipping depots, tank and truck parks. Churchill loves it, wishes he had thought of it himself. He’s pushed like hell to get British factories to turn out all kinds of tricks. The G-2 people are talking about rubber tanks, plywood trucks, artillery pieces made out of plumbing.”

  “Rubber tanks?”

  “It sounds bizarre, George, I know. But if this works, if the enemy swallows it and believes we are landing at Calais, he will reinforce his position there. It could tie down entire divisions, panzers, artillery. It could mean the difference between success and failure at Normandy. It’s that damned simple. Your headquarters has already been established. It will be fully staffed and there will be considerable communication flowing in and out, just what the enemy would expect to hear.”

  “But…the troops. Where are the troops coming from?”

  “There are no troops. That’s the point, George. We’re training like hell to put our people across the beaches at Normandy, along the Cotentin Peninsula. Every effort has to go to carrying out that operation. But the enemy needs to believe that we are coming in at Calais. Hell, he should believe it. It’s the most logical place, the closest point to Dover, good beaches, a straight shot into Germany. The Germans read maps as well as we do, George. They’ll want to believe this.”

  Patton stared at him and shook his head slowly. “This is the stupidest damned plan I’ve ever heard.”

  “Correction. This is the plan. It’s your plan, your mission, your orders. And you will damned sure make it work.”

  Patton was scowling, a look Eisenhower had seen before. “But the Third Army…is that real?”

  “Yep. But that comes later. We need this first. Otherwise, when we hit those beaches at Normandy, our people might get chucked right back into the damned sea. If that happens, it could be a year or more before we could even try to do something like this again. The Brits…they’ve just about had enough, George. They can’t absorb another kick in the ass, another Dunkirk. If Overlord doesn’t work, the Germans will gain more than a victory. Every Kraut will know they chewed up the best we could give. Churchill? Hell, I don’t know what he’d do. He’s fought this plan from the beginning. And FDR? He’d have to bend to the pressure from MacArthur and put our best strength in the Pacific. And he’d be right.”

  Eisenhower paused. Patton was staring at him, serious. He knew what he should say, what would mean more to Patton than politics and grand strategies.

  “George, if this thing falls apart, if we don’t put our people across those beaches and hold on…it won’t matter much to you and me. We’ll spend the rest of this war pushing pencils in some closet in Washington.”

  * * *

  4. EISENHOWER

  * * *

  TEN DOWNING STREET, LONDON

  FEBRUARY 15, 1944

  “I had hoped we would land a wildcat that would tear out the bowels of the Boche, but it appears we have instead landed a vast whale, with its tail flopping about in the water. I am not at all pleased with this operation. Not at all.” Churchill took a long drink from a crystal tumbler, set it down in front of him, and glared at the men around the table. “What are we planning to do here? Is there a plan at all?”

  Eisenhower had grown used to Churchill’s bellowing his displeasure at any campaign that floundered, any single officer who did not perform. This time the campaign was Italy, the particular operation the invasion at Anzio. The entire operation had in fact been Churchill’s idea from the beginning. The amphibious landing was inspired by the Allies’ lack of success in driving the Germans northward through the Italian peninsula. In fact, Field Marshal Kesselring’s Germans had anchored themselves solidly into a defensive line that made considerable use of the mountainous terrain across central Italy. The battles there had become slugfests, with little progress and little movement on either side. Churchill was enthusiastic for what Allied planners described as an American end run around Kesselring’s western flank, though it had amused Eisenhower that Churchill required an explanation as to just what an end run actually meant. It had not occurred to the Americans that Winston Churchill would have no grasp of a term that applied to American football. But Churchill recognized that the plan was clear cut in its simplicity and could be the least costly way to break what was becoming a miserable stalemate.

  The plan called for the American Sixth Corps, under Major General John Lucas, to land on the beach at Anzio, only thirty-five miles south of Rome, well behind the German defensive line. Establishing their beachhead, the Americans would quickly drive inland, severing the link between the German positions and Rome itself. If the plan worked, Kesselring’s forces would be pressed from two sides and possibly surrounded. At the very least, American troops might sweep northward into Rome, which would be an enormous boost of morale for the Allies and the beleaguered Italians, who still feared that the Germans might destroy their ancient city. If the Germans somehow escaped the pincer, Kesselring would have no choice but to pull his forces northward, farther up the Italian peninsula and away from the mountainous defenses that had given the Allies such difficulty. Faced with such a crisis, it was unlikely that any German troops could be stripped away from Kesselring and sent to reinforce the defense of the beaches in France. A successful landing at Anzio could very well shorten the war.

  On January 22, Lucas’s th
irty-six thousand men and a massive supply of trucks and armor landed with virtually no opposition; the Germans seemed caught completely by surprise. But then the plan broke down. Though the beachhead was secured, Lucas delayed his push inland, choosing instead to reinforce his already formidable strength, resupplying and consolidating his position along the coast. The delay gave Kesselring’s Germans all the time they needed to mount a brutal counterattack, and now the Americans were pinned against the Anzio beachhead in what had become a desperate fight for survival. Within two weeks of the landings, Allied optimism for a quick burst into Rome had dissolved, and Anzio was now a raw nerve for the prime minister. Eisenhower understood that the operation now bogging down so badly was too reminiscent of the British disaster at Gallipoli, the amphibious operation in the First World War that had nearly cost Churchill his career. Whether or not Churchill was overreacting to the American failure, Eisenhower knew, as did Marshall, that if the Germans crushed the Allied effort in Italy, it would seriously dampen the tentative enthusiasm the British were showing for Operation Overlord. Instead of shortening the war, it could lengthen it considerably. Thus far, the only thing shortened was General Lucas’s career.

  Eisenhower scanned the long table. Sir Alan Brooke, the British chief of staff, was staring sourly into his cup of tea.

  “There is responsibility here,” Brooke said. “Jumbo Wilson knows this. Despite our best efforts, we have underestimated the enemy’s will to resist. It was perhaps premature to remove some of our best people from the Mediterranean before conditions there were more secure.”

  It was a familiar refrain, the British seeming always to dwell solely on the difficulties of any operation, an annoying tendency Eisenhower had to deal with carefully. He knew the reasons, an ingrained dread that had come from the disasters at Dunkirk and Tobruk. There were successes, of course, but the British could not escape their memories of the Great War, the awful carnage born of stalemate, the years of unending death that had cost England, and Europe, a generation of young men. It had infected the British throughout the planning for Overlord, fears that even a successful invasion of Normandy would result in that same kind of stalemate, in the same part of France that had once been the awful no-man’s-land of the Western Front, places like the Somme and Ypres. Across England, the mood of the people had begun to affect the mood of Parliament, a growling discontent that perhaps enough was enough. The mood had spread throughout the British high command, Churchill himself knowing that the war could not go on for years to come, that the British could not absorb the loss of another generation of young men. Eisenhower knew that, without the fresh energy of the Americans, the fear of another catastrophe would overwhelm the British spirit.

  There was silence for a few moments. Eisenhower knew he had to say something to break the gloom. Bradley was looking at him from across the table, a hopeful expression with just a hint of anxiety. Eisenhower nodded toward him—Yes, I know—and said, “Sir, I believe matters in Italy will resolve themselves. General Marshall has already suggested that General Lucas be replaced in the field by Lucian Truscott. As you know, General Truscott served as my deputy in North Africa, and he has already been promoted as Lucas’s number-two man.” He looked at Brooke now. “I do not agree, sir, that removing some of our key people from Italy was premature. I know that General Wilson would agree, as would General Alexander. They have the resources and the skill. Despite the difficulties, they will get the job done. I would add that General Marshall has absolute faith in our people in that theater.”

  Churchill jabbed the air with his cigar. “Yes, dammit, we do as well. Jumbo Wilson was not given command of the Mediterranean because he was pretty. He’ll kick the proper backsides. Let the matter rest, for now. If General Marshall believes Truscott is the man, so be it.”

  At the far end of the table, Montgomery slowly rose, claiming the floor. Churchill looked that way, the others as well, and Eisenhower knew it was Montgomery’s design, a curtain rising on some dramatic show. Montgomery smoothed his sweater, the strange turtleneck he almost always wore.

  “I concur. Jumbo Wilson will not be denied, and with our allies put on the right track, the enemy will not resist for long. My concerns are those facing us right here. I am wondering what sort of progress has been made regarding the transport of the gasoline booster xylidine. I have heard no reports yet of any shipments reaching our air boys.”

  It was pure theater. Glancing at Air Marshal Tedder, Eisenhower saw the man clench his jaw. “I have received assurances from General Marshall that supplies of the gasoline booster are being produced as we speak. Shipments will be forthcoming beginning in early March.”

  He paused. Montgomery was eyeing him, as though seeking more formal assurance. Eisenhower heard the words in his own mind: No, don’t swallow the hook. Keep it simple.

  “Since we have made it a point at this meeting to express our combined faith in those people who are on the job in Italy, perhaps we should do the same for the men right here. I am assured by my supply and ordnance people that when supplies of all kinds reach these shores, they will be efficiently distributed. No one needs to be reminded of his job.”

  Montgomery seemed satisfied and sat down; Bradley was looking at Eisenhower again, a slight smile. Yes, Brad, get used to this. Monty is going to let us know how well every one of us is doing our jobs. I just hope he does his.

  SHAEF, BUSHEY PARK, OUTSIDE LONDON

  FEBRUARY 16, 1944

  “Right now, our best estimate for the target date is early June, the fifth, sixth, or seventh. Good moon, the tide is low at dawn. The original plan suggested May, but with the operation now so much larger, we need another month for preparation. The air boys are happier too, thinking the extra warm weather will give them a few more days of bombing. We’ll take all that we can get. As for the date and hour of the assault—well, the chiefs have left that in my hands, thank God. All they sent me was this.”

  Eisenhower handed the order to Bradley, who read for a moment. “Brief and to the point. Nice, for a change.” Bradley read aloud: “You will enter the continent of Europe and, in conjunction with the other Allied Nations, undertake operations aimed at the heart of Germany and the destruction of her armed forces. Not much to argue about there.”

  Bradley returned the paper to Eisenhower.

  “Wrong, Brad. Plenty to argue about. I never saw so many mother hens trying to keep their own eggs in the basket. Hell, I don’t have to explain that to you. At least we’re all in agreement about the infantry. Morgan’s original plan didn’t call for enough people, enough power. Not his fault. Nobody could have done as good a job putting this thing together. But he underestimated what we’d need to get ashore and hold the beachheads. No one would commit to giving him any landing craft, so he had to assume we couldn’t get more than three divisions ashore. It was Monty who pushed the idea that we need five beachheads and a hell of a lot more people. He’s right on that one, for sure.”

  Eisenhower paused.

  “I have no problems with the navy, not yet anyway. Admiral Ramsay has committed the British to as much support as we could ask for. I like the man, Brad. I worried that when Cunningham was moved up to First Sea Lord, we lost the best friend we had. I expected it would cause us some problems working with the navy that we never had before. But Ramsay is top notch. Tedder too, of course. Always liked him. The Joint Chiefs have agreed with me that he’ll be my number two here, and not just command the air forces.”

  He paused again.

  “I’m getting some bitching from our side about this, that this is just North Africa all over again. All my principal subordinates are British, and there are still some people who choke on that. The smart ones know to keep their choking quiet, but I know it’s there. Annoys the hell out of me, Brad. There has to be some political reality here. We’re trying to build a team, and I’ve got to have the full support of our people and theirs. Churchill understands that. He knows the value of what I’ve tried to do.”


  “No objection from me, Ike. I’ll do what Monty needs me to do, until you tell me otherwise.”

  Eisenhower had no doubts about Bradley’s ability to follow orders. “I don’t need to hear that, but thanks. I wish…hell, it’s not like I’m happy with everybody. This isn’t some pleasant little social club, and I can’t tell everybody how I want them to act. Too much out of my control. All those British air commanders—so damned ritualistic. Every damn operation falls under some kind of textbook rules. I can’t get them to understand that Overlord isn’t just another normal tactical operation, but I don’t have the authority to tell them what to do. I keep yelling at them that we’re going to need bombers on the beaches, and they keep saying, no, we’ll just keep bombing Germany, and we won’t need the beaches at all. The fighter people, Leigh-Mallory and his bunch, keep reassuring me that their fighter planes can get the job done and we don’t need the bombers at all. He’s been chosen to head the combined air assault. The man has never worked with ground commanders before. Never. It surprised hell out of me that Brooke would push him for the job. All I know about Leigh-Mallory is that he’s a man who makes enemies, and in the British air force he has quite a few. The bomber people despise him. Doesn’t bode well for cooperation. They’re in some kind of damned contest with each other over who gets the glory, while the infantry is supposed to wade ashore hoping somebody’s paying attention—somebody besides the damned Germans.”

  Bradley said nothing. Eisenhower appreciated the silence. Enough damned ranting, he thought. He looked through Bradley’s ever-present eyeglasses, no change of expression on the man’s face. “You talked to Monty today?”

  The expression changed, a slight frown.

  “This morning. He called to tell me he had been out to the Twenty-ninth Division. Checking on the progress of the training.”

  Eisenhower sagged in the chair. “He’s touring our divisions? Without you?”