Citizens of London: The Americans Who Stood With Britain in Its Darkest, Finest Hour

by Lynne Olson

  The fate of the Poles in Warsaw preyed on Harriman’s mind for decades to come. When Churchill’s grandson once asked him how the Western Allies could have allowed the destruction of the Polish capital to occur, Harriman’s face turned ashen. Saying nothing, he “turned on his heel,” the younger Winston Churchill remembered, “and walked away.”

  WITH CONCERNS MOUNTING in the West about Stalin’s postwar ambitions in Europe and with Allied armies closing in on Germany from the east and west, Winant grew increasingly worried about the Allies’ failure to make firm decisions about the division and occupation of the Reich. In a letter to Roosevelt, the ambassador observed that he and the other members of the European Advisory Commission had made great strides in hammering out agreements regarding surrender terms and occupation zones. Having noted the rapid eastward progress of Anglo-American forces, even the Russians had reached the conclusion that an overall plan delineating the Allies’ occupation policy was a necessity. If such a plan was not finalized before the end of the war, Winant warned, “rivalry for control over Germany … would follow.”

  The question of Germany’s fate, however, became even murkier in September 1944, when Roosevelt and Churchill, meeting in Quebec, approved a sweeping plan by Treasury Secretary Henry Morgenthau to destroy German industry and transform the country into an agrarian state. Like Roosevelt, Churchill had given little serious thought to the postwar treatment of Germany; he told Lord Moran at Quebec that “there will be plenty of time to go into that when we have won the war.”

  Most U.S. and British officials, including the two leaders’ closest advisers, were horrified by the Morgenthau idea, declaring that the pastoralization of Germany would greatly harm the postwar economic recovery of Europe and create a power vacuum in the middle of the Continent. So furious that he could barely speak, Anthony Eden shouted at Churchill: “You can’t do this!” Referring to Roosevelt, Cordell Hull exclaimed: “In Christ’s name, what has happened to the man?”

  Stung by the vehemence of their lieutenants’ opposition, both Roosevelt and Churchill backed away from the plan, with the president telling Henry Stimson that he had no recollection of approving it. From that point on, Roosevelt made clear he was not interested in signing off on any long-range occupation policy for Germany before the end of the war. “I dislike making detailed plans for a country which we do not yet occupy,” he wrote to Hull. “We must emphasize the fact that the European Advisory Commission is Advisory’ and that you and I are not bound by its advice.”

  In response to the administration’s delaying tactics, the usually soft-spoken Winant shot off a telegram to Roosevelt and other officials that was striking in its forcefulness and, in the words of one historian, “placed his prestige as ambassador on the line.” American interests, Winant declared, had been put at a “decided disadvantage” as the result of the U.S. government’s dilatory attitude in approving plans for the postwar treatment of Germany. “I do not think,” he added, “that any conference or commission created by governments for a serious purpose has had less support from the governments creating it than the European Advisory Commission.” He was speaking, he made clear, primarily about his own government.

  THE LACK OF A clear-cut policy toward Germany was just one of the many problems bedeviling the Western alliance as the war entered its final months. With military victory inching closer, relations between American and British field commanders—never good—sank to their lowest point in the conflict. The rivalries, suspicions, and infighting that marked the North Africa campaign grew considerably fiercer on the battlefields of Europe.

  When British and Canadian forces under General Montgomery were slow to break out of their sector in Normandy, American military leaders and the press spread the word that Montgomery was leaving all the heavy fighting to U.S. troops. The invidious comparison of the success of the American thrust and the sluggishness of Montgomery’s forces was difficult for the British to stomach. “We hear that the British are doing nothing and suffering no casualties, whilst the Americans are bearing all the brunt of the war!!” Alan Brooke fumed in his diary. “I am tired to death with and by humanity and all its pettiness! Will we ever learn to ‘love our allies as ourselves’??? I doubt it!” Churchill, meanwhile, complained to his wife: “The only times I ever quarrel with the Americans are when they fail to give us a fair share of opportunity to win glory.”

  Beleaguered by U.S. and British commanders demanding priority for their operations, Eisenhower alone seemed uninfected by the fever of nationalism. His continued emphasis on consensus, compromise, and teamwork was derided by generals from both countries, who repeatedly challenged his authority. They had little sympathy, it appeared, for the enormous responsibilities and problems he faced in presiding over a massive military coalition comprising millions of troops, airmen, and sailors from at least eight countries.

  Eisenhower’s own chief, General Marshall, was not above nationalism himself. Angered by British newspaper stories claiming that Eisenhower was a figurehead leader and that senior British commanders were actually leading the Overlord charge, Marshall ordered Eisenhower to take direct operational command of the campaign’s land forces. Until that point, Eisenhower had acted as supreme commander, with separate commanders under him for land, sea, and air operations. Because Britain had more troops in the field on D-Day, Montgomery had been named to head the Allied ground campaign. But by August 1944, well over half of all soldiers fighting in France were American. Most of the Allied armaments and supplies also came from the United States, as did the planes and ships. It was time, Marshall felt, to underscore America’s dominance, no matter how much Churchill, Brooke, and the rest of the British might protest.

  Protest they certainly did. When the announcement was made that Eisenhower was taking charge of Allied troops and that Montgomery now had the same status as General Omar Bradley, America’s highest-ranking field commander, the British press and people greeted the news as “a national slap in the face.” Thanks to his victory at El Alamein in late 1942, Montgomery had become Britain’s most popular military figure, and his countrymen were incensed by his demotion. In an oblique thumb of his nose at the Americans, Churchill raised Montgomery to the rank of field marshal—equivalent to a five-star general—which meant he outranked Eisenhower and every other senior U.S. commander in the field. Now it was the Americans’ turn for outrage. “Montgomery is a third-rate general and he never did anything or won any battle that any other general could not have won as well or better,” Bradley exploded.

  Shocked at having to give up the top command, Montgomery never fully accepted the move and continued to defy Eisenhower’s authority for the rest of the war. In particular, he challenged Ike’s strategy calling for an Allied advance into Germany on a broad front, thus giving the various countries’ armies a chance to distinguish themselves. Montgomery insisted that a bold thrust to the northeast, carried out by British forces and supported by American troops, would have a much better chance of breaking into Germany and bringing the war to a close. As much as he disliked the prickly, overbearing field marshal, Eisenhower understood and empathized with the injured feelings of the British, the deep distress they felt over their fast-accelerating loss of power and control. It was important, he felt, to placate Montgomery as much as possible.

  He agreed to a compromise. Montgomery would head northeast toward Antwerp, a key Belgian port, with the U.S. First Army supporting his advance. Bradley’s forces, meanwhile, would continue their push farther south, toward the Siegfried Line, a system of bunkers and tank traps along the German border. Unfortunately for George Patton, the plan meant a temporary halt to his Third Army’s headlong race to the east; a large portion of the gasoline and other supplies meant for his army was diverted to help Montgomery’s effort. Not surprisingly, Patton was beside himself with rage. More than a year earlier, in Sicily, he had declared: “The U.S. must win, not as an ally but as a conqueror.” A Red Cross worker attached to his headquarters later observ
ed: “There was arrogance unspeakable there, authority unrelinquished even to his superior officer, the Supreme Allied Commander.” In his diary, Patton wrote with disgust: “Ike is bound hand and foot by the British and does not know it. Poor fool.”

  At first, Eisenhower’s bifurcated strategy seemed to pay off. In early September, the British 11th Armoured Division swept into Belgium and captured Antwerp, with its crucial port facilities intact. Savoring their triumph, Mongomery’s forces failed, however, to clear German units from the forty-mile estuary linking Antwerp and the sea. The German troops already there were soon reinforced, and it would take another two months for Allied forces to gain control of the estuary and open the port for the unloading of Allied supplies and troops. One of the most serious blunders of the war in Europe, the fumbled handling of Antwerp played a significant role in the Allies’ failure to advance into Germany and end the war in 1944.

  At the time, however, few if any in the Allied high command realized the gravity of the situation. The lightning-fast conquest of German forces in France and Belgium had produced an exuberant optimism at SHAEF headquarters, a sense that victory was in tantalizing reach and could be wrapped up by Christmas. With that in mind, Montgomery unveiled a new proposal that he said would enable his forces to cross the Rhine “in a powerful, full-blooded thrust to the heart of Germany.” Called Operation Market Garden, it called for U.S., British, and Polish paratroopers to seize a series of bridges and canal crossings in Holland and establish bridgeheads for advancing Allied troops. The last bridge to be captured, by the British 1st Airborne, spanned the Rhine at the Dutch town of Arnhem.

  Disregarding warnings from several of his own advisers that he was underestimating the strength of the Germans and that the proposal was severely flawed, Montgomery persuaded Eisenhower to authorize the operation. The assessment of the Market Garden critics proved to be right: the mission was poorly planned and carried out, and German resistance was savage and overwhelming. Despite the extraordinary courage displayed by Allied paratroopers, thousands of whom were killed or captured, the enemy held on to the bridge at Arnhem.

  Due in no small part to the twin fiascos of Arnhem and Antwerp, Germany remained unbreached that autumn and winter, and the war on the western front slipped into a stalemate. Reinforcing their defenses, the Germans dug in deep and held the line in the forested hills separating their homeland from Belgium and Luxembourg. “Between our front and the Rhine,” Bradley remarked, “a determined enemy held every foot of ground and would not yield. Each day, the weather grew colder, our troops more miserable. We were mired in a ghastly war of attrition.”

  Among the Allied generals, the war of finger-pointing and name-calling accelerated. The Americans attacked Montgomery and the British for their failures at Arnhem and Antwerp. Montgomery, who insisted he should be allowed to continue his single-thrust campaign, blamed Eisenhower for causing the military stalemate and sent message after message to his superiors in London sniping at the SHAEF commander. Patton and Bradley, meanwhile, criticized Eisenhower for not reining Montgomery in. Even Ike’s own chief of staff, General Walter Bedell Smith, participated in the blame game, observing of his boss and friend: “He lacked the firmness of will to deal with Monty as he should.”

  Caught in the middle, Eisenhower struggled to maintain his authority over his squabbling generals, refusing to agree to any more of Montgomery’s gambles and insisting on his own broad-front strategy. Overstressed and physically exhausted, he complained there was not one part of his body that did not cause him pain. The same could be said for his relationship with his prima donna field commanders.

  ON DECEMBER 16, 1944, the standoff between the Allies and Germany ended with the outbreak of the largest and most savage battle on the western front. In a last-ditch effort to regain the offensive, German troops burst out of the Ardennes Forest in Belgium and launched a surprise attack against American forces. Undetected ahead of time by Allied intelligence, the massive assault ripped through U.S. defenses, creating a bulge in the overextended Allied line and threatening newly liberated Antwerp. In response, Eisenhower ordered reinforcements to the breakthrough point and dispatched the 101st Airborne to protect the Belgian town of Bastogne, a major road junction and key German objective. When Bastogne was surrounded by German troops, Patton’s forces raced to its defense and, with the help of Allied airpower, lifted the siege the day after Christmas. Montgomery, pressed hard by Eisenhower to counterattack in the north with British and American forces, finally did so on January 3. It was clear the Germans had lost their desperate gamble. Four days later, the Battle of the Bulge came to an end.

  On the Allied side, American troops had borne the brunt of the fighting (more than ten thousand killed and forty thousand wounded) and had been largely responsible for eking out the victory. Yet on January 7, Montgomery implied at a press conference that it was he who had been “the savior of the Americans,” as Eisenhower exasperatedly put it. Despite the fact that only one British division took part in the battle, the British press took up the same theme, claiming that their country’s forces, led by Montgomery, had saved the Americans from defeat. “MONTGOMERY STOPS THE ROT!” exclaimed one British newsreel caption. According to U.S. general Joseph L. Collins, Montgomery’s press conference “so irritated Bradley and Patton and many of us who fought on the northern front of the Bulge that it left a sour note to what actually was a great cooperative allied army and air effort.” Added Bradley: “It did more to undermine Anglo-American unity than anything I can remember.”

  Montgomery’s superiors in London, meanwhile, insisted that Eisenhower had failed as commander of Allied land forces and that Montgomery’s plan for a single thrust to Berlin should now be adopted in lieu of Ike’s broad-front strategy. At a rancorous meeting held shortly before the Yalta conference in February 1945, British and American military leaders almost came to blows as they argued about how to wage the final campaign of the war. The session, recalled Marshall, was “terrible.” When Marshall declared that Eisenhower would resign if the British plan were approved and Roosevelt sent word he supported the U.S. strategy, the British high command reluctantly conceded defeat.

  In years to come, Eisenhower would receive considerable criticism from historians for his failure to keep his generals in line, as well as for numerous tactical and strategic mistakes in the European war. But as Max Hastings pointed out, “it remains impossible to imagine anyone doing Eisenhower’s job better than he did it. Instead of focusing upon his limitations, which were real enough, what matters is that he kept the alliance working.” In Hastings’s view, Eisenhower’s “behavior at moments of Anglo-American tension, his extraordinary generosity of spirit to his difficult subordinates, proved his greatness as Supreme Commander.”

  IN THE WEEKS preceding Yalta, relations between the White House and 10 Downing Street were also greatly strained. “Something very like a crisis exists beneath the surface in the relations between the Allies who are fighting this war,” observed the American newspaper columnist Marquis Childs in December 1944.

  When Britain balked at a proposal to give U.S. airlines access to all worldwide air routes after the war, Roosevelt sent Winant a cable in November 1944, to be given to Churchill, indicating that the United States might cut off Lend-Lease aid to the British if they did not agree to the plan. The message was, wrote John Colville, “pure blackmail.” It was the kind of threat, added one historian, that “one might make to a ward heeler or a recalcitrant union boss.” The British, fearing that their own civil aviation program would be crushed by the United States without some kind of protection, had favored an international regulatory agency with power to distribute routes and fix schedules. The president would have none of that. He told Winant: “Please take the following message personally to Winston and convince him that he has got to come through.” When he handed the telegram to the prime minister at Chequers, Winant was so shamefaced by its hectoring tone, according to Colville, that he declined Churchill’s invitat
ion to stay for lunch. But the prime minister insisted, saying “that even a declaration of war should not prevent them from having a good lunch.”

  The Roosevelt administration used similar coercive tactics in a controversy involving the rise to power of ultranationalists in Argentina. In an effort to bring pressure on the Argentine government, which Washington said was pro-German, the administration sought to persuade Britain to recall its ambassador and refrain from signing a long-term contract for the purchase of Argentine beef, a commodity sorely needed by the meat-deprived British. Again, Roosevelt used the Lend-Lease club, warning Churchill that failure to follow the U.S. lead would have unfortunate repercussions in Congress. Infuriated by the president’s hard-balling, Churchill shot back: “You would not send your soldiers into battle on the British meat service ration, which is far above what is given to workmen. Your people are eating per head more meat and more poultry than before the war, whilst ours are mostly sharply cut.”

  While these two economic disputes were raging, the United States and Britain were also locked in a fierce verbal battle over Britain’s military intervention against Communist guerrillas in recently liberated Greece. Worried about the Soviets’ push toward the Balkans and the possibility of a Communist takeover in Greece, Churchill had dispatched British troops to fight the guerrillas, who, having played a key role in resisting the Germans, were now making a bid for power in the country.

  The prime minister’s move touched off a public outcry in the United States, with much of the press and many members of Congress denouncing the prime minister as a reactionary and the administration itself sharply reprimanding Churchill. Stunned by Washington’s response, the British leader made clear to Roosevelt he felt he’d been betrayed. Reminding the president that “I have loyally tried to support any statements to which you were personally committed,” he said he was “much hurt” at this attempt “to administer a public rebuke.”