The Supreme Commander

by Stephen E. Ambrose

  Eisenhower then went inside. He had made up his mind. He wired Marshall, “The operation will proceed as scheduled.”39

  Hours later someone turned on a little table radio and picked up BBC. The Allied commander in chief and his deputies gathered around it to wait for the latest news—it seemed much the best way of finding out when and if the troops got ashore, since the ships were maintaining radio silence. BBC was playing popular music. Eisenhower, more and more worried, began pacing the floor. Suddenly BBC said, “We interrupt this programme to give you a flash message from General Eisenhower—he reports that the first waves of his landing craft have just landed successfully in Sicily.”

  Eisenhower looked at the others, smiled, and said, “Thank God—he ought to know!”40

  * In an interview on October 7, 1965, Eisenhower commented, “The reason the ‘concentrated’ attack was now deemed preferable was logistical in character. Originally all staffs were adamant in refusing to try to supply too many troops over one beach. Fixed formulae were accepted as inviolate by such staffs. Then came the DUKW—the swimming truck. This made all the difference; an almost unlimited number of troops could now be supplied over a single beach.”

  CHAPTER 16

  Sicily

  When the Axis generals went to bed on the night of July 9 the wind had been howling and the surf was high. They assumed that no invasion fleet could cross the Mediterranean in such weather. This assumption worked to the great advantage of the Allies, who felt they had to have surprise, since they were invading with 478,000 men and the enemy had almost 350,000—hardly a sufficient margin for a sea-borne invasion. Luckily for the Allies, everything was working. The wind, as predicted, died down during the night and on the morning of July 10 the sea was calm. It was perfect weather for an invasion.

  The Axis forces were also caught unawares by the location of the landings. General Alfred Guzzoni, the Italian who was in theory in supreme command, had wanted to concentrate the two German divisions on Sicily on the eastern half of the island, find out where the Allies were landing, and then launch a strong counterattack. Field Marshal Albert von Kesselring, commanding all German forces in the Mediterranean, overruled Guzzoni. Von Kesselring thought the way to defeat an invasion was to meet it on the beaches and had Guzzoni locate most of his divisions along the coast, with the greatest strength on the western tip, where Von Kesselring expected the invasion to come. Von Kesselring did allow Guzzoni to hold the Hermann Goering Panzer Division in reserve south of Mount Etna. The upshot was that all Guzzoni had available to defend the southeastern and southern coasts were two coastal divisions, composed of Sicilian reservists who hated the Germans and thought the war was already lost. They had no intention of putting up even token resistance.

  The combination of surprise, low quality opposition, and divided counsels in the Axis high command meant that Eisenhower’s fears were seemingly unwarranted and that the invasion of Sicily was in fact comparatively easy. The night of July 9–10 two parachute units, an American regiment and a British brigade, made inland landings. The high winds blew the planes off course and the paratroopers were scattered all over the southeastern end of the island. Nevertheless the Americans managed to seize high ground near Vittoria, where they set up road blocks and helped keep the Hermann Goering Division away from the beaches. The British captured a bridge near Syracuse and held it long enough to allow sea-borne troops to take and hold the port itself. The assault divisions hit the beach at dawn, encountered no serious opposition, and by nightfall had secured their D-Day objectives.

  Eisenhower knew practically nothing of these developments.1 The generals and admirals leading the assault wave were too busy to send reports back to higher headquarters. At another step up the chain of command the JCS and BCOS were as anxious as Eisenhower to know what was happening, but all he could report was that the troops seemed to be getting ashore without difficulty.2

  During the morning, while waiting for news, Eisenhower went for a walk with an aide. He expressed the fear that the Germans would breathe a sigh of relief when they realized the Allies were only going after Sicily, not something bigger. Eisenhower thought the enemy would destroy the airfields and the ports on the island, build up a defensive cordon around Messina, and let the Allies “sweat out” the slow approach to the Continent. The Germans would wear the Allies down, absorb Eisenhower’s forces, and proceed with their offensive in Russia.3

  By evening Eisenhower had managed to shake the mood and the night of July 10 he got a good sleep, his first in a week. When he woke the news was encouraging. He learned of Montgomery’s success in taking Syracuse and of Patton’s at Gela and Licata. Naval losses, however, were fairly high. The HUSKY plan had failed to provide for a fighter umbrella over the beaches and Allied planes were going after inland targets. The Luftwaffe had a free hand at the beaches, bombing the incoming ships almost at will. German accuracy was poor, fortunately, and only one U.S. destroyer was sunk. Two others were damaged, along with two combat loaders and an LST. Tedder was seeing to it that more fighters covered the beaches, and a lesson had been learned.4

  On the ground, July 11 was the critical day. Guzzoni directed a counterattack against Patton’s force at Gela, and the Hermann Goering Panzers rumbled down the road intent upon throwing the Americans back into the sea. Terry Allen’s 1st Division, the Big Red One, received and repulsed the attack.5 The Germans made another attempt that evening, but it too failed. Guzzoni, with Von Kesselring’s approval, then ordered most of his remaining mobile elements out of western Sicily and concentrated his strength around the Catania plain. From now on his tactics would be those of delay and attrition, which meant that he had given up any attempt to hold the island.6

  The Axis had, in effect, changed the nature of the campaign. It would no longer be a struggle for control of Sicily, but rather one for time and prisoners. The Axis aim was to delay the Allies as long as possible with a minimum sacrifice in casualties and prisoners. The Allies wanted to overrun the island as quickly as possible while preventing the escape of any significant number of Axis troops. For both sides, the key to the campaign was Messina. The direct road to it was on the Catania plain, past Mount Etna, and along the east coast. This was Montgomery’s route, and it was all up to him. Montgomery, however, could attack only on a narrow front over difficult ground. He was unwilling to commit his men to a blood bath and did not get to Messina in time.

  But if Montgomery did not push his men, neither did Alexander push him, nor in turn did Eisenhower push Alexander. The reason was that the Allies had not been able to readjust their thinking as quickly as the Germans. AFHQ and Alexander’s Fifteenth Army Group had spent months working intensively on the problem of getting ashore; once there, they congratulated themselves and there was an inevitable letdown. Guzzoni and Von Kesselring, meanwhile, were adjusting to the new situation and making realistic plans. By the time the Allies caught on, it was too late.7

  Indicative of the Allied inability to adjust was a trip Eisenhower made to the beaches on July 12. He did not go ashore at the crucial sector near the Catania plain to see what could be done about getting Montgomery moving. Instead, he paid a visit to Patton, whose headquarters were still on a destroyer off Gela. Eisenhower spoke “vigorously” to Patton about the inadequacy of Seventh Army reports to AFHQ. He said that because of his ignorance he could not determine just what assistance, particularly in the air, Patton needed. “Ike stepped on him hard,” an observer reported. “I didn’t hear what he said but he must have given Patton hell because Georgie was upset.”8 Patton was more than upset—he was angry. After visiting more troops on the quiet beaches, Eisenhower returned to his headquarters. He had made no attempt to galvanize any of his subordinates to action. The Allied force, like its commander, remained passive.

  On the ground the campaign soon bogged down, even though the Italian divisions in Sicily had virtually ceased to exist. Thousands of Italians were happily sitting in Allied POW cages, while other thousands had simply
doffed their uniforms and melted into the civilian population. The Germans had at most 60,000 men in Sicily and were thus outnumbered between six and ten to one. The Allies could not take advantage, however, because Montgomery was still reluctant to launch a costly frontal attack. By the end of the first week of the campaign he had reached the Catania plain and could not drive on.

  One reason was malaria. The plain was highly infected and the casualty list was serious. Still, despite malaria, the intense, humid heat, and the dust, the campaign was not too bad for the British soldier. The Eighth Army “enjoyed Sicily after the desert.” There were wine and roses in profusion; as Montgomery described it, it was “high summer; oranges and lemons were on the trees, wine was plentiful; the Sicilian girls were disposed to be friendly.” At the front, as at headquarters, there was no sense of urgency.9

  Eisenhower recognized that the Germans intended to abandon the western end of Sicily “and would attempt to take up a line running northwestward from Mount Etna,” a line which “with German troops alone … he could hold for a considerable time.”10 The need was clear—get around Mount Etna and into Messina before the Germans could complete their defensive preparations. If Montgomery could not do it on the coastal road, then it would have to be done by moving around the western side of Mount Etna. Patton’s Seventh Army was in perfect position to carry out such a maneuver, and Patton was the perfect commander to lead such a drive.

  Alexander, however, remained skeptical of the Americans’ ability, and was thus responsive when Montgomery proposed that Eighth Army make the move. Montgomery said he would launch one of his “left hooks” around Mount Etna. To do so, he needed the road leading north from Vizzini. It had already been assigned to Patton, but on July 15 Alexander gave it to Montgomery. Bradley protested, because it meant his columns had to turn back almost to the beaches before they could push on northward again. But Alexander did as Montgomery wished. He gave Montgomery the road and Seventh Army the passive mission of guarding Montgomery’s rear.11

  The Germans held Montgomery on the west of Mount Etna just as easily as they had done on the east through their skillful use of mines and the way they took advantage of the good defensive terrain. Montgomery took heavy casualties but could not break through. His left hook, meanwhile, had the effect of pushing Bradley westward, which in turn pushed the remainder of Seventh Army into central Sicily. Weeks later Patton complained to Montgomery about the injustice of losing the only road that led through central Sicily to Messina. “George,” Montgomery replied in an answer that foreshadowed a whole series of events in the 1944–45 campaign in northwest Europe, “let me give you some advice. If you get an order from Army Group that you don’t like, why just ignore it. That’s what I do.”12

  In effect Patton had already taken the advice. When Alexander gave the Vizzini road to Montgomery, Patton sent Truscott, commanding the 3rd Infantry Division, on a “reconnaissance in force” to the northwest, toward Palermo. If Montgomery was to have the glory of taking Messina, Patton at least wanted the satisfaction of capturing Palermo. He was, therefore, “mad as a wet hen” when on July 17 Alexander issued a directive that limited Seventh Army to objectives in central Sicily. He decided to protest and prepared an alternative plan to present to Alexander, one that gave the Seventh Army the objective of Palermo. The best thing that could be said of it was that it in no way impinged on Montgomery’s operations, since it led the Americans westward, away from the Germans and the main action.

  On July 17 Patton went to Tunisia and met with Alexander. He argued forcefully for his plan, and Alexander, who “appeared to be more of a conciliator than a firm leader,” reluctantly agreed.13 The real basis for the decision was American unhappiness. When Patton made his case, Alexander realized for the first time how indignant American officers were at being assigned a passive role.

  Allowing Patton to dash off to the west satisfied the Americans and may have helped the Alliance, but it brought no military return. Alexander’s policy was essentially one of “Have a go, Joe,” for there was no co-ordination of effort. All Patton’s capture of Palermo did was to give him some headlines and the Germans more time to prepare their defense protecting Messina.

  On July 18 Patton organized the Provisional Corps, put Major General Geoffrey Keyes in command, and sent it off to Palermo. The corps made the hundred-mile advance by foot in four days—a magnificent achievement. But, as mentioned above, there was no strategic gain. The Germans still held Messina, Montgomery had not advanced, and all the Allies could do now was drive the enemy off the island. There was no chance to capture any significant numbers of prisoners or to take Sicily in a hurry.14

  Confusion over aims and purposes, reflecting the absence of an overall plan, was probably inevitable in Sicily. One reason was that it was difficult for Eisenhower to get all the commanders together. Cunningham’s headquarters were on Malta, Tedder’s at La Marsa on the Tunisian coast, and in early August Alexander moved to Sicily. Eisenhower’s permanent base was in Algiers, where he was frequently needed to handle diplomatic and strategic problems. When he could, he visited the commanders, but it was never a very satisfactory way to co-ordinate operations.

  Eisenhower made the best of it. As he explained to Mountbatten, the commander in chief had more independence of movement than his deputies. In an “academically perfect procedure” the commander in chief and his deputies “must always be in the same locality,” but perfect solutions were not always possible.

  Eisenhower did not ordinarily give advice to senior British officers, but Mountbatten had just been appointed Supreme Allied Commander, Southeast Asia Theater, and had asked Eisenhower for help. He realized that he would not have to face the “appalling political problems” which took up so much of Eisenhower’s time, but he did feel there was much Eisenhower could tell him about being an Allied commander. He said he would appreciate it if Eisenhower would find time to dictate some notes “on the pitfalls to avoid and the line to take.”15 The result was the most thorough document on the theory and practice of Allied command that Eisenhower produced in the war.

  The basis for an Allied command, Eisenhower began, was in the “earnest cooperation” of the senior officers in the theater, co-operation which depended upon “selflessness, devotion to a common cause, generosity in attitude, and mutual confidence.” Actual unity, therefore, depended “directly upon the individuals in the field,” especially since the commander in chief had no disciplinary powers over officers of a different nationality.

  Turning to procedure, Eisenhower warned Mountbatten that his senior commanders would be named by the CCS. Eisenhower felt this was an error, for the commander in chief should pick his own deputies, but it could not be helped. He reminded Mountbatten that each of his three deputies would be accustomed to dealing directly with his own ministry or department at home, and that each would also have a senior subordinate from the opposite nationality who would also deal directly with his own national authorities. Eisenhower thought that “these channels of communication should be interfered with as little as possible,” but warned Mountbatten to guard jealously his privileged communications with the CCS: “No one else must be allowed to send communications to that Body.” This meant, Eisenhower added, “that final recommendations as to operations to be undertaken and requests for the needed resources must likewise pass through you.”

  Mountbatten would also have to co-ordinate the efforts of his staff, which would have sections dealing with public relations, censorship, operations, logistic problems, communications, and civil affairs. “To form your staff,” Eisenhower advised, “start from the bottom up. Make sure that in every section and in every sub-section are officers of both nationalities and never permit any problem to be approached in your staff on the basis of national interest.”

  The personal bearing, manner, and decisions of the commander in chief were one key to a successful Allied command, Eisenhower felt. He told Mountbatten that he would have to strive for mutual respect and confid
ence among the seniors in his theater, and gave him some practical advice on how to achieve it. First, “all of us are human and we like to be favorably noticed by those above us and even by the public.” An Allied commander in chief, whose opportunities for personal publicity were unlimited, “must more sternly than any other individual repress such notions.” He had to be self-effacing, quick to give credit to others, ready to seek and take advice, and willing to decentralize. “On the other hand,” Eisenhower continued, “when the time comes that he himself feels he must make a decision, he must make it in clean-cut fashion and on his own responsibility and take full blame for anything that goes wrong; in fact he must be quick to take the blame for anything that goes wrong whether or not it results from his mistake or from an error on the part of a subordinate.”

  Eisenhower realized that the picture of an Allied commander in chief that he had painted differed from the old-fashioned image of a soldier. An Allied commander in chief did not lead a charge up a hill, or direct planes to their targets, or command a battle fleet. But that did not mean that the Allied commander was a figurehead or a nonentity. “He is in a very definite sense the Chairman of a Board, a Chairman that has very definite executive responsibilities.… He must execute those duties firmly, wisely and without any question as to his own authority and his own responsibility.” In Eisenhower’s view, however, his battlefield duties were minimal; the implication was that making the alliance work came first. Eisenhower’s definition of his role almost precluded active participation in battle—he felt that a Supreme Commander who did intervene might in fact jeopardize the alliance.

  In conclusion, Eisenhower pointed out that it would never be possible to say that the problem of establishing unity in an Allied command had been solved. “This problem involves the human equation and must be met day by day. Patience, tolerance, frankness, absolute honesty in all dealings, particularly with all persons of the opposite nationality, and firmness, are absolutely essential.”16