Extraordinary precautions were taken for Molotov’s personal safety. His room had been thoroughly searched by his police officers, every cupboard and piece of furniture and the walls and floors being meticulously examined by practised eyes. The bed was the object of particular attention; the mattresses were all prodded in case of infernal machines, and the sheets and blankets were rearranged by the Russians so as to leave an opening in the middle of the bed out of which the occupant could spring at a moment’s notice, instead of being tucked in. At night a revolver was laid out beside his dressing-gown and his dispatch case. It is always right, especially in time of war, to take precautions against danger, but every effort should be made to measure its reality. The simplest test is to ask oneself whether the other side have any interest in killing the person concerned. For myself, when I visited Moscow I put complete trust in Russian hospitality.
Molotov flew on to Washington and came back full of the plans for a cross-Channel operation in 1942. We ourselves were still actively studying this in conjunction with the American Staff, and nothing but difficulties had as yet emerged. There could be no harm in a public statement, which might make the Germans apprehensive and consequently hold as many of their troops in the West as possible. We therefore agreed to the issue of a communiqué, which was published on June 11, containing the following sentence: “In the course of the conversations full understanding was reached with regard to the urgent tasks of creating a Second Front in Europe in 1942.”
I felt it above all important that in this effort to mislead the enemy we should not mislead our Ally. At the time of drafting the communiqué therefore I handed Molotov personally in the Cabinet Room and in the presence of some of my colleagues an aide-mémoire which made it clear that while we were trying our best to make plans we were not committed to action and that we could give no promise. When subsequent reproaches were made by the Soviet Government, and when Stalin himself raised the point personally with me, we always produced the aide-mémoire and pointed to the words “We can therefore give no promise”.
AIDE-MÉMOIRE
We are making preparations for a landing on the Continent in August or September 1942. As already explained, the main limiting factor to the size of the landing force is the availability of special landing-craft. Clearly however it would not further either the Russian cause or that of the Allies as a whole if, for the sake of action at any price, we embarked on some operation which ended in disaster and gave the enemy an opportunity for glorification at our discomfiture. It is impossible to say in advance whether the situation will be such as to make this operation feasible when the time comes. We can therefore give no promise in the matter, but provided that it appears sound and sensible we shall not hesitate to put our plans into effect.
During the weeks which followed professional opinion marched forward. I gave all my thought to the problem of “Sledgehammer”, and called for constant reports. Its difficulties soon became obvious. The storm of Cherbourg by a sea-landed army in the face of German opposition, probably in superior numbers and with strong fortifications, was a hazardous operation. If it succeeded the Allies would be penned up in Cherbourg and the tip of the Cotentin peninsula, and would have to maintain themselves in this confined bomb and shell trap for nearly a year under ceaseless bombardment and assault. They could be supplied only by the port of Cherbourg, which would have to be defended all the winter and spring against potentially continuous and occasionally overwhelming air attack. The drain which such a task would impose must be a first charge upon all our resources of shipping and air-power. It would bleed all other operations. If we succeeded we should have to debouch in the summer from the narrow waist of the Cotentin peninsula, after storming a succession of German fortified lines defended by whatever troops the Germans might care to bring. Even so there was only one railroad along which our army could advance, and this would certainly have been destroyed. Moreover, it was not apparent how this unpromising enterprise would help Russia. The Germans had left twenty-five mobile divisions in France. We could not have more than nine ready by August for “Sledgehammer”, and of these seven must be British. There would therefore be no need for the recall of German divisions from the Russian front.
As these facts and many more presented themselves in an ugly way to the military staffs a certain lack of conviction and ardour manifested itself, not only among the British but among our American comrades. The ceaseless Staff discussions continued during the summer. “Sledgehammer” was knocked out by general assent. On the other hand, I did not receive much positive support for “Jupiter”—Northern Norway. We were all agreed upon the major cross-Channel invasion in 1943. The question arose irresistibly, what to do in the interval? It was impossible for the United States and Britain to stand idle all that time without fighting, except in the desert. The President was determined that Americans should fight Germans on the largest possible scale during 1942. Where then could this be achieved? Where else but in French North Africa, upon which the President had always smiled? Out of many plans the fittest might survive.
I was content to wait for the answer.
THE WESTERN DESERT
CHAPTER XI
MY SECOND VISIT TO WASHINGTON. TOBRUK
ALTHOUGH General Auchinleck had not felt himself strong enough to seize the initiative in the Desert, he awaited with some confidence the enemy’s attack. General Ritchie, commanding the Eighth Army, had under his chief’s supervision prepared an elaborate defensive position stretching from Gazala to Bir Hacheim, forty-five miles due south, composed of fortified points called “boxes”, held in strength by brigades or larger forces, the whole being covered by an immense spread of minefields. Behind this the whole of our armour and the XXXth Corps were held in reserve.
All the Desert battles, except Alamein, began by swift, wide turning movements of armour on the Desert Flank. Rommel started by moonlight on the night of May 26–27, and swept forward with all his armour, intending to engage and destroy our own, and hoping as we now know, to seize Tobruk on the second day of his attack. This he failed to accomplish, and on June 10, after much bitter and gallant fighting, General Auchinleck sent us an estimate of the casualties on both sides. The figures of tanks, guns, and aircraft were satisfactory, and also precise. But I was naturally struck by the following statement: “Our own losses in personnel are estimated very approximately at 10,000, of whom some 8,000 may be prisoners, but the casualties of the 5th Indian Division not yet accurately known.” This extraordinary disproportion between killed and wounded on the one hand and prisoners on the other revealed that something must have happened of an unpleasant character. It showed also that the Cairo headquarters were in important respects unable to measure the event. I did not dwell on this in my reply.
Throughout June 12 and 13 a fierce battle was fought for possession of the ridges that lie between El Adem and “Knightsbridge”. This was the culmination of the tank battle; at its close the enemy were masters of the field, and our own armour gravely reduced. “Knightsbridge”, the focus of communications in that neighbourhood, had to be evacuated, after a stubborn defence, and by the 14th it became clear that the battle had taken a heavy adverse turn. Mr. Casey, the Minister of State, sent me a telegram which emphasised the Service messages, and contained the following passage:
As to Auchinleck himself, I have all possible confidence in him as regards his leadership and the way he is conducting the battle with the forces that are available to him. My only wish is that he could be at two places at once, both here at the centre of the web and forward directing the Eighth Army battle in person. I have even thought at times in recent days that it would be a good thing for him to go forward and take charge of the battle, leaving his Chief of Staff here temporarily in charge, but he does not think so and I do not want to press him on it. It is Auchinleck’s battle, and decisions as to leadership subordinate to himself are for him to make.
19 + s.w.w.
Mr. Casey’s remark about the advantage
s of Auchinleck’s taking personal command of the Desert battle confirmed my own feelings which I had expressed to the General a month before. The Commander-in-Chief of the Middle East was embarrassed and hampered by his too extensive responsibilities. He thought of the battle, on which all in his work depended, only as a part of his task. There was always the danger from the north, to which he felt it his duty to attach an importance to which we at home, in a better position to judge, no longer subscribed.
The arrangement which he had made was a compromise. He left the fighting of the decisive battle to General Ritchie, who had so recently ceased to be his Deputy Chief of Staff. At the same time he kept this officer under strict supervision, sending him continuous instructions. It was only after the disaster had occurred that he was induced, largely by the urgings of the Minister of State, to do what he should have done from the beginning and take over the direct command of the battle himself. It is to this that I ascribe his personal failure, some of the blame for which undoubtedly falls on me and my colleagues for the unduly wide responsibilities assigned a year before to the Middle East Command. Still, we had done our best to free him from these undue burdens by precise, up-to-date, and superseding advice, which he had not accepted. Personally I believe that if he had taken command from the outset and, as was fully in his power, left a deputy in Cairo to keep an eye on the north and discharge the mass of varied business belonging to the rest of the immense theatre over which he presided he might well have won the battle, and certainly when late in the day he took command he saved what was left of it.
The reader will presently see how these impressions bit so deeply into me that in my directive to General Alexander of August 10 I made his main duty clear beyond a doubt. One lives and learns.
Immediately Tobruk glared upon us, and, as in the previous year, we had no doubt that it should be held at all costs. Now also, after a month’s needless delay, General Auchinleck ordered up the New Zealand Division from Syria, but not in time for it to take part in the battle for Tobruk. We were not satisfied with his orders to General Ritchie, which did not positively require him to defend the fortress. To make sure I sent the following telegram:
We are glad to have your assurance that you have no intention of giving up Tobruk. War Cabinet interpret [your telegram] to mean that, if the need arises, General Ritchie would leave as many troops in Tobruk as are necessary to hold the place for certain.
The reply left no doubt, and on this we rested with confidence based upon the experience of the previous year. Moreover, our position, as General Auchinleck had pointed out, appeared on paper much better than in 1941. We had an army deployed on a fortified front, in close proximity to Tobruk, with a newly constructed direct broad-gauge railway sustaining it. We were no longer formed to a flank with our communications largely dependent on the sea, but according to the orthodox principles of war, running back at right-angles from the centre of our front to our main base. In these circumstances, though grieved by what had happened, I still felt, from a survey of all the forces on both sides, and of Rommel’s immense difficulties of supply, that all would be well. With the New Zealand Division now not far away, and with powerful reinforcements approaching by sea, I did not myself feel that the continuance of hard fighting in the greatest possible strength on both sides would be to our detriment in the long run. I did not therefore cancel the plans I had made for a second visit to Washington, where business of the highest importance to the general strategy of the war had to be transacted. In this I was supported by my colleagues.
The main object of my journey was to reach a final decision on the operations for 1942-43. The American authorities in general, and Mr. Stimson and General Marshall in particular, were anxious that some plan should be decided upon at once, which would enable the United States to engage the Germans in force on land and in the air in 1942. Failing this, there was the danger that the American Chiefs of Staff would seriously consider a radical revision of the strategy of “Germany first”. Another matter lay heavy on my mind. It was the question of “Tube Alloys”, which was our code-word for what afterwards became the atomic bomb. Our research and experiments had now reached a point where definite agreements must be made with the United States, and it was felt this could only be achieved by personal discussions between me and the President. The fact that the War Cabinet decided that I should leave the country and London with the Chief of the Imperial General Staff and General Ismay at the height of the Desert battle measures the importance which we attached to a settlement of the grave strategic issues which were upon us.
On account of the urgency and crisis of our affairs in these very difficult days, I decided to go by air rather than by sea. This meant that we should be barely twenty-four hours cut off from the full stream of information. Efficient arrangements were made for the immediate transmission of messages from Egypt and for the rapid passage and decoding of all reports, and no harmful delays in taking decisions were expected or in fact occurred.
Although I now knew the risks we had run on our return voyage flight from Bermuda in January, my confidence in the chief pilot, Kelly Rogers, and his Boeing flying-boat was such that I asked specially that he should take charge. We left Stranraer on the night of June 17, shortly before midnight. The weather was perfect and the moon full. I sat for two hours or more in the co-pilot’s seat admiring the shining sea, revolving my problems, and thinking of the anxious battle. I slept soundly in the “bridal suite” until in broad daylight we reached Gander. Here we could have refuelled, but this was not thought necessary, and after making our salutes to the airfield we pursued our voyage. As we were travelling with the sun the day seemed very long. We had two luncheons with a six-hour interval, and contemplated a late dinner after arrival.
For the last two hours we flew over the land, and it was about seven o’clock by American time when we approached Washington. As we gradually descended towards the Potomac River I noticed that the top of the Washington Monument, which is over five hundred and fifty feet high, was about our level, and I impressed upon Captain Kelly Rogers that it would be peculiarly unfortunate if we brought our story to an end by hitting this of all other objects in the world. He assured me that he would take special care to miss it. Thus we landed safely and smoothly on the Potomac after a journey of twenty-seven flying hours. Lord Halifax, General Marshall, and several high officers of the United States welcomed us. I repaired to the British Embassy for dinner. It was too late for me to fly on to Hyde Park that night. We read all the latest telegrams—there was nothing important—and dined agreeably in the open air. The British Embassy, standing on the high ground, is one of the coolest places in Washington, and compares very favourably in this respect with the White House.
Early the next morning, the 19th, I flew to Hyde Park. The President was on the local airfield, and saw us make the roughest bump landing I have experienced. He welcomed me with great cordiality, and, driving the car himself, took me to the majestic bluffs over the Hudson River on which Hyde Park, his family home, stands. The President drove me all over the estate, showing me its splendid views. In this drive I had some thoughtful moments. Mr. Roosevelt’s infirmity prevented him from using his feet on the brake, clutch, or accelerator. An ingenious arrangement enabled him to do everything with his arms, which were amazingly strong and muscular. He invited me to feel his biceps, saying that a famous prize-fighter had envied them. This was reassuring; but I confess that when on several occasions the car poised and backed on the grass verges of the precipices over the Hudson I hoped the mechanical devices and brakes would show no defects. All the time we talked business, and though I was careful not to take his attention off the driving we made more progress than we might have done in formal conference.
The President was very glad to hear I had brought the C.I.G.S. with me. His field of interest was always brightened by recollections of his youth. It had happened that the President’s father had entertained at Hyde Park the father of General Brooke. Mr. Roosevelt theref
ore expressed keen interest to meet the son, who had reached such a high position. When they met two days later he received him with the utmost cordiality, and General Brooke’s personality and charm created an almost immediate intimacy which greatly helped the course of business.
I told Harry Hopkins about the different points on which I wanted decisions, and he talked them over with the President, so that the ground was prepared and the President’s mind armed upon each subject. Of these “Tube Alloys” was one of the most complex, and, as it proved, overwhelmingly the most important. I had my papers with me, but the discussion was postponed till the next day, the 20th, as the President needed more information from Washington. Our talk took place after luncheon, in a tiny little room which juts out on the ground floor. The room was dark and shaded from the sun. Mr. Roosevelt was ensconced at a desk almost as big as the apartment. Harry sat or stood in the background. My two American friends did not seem to mind the intense heat.
I told the President in general terms of the great progress we had made, and that our scientists were now definitely convinced that results might be reached before the end of the present war. He said his people were getting along too, but no one could tell whether anything practical would emerge till a full-scale experiment had been made. We both felt painfully the dangers of doing nothing. We knew what efforts the Germans were making to procure supplies of “heavy water”—a sinister term, eerie, unnatural, which began to creep into our secret papers. What if the enemy should get an atomic bomb before we did! However sceptical one might feel about the assertions of scientists, much disputed among themselves and expressed in jargon incomprehensible to laymen, we could not run the mortal risk of being outstripped in this awful sphere.
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