The whole conference lasted over six hours, but the achievement was small, and as the days passed only slight improvement was made with the festering sore of Soviet-Polish affairs. The Poles from London were willing to accept the Curzon Line “as a line of demarcation between Russia and Poland”. The Russians insisted on the words “as a basis of frontier between Russia and Poland”. Neither side would give way. Mikolajczyk declared that he would be repudiated by his own people, and Stalin at the end of a talk of two hours and a quarter which I had with him alone remarked that he and Molotov were the only two of those he worked with who were favourable to dealing “softly” with Mikolajczyk. I was sure there were strong pressures in the background, both party and military.
Stalin was against trying to form a united Polish Government without the frontier question being agreed. Had this been settled he would have been quite willing that Mikolajczyk should head the new Government. I myself thought that difficulties not less obstinate would arise in a discussion for a merger of the Polish Government with the Lublin Poles, whose representatives continued to make the worst possible impression on us, and who, I told Stalin, were “only an expression of the Soviet will”. They had no doubt also the ambition to rule Poland, and were thus a kind of Quislings. In all the circumstances the best course was for the two Polish delegations to return whence they had come. I felt very deeply the responsibility which lay on me and the Foreign Secretary in trying to frame proposals for a Russo-Polish settlement. Even forcing the Curzon Line upon Poland would excite criticism.
In other directions considerable advantages had been gained. The resolve of the Soviet Government to attack Japan on the overthrow of Hitler was obvious. This would have supreme value in shortening the whole struggle. The arrangements made about the Balkans were, I was sure, the best possible. Coupled with successful military action, they should now be effective in saving Greece, and I had no doubt that our agreement to pursue a fifty-fifty joint policy in Yugoslavia was the best solution for our difficulties in view of Tito’s behaviour—having lived under our protection for three or four months, he had come secretly to Moscow to confer, without telling us where he had gone—and of the arrival of Russian and Bulgarian forces under Russian command to help his eastern flank.
There is no doubt that in our narrow circle we talked with an ease, freedom, and cordiality never before attained between our two countries. Stalin made several expressions of personal regard which I feel sure were sincere. But I became even more convinced that he was by no means alone. As I said to my colleagues at home, “Behind the horseman sits black care.”
On the evening of October 17 we held our last meeting. The news had just arrived that Admiral Horthy had been arrested by the Germans as a precaution now that the whole German front in Hungary was disintegrating. I remarked that I hoped the Ljubljana Gap could be reached as fast as possible, and added that I did not think the war would be over before the spring.
CHAPTER XX
PARIS AND THE ARDENNES
IT was thought fitting that my first visit to Paris should be on Armistice Day, November 11, 1944, and this was publicly announced. There were many reports that collaborators would make attempts on my life and extreme precautions were taken. On the afternoon of November 10 I landed at Orly airfield, where de Gaulle received me with a guard of honour, and we drove together through the outskirts of Paris and into the city itself until we reached the Quai d’Orsay, where my wife and Mary and I were entertained in state. The building had long been occupied by the Germans, and I was assured I should sleep in the same bed and use the same bathroom as had Goering. Everything was mounted and serviced magnificently, and inside the palace it was difficult to believe that my last meeting there with Reynaud’s Government and General Gamelin in May 1940 was anything but a bad dream. At eleven o’clock on the morning of November 11 de Gaulle conducted me in an open car across the Seine and through the Place de la Concorde, with a splendid escort of Gardes Républicains in full uniform with all their breastplates. They were several hundred strong, and provided a brilliant spectacle, on which the sun shone brightly. The whole of the famous avenue of the Champs Élysées was crowded with Parisians and lined with troops. Every window was filled with spectators and decorated with flags. We proceeded through wildly cheering multitudes to the Arc de Triomphe, where we both laid wreaths upon the tomb of the Unknown Warrior. After this ceremony was over the General and I walked together, followed by a concourse of the leading figures of French public life, for half a mile down the highway I knew so well. We then took our places on a dais, and there was a splendid march past of French and British troops. Our Guards detachment was magnificent. When this was over I laid a wreath beneath the statue of Clemenceau, who was much in my thoughts on this moving occasion.
De Gaulle entertained me at a large luncheon at the Ministry of War, and made a most flattering speech about my war services, and on the night of the 12th after dinner at the Embassy we left for Besançon. The General was anxious for me to see the attack on a considerable scale which was planned for the French Army under General de Lattre de Tassigny. All the arrangements for the journey in a luxurious special train were most carefully made, and we arrived in plenty of time for the battle. We were to go to an observation point in the mountains, but owing to bitter cold and deep snow the roads were impassable and the whole operation had to be delayed. I passed the day driving with de Gaulle, and we found plenty to talk about in a long and severe excursion, inspecting troops at intervals. The programme continued long after dark. The French soldiers seemed in the highest spirits. They marched past in great style and sang famous songs with moving enthusiasm. My personal party—my daughter Mary and my naval aide Tommy—feared that I should have another go of pneumonia, since we were out at least ten hours in terrible weather. But all went well, and in the train the dinner was pleasant and interesting. I was struck by the awe, and even apprehension, with which half a dozen high generals treated de Gaulle in spite of the fact that he had only one star on his uniform and they had lots.
During the night our train divided. De Gaulle returned to Paris, and our half went on to Rheims, arriving next morning, when I went to Ike’s headquarters. In the afternoon I flew back to Northolt.
By now the situation on the Western Front was not nearly so agreeable. There had been much preparation for the advance to the Rhine, but the November rains were the worst for many years, flooding the rivers and streams, and making quagmires through which the infantry had to struggle. In the British sector Dempsey’s Second Army drove the enemy back across the Meuse. Farther south we joined hands with the Ninth U.S. Army and toiled over saturated country towards the river Roer. It would have been rash as yet to cross it, because its level was controlled by massive dams which were still in enemy hands, and by opening the sluices he could have cut off our troops on the far bank. Heavy bombers tried to burst the dams and release the water, but in spite of several direct hits no gap was made, and on December 13 the First U.S. Army had to renew their advance to capture them.
South of the Ardennes Patton had crossed the Moselle and thrust eastwards to the German frontier. Here he confronted the strongest part of the Siegfried defences. Against formidable and obstinately held fortifications his Army came to a halt. On the right of the line General Devers’s Sixth Army Group forced their way through the Vosges and the Belfort Gap. The French, after a week’s battle, the opening of which I had hoped to see, captured Belfort on November 22 and reached the Rhine north of Bâle. Thence they swung down-river, turned the German flank in the Vosges and compelled the enemy to withdraw. Strasbourg was entered on the 23rd, and during the next few weeks the American Seventh Army cleared all Northern Alsace, wheeled up on the right of the Third Army, crossed the German frontier on a wide front, and penetrated the Siegfried Line near Wissembourg.
But these considerable successes could not mask the fact that the Western Allies had sustained a strategic reverse. Before this great movement was launched we placed on
record our view that it was a mistake to attack against the whole front and that a far greater mass should have been gathered at the point of desired penetration. Montgomery’s comments and predictions beforehand had in every way been borne out. “You must remember however”, I cabled to Smuts, “that our armies are only about one-half the size of the American and will soon be little more than one-third. All is friendly and loyal in the military sphere in spite of the disappointment sustained.… But it is not so easy as it used to be for me to get things done.…”
I also recounted my forebodings to the President. “The time has come”, I wrote on December 6, “for me to place before you the serious and disappointing war situation which faces us at the close of this year. Although many fine tactical victories have been gained, … the fact remains that we have definitely failed to achieve the strategic object which we gave to our armies five weeks ago. We have not yet reached the Rhine in the northern part and most important sector of the front, and we shall have to continue the great battle for many weeks before we can hope to reach the Rhine and establish our bridgeheads. After that, again, we have to advance through Germany.
“In Italy the Germans are still keeping twenty-six divisions—equivalent to perhaps sixteen full strength or more—on our front. … The reason why the Fifteenth Group of Armies has not been able to inflict a decisive defeat on Kesselring is that, owing to the delay caused by the weakening of our forces for the sake of ‘Dragoon’ [the Riviera landing in the South of France], we did not get through the Apennines till the valley of the Po had become waterlogged. Thus neither in the mountains nor on the plains have we been able to use our superiority in armour.
“On account of the obstinacy of the German resistance on all fronts, we did not withdraw the five British and British-Indian divisions from Europe in order to enable Mountbatten to attack Rangoon in March, and for other reasons also this operation became impracticable. Mountbatten therefore began, as we agreed at Quebec, the general advance through Burma downstream from the north and the west, and this has made satisfactory progress. Now, owing to the advance of the Japanese in China, with its deadly threat to Kunming and perhaps Chungking, to the Generalissimo and his régime, two and possibly more Chinese divisions have to be withdrawn for the defence of China. I have little doubt that this was inevitable and right. The consequences however are serious. … All my ideas about a really weighty blow across the Adriatic or across the Bay of Bengal have been set back.
“When we contrast these realities with the rosy expectations of our peoples, in spite of our joint efforts to damp them down, the question very definitely arises, ‘What are we going to do about it?’ My anxiety is increased by the destruction of all hopes of an early meeting between the three of us and the indefinite postponement of another meeting of you and me with our Staffs. Our British plans are dependent on yours, our Anglo-American problems at least must be surveyed as a whole, and the telegraph and the telephone more often than not only darken counsel. Therefore I feel that if you are unable to come yourself before February I am bound to ask you whether you could not send your Chiefs of Staff over here as soon as practicable, where they would be close to your main armies and to General Eisenhower and where the whole stormy scene can be calmly and patiently studied with a view to action as closely concerned as that which signalised our campaigns of 1944.”
RUNDSTEDT’S COUNTER-OFFENSIVE
Though sympathetic, Mr. Roosevelt did not appear to share my anxieties. “I always felt”, he answered, “that the occupation of Germany up to the left bank of the Rhine would be a very stiff job. Because in the old days I bicycled over most of the Rhine terrain, I have never been as optimistic as to the ease of getting across the Rhine with our joint armies as many of the commanding officers have been.
“However, our agreed broad strategy is developing according to plan. You and I are now in the position of Commanders-in-Chief who have prepared their plans, issued their orders, and committed their resources to battle according to those plans and orders. For the time being, even if a little behind schedule, it seems to me the prosecution and outcome of the battles lie with our Field Commanders, in whom I have every confidence.…”
A heavy blow now impended. Within six days of sending this telegram a crisis burst upon us. The Allied decision to strike hard from Aachen in the north as well as through Alsace in the south had left our centre very weak. In the Ardennes sector a single corps, the VIIIth American, of four divisions, held a front of seventy-five miles. The risk was foreseen and deliberately accepted, but the consequences were grave and might have been graver. By a remarkable feat the enemy gathered about seventy divisions on their Western Front, of which fifteen were armoured. Many were under strength and needed rest and re-equipment, but one formation, the Sixth Panzer Army, was known to be strong and in good fettle. This potential spear-head had been carefully watched while it lay in reserve east of Aachen. When the fighting on that front died down in early December it vanished for a while from the ken of our Intelligence, and bad flying weather hindered our efforts to trace it. Eisenhower suspected that something was afoot, though its scope and violence came as a surprise.
The Germans had indeed a major plan. Rundstedt assembled two Panzer armies. the Fifth and Sixth, and the Seventh Army, a total of ten Panzer and fourteen infantry divisions. This great force, led by its armour, was intended to break through the Ardennes to the river Meuse, swing north and north-west, cut the Allied line in two, seize the port of Antwerp, and sever the life-line of our northern armies. The stroke was planned by Hitler, who would brook no changes in it on the part of his doubting generals. The remnants of the German Air Force were assembled for a final effort, while paratroops, saboteurs, and agents in Allied uniforms were given their parts to play.
The attack began on December 16 under a heavy artillery barrage. At its northern flank the Sixth Panzer Army ran into the right of the First U.S. Army in the act of advancing towards the Roer dams. After a swaying battle the enemy were held. Farther south the Germans broke through on a narrow front, but were hindered for several critical days. The Sixth Panzer Army launched a new spear-head to strike west and then northwards at the Meuse above Liége. The Fifth Panzer Army cut through the centre of the American Corps, and penetrated deeply towards the Meuse.
Although the time and weight of the attack surprised the Allied High Command its importance and purpose were quickly recognised. They resolved to strengthen the “shoulders” of the break-through, hold the Meuse crossings both east and south of Namur, and mass mobile troops to crush the salient from north and south. Eisenhower acted speedily. He stopped all Allied attacks in progress and brought up four American divisions from reserve, and six more from the south. Two airborne divisions, one of them the 6th British, came from England. North of the salient, four divisions of the British XXXth Corps, which had just come out of the line on the river Roer, were concentrated between Liége and Louvain behind the American First and Ninth Armies. These latter threw in all their reserves to extend a defensive flank westwards from Malmedy.
By severing the front of General Bradley’s Twelfth Army Group the Germans had made it impossible for him to exercise effective command from his headquarters in Luxembourg over his two armies north of the bulge. General Eisenhower therefore very wisely placed Montgomery in temporary command of all Allied troops in the north, while Bradley retained the Third U.S. Army and was charged with holding and counter-attacking the enemy from the south. Corresponding arrangements were made for the tactical air forces.
Three of our reinforcing divisions lined the Meuse south of Namur. Bradley concentrated a corps at Arlon and sent the American 101st Airborne Division to secure the important road junctions at Bastogne. The German armour swung north and sought to break their way north-westwards, leaving their infantry to capture the town. The 101st, with some armoured units, were isolated, and for a week beat off all attacks.
The wheel of the Fifth and Sixth Panzer Armies produced bitter fighting ar
ound Marche, which lasted till December 26. By then the Germans were exhausted, although at one time they were only four miles from the Meuse and had penetrated over sixty miles. Bad weather and low ground fogs had kept our air forces out of the first week of the battle, but on December 23 flying conditions got better and they intervened with tremendous effect. Heavy bombers attacked railways and centres of movement behind the enemy lines, and tactical air forces played havoc in his forward areas, starving him of reinforcements, fuel, food, and ammunition. Strategic raids on German refineries helped to deny him petrol and slacken the advance.
Baulked of their foremost objective, the Meuse, the Panzers turned savagely on Bastogne. The 101st Division, though reinforced, was vastly outnumbered. They held the town grimly for another week, and by the end of December the German High Command must have realised, however unwillingly, that the battle was lost. A counter-offensive by Patton was steadily if slowly progressing over the snow-choked countryside. The enemy made one last bid, this time in the air. On January 1, 1945, they made a violent low-level surprise attack on all our forward airfields. Our losses, though heavy, were promptly replaced, but the Luftwaffe lost more than they could afford in their final massed attack of the Second World War.
Three days later Montgomery launched a counter-stroke from the north to join Patton’s advance from the south. Two American corps, with the British on their western flank, pressed down upon the enemy. Struggling through snowstorms, the two wings of the Allied attack slowly drew closer and met at Houffalize on the 16th. The Germans were forced steadily eastwards and harassed continually from the air. By the end of the month they were back behind their frontiers, with nothing to show for their supreme effort except ruinous losses of material and casualties amounting to a hundred and twenty thousand men.
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