In the morning Montgomery had arranged for me to witness from a hill-top amid rolling downland the great fly-in. It was full daylight before the subdued but intense roar and rumbling of swarms of aircraft stole upon us. After that in the course of half an hour over 2,000 aircraft streamed overhead in their formations. My view-point had been well chosen. The light was clear enough to enable one to see where the descent on the enemy took place. The aircraft faded from sight, and then almost immediately afterwards returned towards us at a different level. The parachutists were invisible even to the best fieldglasses. But now there was a double murmur and roar of reinforcements arriving and of those who had delivered their attacks returning. Soon one saw with a sense of tragedy aircraft in twos and threes coming back askew, asmoke, or even in flames. Also at this time tiny specks came floating to earth. Imagination built on a good deal of experience told a hard and painful tale. It seemed however that nineteen out of every twenty of the aircraft that had started came back in good order, having discharged their mission. This was confirmed by what we heard an hour later when we got back to headquarters.
The assault was now in progress along the whole front, and I was conducted by motor on a long tour from one point to another, and to the various corps headquarters. Things went well all that day. The four assaulting divisions were safely across and established in bridgeheads 5,000 yards deep. The airborne divisions were going strong and our air operations were most successful. The strike of the Allied Air Forces, second only to that of D Day in Normandy, included not only the Strategic Air Forces in Britain but also heavy bombers from Italy, who made deep penetrations into Germany.
At 8 p.m. we repaired to the map wagon, and I now had an excellent opportunity of seeing Montgomery’s methods of conducting a battle on this gigantic scale. For nearly two hours a succession of young officers, of about the rank of major, presented themselves. Each had come back from a different sector of the front. They were the direct personal representatives of the Commander-in-Chief, and could go anywhere and see anything and ask any questions they liked of any commander. As in turn they made their reports and were searchingly questioned by their chief the whole story of the day’s battle was unfolded. This gave Monty a complete account of what had happened by highly competent men whom he knew well and whose eyes he trusted. It afforded an invaluable cross-check to the reports from all the various headquarters and from the commanders, all of which had already been sifted and weighed by General de Guingand, his Chief of Staff, and were known to Montgomery. By this process he was able to form a more vivid, direct, and sometimes more accurate picture. The officers ran great risks, and of the seven or eight to whom I listened on this and succeeding nights two were killed in the next few weeks. I thought the system admirable, and indeed the only way in which a modern Commander-in-Chief could see as well as read what was going on in every part of the front. This process having finished, Montgomery gave a series of directions to de Guingand, which were turned into immediate action by the Staff machine. And so to bed.
The next day, March 25, we went to meet Eisenhower. On our way I told Montgomery how his system resembled that of Marlborough and the conduct of battles in the eighteenth century, where the Commander-in-Chief acted through his lieutenant-generals. Then the Commander-in-Chief sat on his horse and directed by word of mouth a battle on a five- or six-mile front, which ended in a day and settled the fortunes of great nations, sometimes for years or generations to come. In order to make his will effective he had four or five lieutenant-generals posted at different points on the front, who knew his whole mind and were concerned with the execution of his plan. These officers commanded no troops and were intended to be off-shoots and expressions of the Supreme Commander. In modern times the general must sit in his office conducting a battle ranging over ten times the front and lasting often for a week or ten days. In these changed conditions Montgomery’s method of personal eye-witnesses, who were naturally treated with the utmost consideration by the front-line commanders of every grade, was an interesting though partial revival of old days.
We met Eisenhower before noon. Here a number of American generals were gathered. After various interchanges we had a brief lunch, in the course of which Eisenhower said that there was a house about ten miles away on our side of the Rhine, which the Americans had sandbagged, from which a fine view of the river and of the opposite bank could be obtained. He proposed that we should visit it, and conducted us there himself. The Rhine—here about four hundred yards broad—flowed at our feet. There was a smooth, flat expanse of meadows on the enemy’s side. The officers told us that the far bank was unoccupied so far as they knew, and we gazed and gaped at it for a while. With appropriate precautions we were led into the building. Then the Supreme Commander had to depart on other business, and Montgomery and I were about to follow his example when I saw a small launch come close by to moor. So I said to Montgomery, “Why don’t we go across and have a look at the other side?” Somewhat to my surprise he answered, “Why not?” After he had made some inquiries we started across the river with three or four American commanders and half a dozen armed men. We landed in brilliant sunshine and perfect peace on the German shore, and walked about for half an hour or so unmolested.
As we came back Montgomery said to the captain of the launch, “Can’t we go down the river towards Wesel, where there is something going on?” The captain replied that there was a chain across the river half a mile away to prevent floating mines interfering with our operations, and several of these might be held up by it. Montgomery pressed him hard, but was at length satisfied that the risk was too great. As we landed he said to me, “Let’s go down to the railway bridge at Wesel, where we can see what is going on on the spot.” So we got into his car, and, accompanied by the Americans, who were delighted at the prospect, we went to the big iron-girder railway bridge, which was broken in the middle but whose twisted ironwork offered good perches. The Germans were replying to our fire, and their shells fell in salvos of four about a mile away. Presently they came nearer. Then one salvo came overhead and plunged in the water on our side of the bridge. The shells seemed to explode on impact with the bottom, and raised great fountains of spray about a hundred yards away. Several other shells fell among the motor-cars which were concealed not far behind us, and it was decided we ought to depart. I clambered down and joined my adventurous host for our two hours’ drive back to his headquarters.
During the next few days we continued to gain ground and by the end of the month we possessed a springboard east of the Rhine from which to launch major operations deep into Northern Germany. In the south, the American armies, though not opposed so strongly, had made astonishing progress. The two bridgeheads which were the reward of their boldness were being daily reinforced and enlarged, and more crossings were made south of Koblenz and at Worms. On March 29 the American Third Army was in Frankfurt. The Ruhr and its 325,000 defenders were encircled. Germany’s Western Front had collapsed.
The question thus arose: Where should we go next? All kinds of rumours were rife about Hitler’s future plans. It seemed possible that after losing Berlin and Northern Germany he might retire to the mountainous and wooded parts of Southern Germany and endeavour to prolong the fight there. The strange resistance he made at Budapest, and the retention of Kesselring’s army in Italy so long, seemed in harmony with such an intention. Although nothing could be positive, the general conclusion of our Chiefs of Staff was that a prolonged German campaign, or even guerrilla, in the mountains was unlikely on any serious scale. The possibility was therefore relegated by us, as it proved rightly, to the shades. On this basis I inquired about the strategy for the advance of the Anglo-American armies as foreseen at Allied Headquarters.
“I propose,” telegraphed General Eisenhower, “driving eastward to join hands with Russians or to attain general line of Elbe. Subject to Russian intentions, the axis Kassel-Leipzig is the best for the drive, as it will ensure the overrunning of that important industrial a
rea, into which German Ministries are believed to be moving; it will cut the German forces approximately in half, and it will not involve us in crossing of Elbe. It is designed to divide and destroy the major part of remaining enemy forces in West.
“This will be my main thrust, and until it is quite clear that concentration of all our effort on it alone will not be necessary I am prepared to direct all my forces to ensuring its success.…
“Once the success of main thrust is assured I propose to take action to clear the northern ports, which in the case of Kiel will entail forcing the Elbe. Montgomery will be responsible for these tasks, and I propose to increase his forces if that should seem necessary for the purpose.”
About the same time we learned that Eisenhower had announced his policy in a direct telegram to Stalin on March 28 in which he said that after isolating the Ruhr he proposed to make his main thrust along the axis Erfurt-Leipzig-Dresden, which, by joining hands with the Russians, would cut in two the remaining German forces. A secondary advance through Regensburg to Linz, where also he expected to meet the Russians, would prevent “the consolidation of German resistance in the redoubt in Southern Germany.” Stalin agreed readily. He said that the proposal “entirely coincides with the plan of the Soviet High Command”. “Berlin,” he added, “has lost its former strategic importance. The Soviet High Command therefore plans to allot secondary forces in the direction of Berlin.” This statement was not borne out by events.
This seemed so important that on April 1 I sent a personal telegram to the President:
“… Obviously, laying aside every impediment and shunning every diversion, the Allied armies of the North and Centre should now march at the highest speed towards the Elbe. Hitherto the axis has been upon Berlin. General Eisenhower, on his estimate of the enemy’s resistance, to which I attach the greatest importance, now wishes to shift the axis somewhat to the southward and strike through Leipzig, even perhaps as far south as Dresden.… I say quite frankly that Berlin remains of high strategic importance. Nothing will exert a psychological effect of despair upon all German forces of resistance equal to that of the fall of Berlin. It will be the supreme signal of defeat to the German people. On the other hand, if left to itself to maintain a siege by the Russians among its ruins, and as long as the German flag flies there, it will animate the resistance of all Germans under arms.
“There is moreover another aspect which it is proper for you and me to consider. The Russian armies will no doubt overrun all Austria and enter Vienna. If they also take Berlin will not their impression that they have been the overwhelming contributor to our common victory be unduly imprinted in their minds, and may this not lead them into a mood which will raise grave and formidable difficulties in the future? I therefore consider that from a political standpoint we should march as far east into Germany as possible, and that should Berlin be in our grasp we should certainly take it. This also appears sound on military grounds.”
Actually, though I did not realise it, the President’s health was now so feeble that it was General Marshall who had to deal with these grave questions, and the United States Chiefs replied in substance that Eisenhower’s plan appeared to accord with agreed strategy and with his directive. He was deploying across the Rhine in the north the maximum forces which could be used. The secondary effort in the south was achieving an outstanding success, and was being exploited as much as supplies would permit. They were confident that the Supreme Commander’s action would secure the ports and everything else mentioned by the British more quickly and more decisively than the plan urged by them.
The Battle of Germany, they said, was at a point where it was for the Field Commander to judge the measures which should be taken. To turn away deliberately from the exploitation of the enemy’s weakness did not appear sound. The single objective should be quick and complete victory. While recognising that there were factors not of direct concern to the Supreme Commander, the United States Chiefs considered his strategic concept was sound.
Eisenhower himself assured me that he had never lost sight of the great importance of the drive to the northernmost coast, “… although your telegram did introduce a new idea respecting the political importance of the early attainment of particular objectives. I clearly see your point in this matter. The only difference between your suggestions and my plan is one of timing.… In order to assure the success of each of my planned efforts, I concentrate first in the Centre to gain the position I need. As it looks to me now, the next move thereafter should be to have Montgomery cross the Elbe, reinforced as necessary by American troops, and reach at least a line including Lübeck on the coast. If German resistance from now on should progressively and definitely crumble you can see that there would be little if any difference in time between gaining central position and crossing the Elbe. On the other hand, if resistance tends to stiffen at all I can see that it is vitally necessary that I concentrate for each effort, and do not allow myself to be dispersed by attempting to do all these projects at once.
“Quite naturally, if at any moment collapse should suddenly come about everywhere along the front we would rush forward, and Lübeck and Berlin would be included in our important targets.”
“Thank you again for your most kind telegram” I answered, “… I am however all the more impressed with the importance of entering Berlin, which may well be open to us, by the reply from Moscow to you, which … says, ‘Berlin has lost its former strategic importance.’ This should be read in the light of what I mentioned of the political aspects. I deem it highly important that we should shake hands with the Russians as far to the east as possible.… Much may happen in the West before the date of Stalin’s main offensive.”
I thought it my duty to end this correspondence between friends, and the changes in the main plan, as I said to Roosevelt at the time, were much less than we at first supposed, but I must place on record my conviction that in Washington especially longer and wider views should have prevailed. As war waged by a coalition draws to its end political aspects have a mounting importance. It is true that American thought is at least disinterested in matters which seem to relate to territorial acquisitions, but when wolves are about the shepherd must guard his flock, even if he does not himself care for mutton. At this time the points at issue did not seem to the United States Chiefs of Staff to be of capital importance. They were of course unnoticed by and unknown to the public, and were all soon swamped, and for the time being effaced, by the flowing tide of victory. Nevertheless, as will not now be disputed, they played a dominating part in the destiny of Europe, and may well have denied us all the lasting peace for which we had fought so long and hard. We can now see the deadly hiatus which existed between the fading of President Roosevelt’s strength and the growth of President Truman’s grip of the vast world problem. In this melancholy void one President could not act and the other could not know. Neither the military chiefs nor the State Department received the guidance they required. The former confined themselves to their professional sphere; the latter did not comprehend the issues involved. The indispensable political direction was lacking at the moment when it was most needed. The United States stood on the scene of victory, master of world fortunes, but without a true and coherent design. Britain, though still very powerful, could not act decisively alone. I could at this stage only warn and plead. Thus this climax of apparently measureless success was to me a most unhappy time. I moved amid cheering crowds, or sat at a table adorned with congratulations and blessings from every part of the Grand Alliance, with an aching heart and a mind oppressed by forebodings.
The destruction of German military power had brought with it a fundamental change in the relations between Communist Russia and the Western democracies. They had lost their common enemy, which was almost their sole bond of union. Henceforward Russian imperialism and the Communist creed saw and set no bounds to their progress and ultimate dominion, and more than two years were to pass before they were confronted again with an equal will-po
wer. I should not tell this tale now when all is plain in glaring light if I had not known it and felt it when all was dim, and when abounding triumph only intensified the inner darkness of human affairs. Of this the reader must be the judge.
CHAPTER XXV
THE IRON CURTAIN
As the weeks passed after Yalta it became clear that the Soviet Government was doing nothing to carry out our agreements about broadening the Polish Government to include all Polish parties and both sides. Molotov steadily refused to give an opinion about the Poles we mentioned, and not one of them was allowed to come even to a preliminary round-table discussion. He had offered to allow us to send observers to Poland, and had been disconcerted by the readiness and speed with which we had accepted, arguing, among other things, that it might affect the prestige of the Lublin Provisional Government. No progress of any kind was made in the talks at Moscow. Time was on the side of the Russians and their Polish adherents, who were fastening their grip upon the country by all kinds of severe measures, which they did not wish outside observers to see. Every day’s delay was a gain to these hard forces.
On the very evening when I was speaking in the House of Commons upon the results of our labours at Yalta the first violation by the Russians both of the spirit and letter of our agreements took place in Roumania. We were all committed by the Declaration on Liberated Europe, so recently signed, to see that both free elections and democratic Governments were established in the countries occupied by Allied armies. On February 27 Vyshinsky, who had appeared in Bucharest without warning on the previous day, demanded an audience of King Michael and insisted that he should dismiss the all-party Government which had been formed after the royal coup d’état of August 1944 and had led to the expulsion of the Germans from Roumania. The young monarch, backed by his Foreign Minister, Visoianu, resisted these demands until the following day. Vyshinsky called again, and, brushing aside the King’s request at least to be allowed to consult the leaders of the political parties, banged his fist on the table, shouted for an immediate acquiescence, and walked out of the room, slamming the door. At the same time Soviet tanks and troops deployed in the streets of the capital, and on March 6 a Soviet-nominated Administration took office.
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