War as I Knew It

by George S. Patton

  The house occupied by the other officers was similar to mine, but had more bedrooms, four, I believe. The beds were covered with velvet, over which were laid real lace counterpanes. Each bedroom had a modem bathroom.

  After we had washed for half an hour, which apparently was the rule, we went into the third house, built on similar lines, where we drank tea. When this was finished, the Cadi, who is the Pasha’s son, took us on a tour of the city and surrounding country, all of which belongs to the Pasha.

  They have several very large concrete tanks, I should think about two hundred yards on a side and about ten feet deep. At one of these tanks the guide informed me a Sultan had been drowned, although he personally thought he had been murdered; and he showed me the boat in which the accident had occurred. It was a large steam launch with a steam engine, dated about 1880. The boat was about thirty feet long, in a fairly dilapidated state, but once had been painted yellow and green, with a gold design laid on.

  The “diffa,” at which only about twelve people were present, was along the usual fines except that everything was more elegant. In fact, General Martin, who has served in Morocco for forty years, said he had never seen such a banquet. After dinner we went to a room and had two sets of dancers entertain us for about an hour. These women would seem to be about thirty, and are, I understand, very highly trained. Each one wears a pastel-colored dress and over it a sort of surplice of lace. There are six women in each group with one male fiddler playing the single stringed instrument which always accompanies these dances. Four of the women beat time and squeal, while two go out and do a sort of duet. They waltz around for a little while, then kick the front of their dresses about three times, stamping their feet in time to the music, and then do one minute of a violent hula. They then return to their place in the line and two other girls do the same thing. This continues without alteration until the end of the show.

  We were called at six on the morning of the third for a light breakfast. The light breakfast, which Wilbur and I ate, took five men to serve, and consisted of coffee, toast, three kinds of preserves, tea, four kinds of candy, and some cakes that looked like scones, only not so well cooked. Afterward I found the five men eating what was left, which was ample for about fifteen.

  We left the palace in the pitch dark about seven o’clock. I rode with the Pasha and his personal bodyguard in a Rolls-Royce. The others followed in two other cars accompanied by the son of the Pasha. We drove for about two hundred miles through desert gradually changing into the foothills of the Atlas Mountains. This was the country in which as a young man the Pasha had fought, and it was very interesting to hear him describe the fights which had taken place. He is a Berber, and for three hundred years his family has ruled this part of the country as absolute chiefs. I have never met a man in whom the hereditary qualities of leadership are so apparent. The idea of his superiority is so inbred that he does not have to show it. Wherever he passes, the Arabs bow and give a modified Hitler salute. So far as he is concerned they do not exist, and yet at the table he will help clear off a course and pick up the crumbs. In profile he looks very much like an Egyptian mummy with a cafe-au-lait complexion on the dark side. His hands are beautiful.

  He said that Arabs would never fight against Berbers except in buildings; and in his early days they had very few weapons except muskets, so the only way he could kill Arabs—of whom he had destroyed many hundreds—was by sneaking up to a defended house at night and putting a bomb under it. In this operation they would make a fuse out of hairs from their whiskers and threads from their coats, impregnating them with powder; and when the sun came up, they would tell the Arabs they would blow up the house if they did not come out. If they came out, they shot them, which the Pasha described with appropriate gestures. If they refused to come out, they blew a hole in the wall and stormed it and killed them with swords. He described one fight in which he had attacked with two platoons for about twelve hours against a thousand Arabs.

  The road we drove along was the one where he had had this fight. Apparently this time the Arabs were not in the houses. He had one platoon attack by fire, and he led the other one in a mounted charge from the flank. He said it was very gay, and that nearly all his men were killed as well as the Arabs. He also showed me an olive grove where he said there were so many dead Arabs that the jackals got sick eating them.

  The country is full of almond trees, which are really beautiful. Viewed from the air, they look like ghost bouquets or like bits of cobweb covered with dew. When you get close, they look very much like cherry trees, only more beautiful, and more numerous than any cherry trees I have ever seen. There is an Arab custom that when a man is married or has a birthday, all his friends come and each brings five almond seeds which they plant. This account for the large number of trees.

  After driving one hundred and twenty miles we came to a tent where a second breakfast of cake, wine, and coffee was served and where we were met by six French officers. There were a number of Goums present, armed with carbines, and riding one horse and leading another. I drew a very nice Arab stallion. He was about fifteen-two and probably weighed a thousand pounds. The saddle was an exact copy of the military saddle I bought of Jannin at Saumur in 1912. The Pasha rode a mule, large and black, with a red saddle shaped something like a bathtub. When we were all mounted, we proceeded up the mountains for about an hour. In addition to the mounted grooms, there were an equal number of footmen, who carried shotguns for the mounted men, or simply went along for the fun. We were moving at a good hound trot and these men kept up with perfect ease, barefooted, over sharp rocks and a few cactus.

  When we reached the place for the drive, the Pasha personally placed the important guests. I was on the left in unquestionably the best place. Wilbur was next beyond me, and on the Pasha’s right were Colonels Gay and Williams. Each post was in a blind made of cut brush about three feet high. I could see to the front about forty feet.

  When everyone was in position, the beaters, of whom there were about a thousand, started to work. First, jackals and foxes came running very fast through the trees, and I missed three shots, but so did everyone else. Then a very large boar charged immediately in front of the Pasha, who missed him, and then turned with his Mannlicher rifle and opened fire at the boar and the retainers, who were all getting out of his way. Fortunately, no one, including the boar, was hit.

  About this time the largest and blackest boar I have ever seen came straight at. me over rocks, and downhill. I hit him in the left eye with a slug at about fifteen feet, and his momentum carried him so that he fell close enough to splash blood on me. It was really quite exciting, because, had I failed to stop him, he would probably have hit me, and he had very fine teeth.

  Another boar came whom the Pasha shot through the body, but failed to stop until he had pursued a number of Arabs. Everybody except me turned and shot at this one, and again no one was hit except the boar.

  At the completion of this beat, we moved downhill, about five hundred yards, and had what they called a “contrebattu,” which means that they drive the game back over the ground they have just passed. This time I shot a jackal, but did not have a shot at a boar. The Pasha killed two more boars, still with his rifle. In all, we killed fourteen boars, five jackals, three foxes, and two rabbits.

  We drove back to the tent where the cars were waiting, had some more food, and were informed that the local chief was holding a diffa for us. We got to his place, which was a one-building village like Ouarzazate, only smaller, with about three hundred inhabitants, all of whom lined the courtyard, dancing and singing during the entire meal.

  Owing to the fact that I had to get a plane back before five o’clock, this was a short affair lasting only an hour and a half, but not during one moment of this time did the inhabitants stop singing and dancing.

  Flying back in the evening, I was struck by the fact that the whole country is pockmarked with old Arab tent emplacements. They give one the impression of leech bites on horses. T
he number of these indicates that this country has been tremendously inhabited for a very long time.

  It has always been my ambition to meet a robber chief in his own country, and also to have an exciting hunt with little danger. The Pasha and my wild boar, which was the largest killed, satisfied my two ambitions.

  Victory Parade Held at Tunis, May 20,19431

  Headquarters I Armoured Corps

  May 20,1943

  On the night of the eighteenth, General Eisenhower phoned and asked General Bradley9 10 and myself to be present at the parade, probably feeling that we had something to do with its existence.

  B-25 Mitchell

  We secured a B-25 from General Cannon and flying at better than two hundred and forty miles an hour, with a tail wind, reached Tunis at 9:45 a.m. The flight up was particularly interesting to us, as we passed over most of Bradley’s battlefields. We also passed over the ruins of Carthage, which are only visible on the map— -on the ground there is nothing to see. However, the mountains back of it, of which I read a description in some old book, were perfectly familiar.

  Our bombing of Tunis had been extremely accurate, because, while the waterfront was largely obliterated, the •other portions of the city were hardly hit at all. All the airfields were covered with destroyed German planes, probably several hundred.

  When we reached the field, General Eisenhower had just arrived, driven by Kay.11 We both shook hands with him and congratulated him, but he was so busy meeting high ranking officers of the French and British Armies that we had no time to talk to him.

  Shortly after we arrived, General Giraud2 came and was warmly greeted by everyone. After a while the “sacred families” got into automobiles, escorted by British armored cars, and we followed behind the escort with General Catroux3 as our companion. He speaks the clearest and most beautiful French I have ever heard, and we had quite a nice conversation.

  Bradley and I were put on the right of the reviewing stand, which was largely occupied by French civilians and minor military officers.

  Immediately in front of us was the line of French Colonial Infantry, of a very dark color, although I do not believe they were Senegalese. Just across from us was a battalion from one of the British Guard Regiments, who put up an exceedingly fine appearance.

  On my immediate left was a very large French ecclesiastic with a purple sash around his middle, which acted as a background for a tremendous cross with an amethyst in it. I do not know who this man was, but he was apparently much beloved, as many French officers and enlisted men came up and shook hands with him and called him General. I think he spoke English, as he apparently understood what I said to Bradley.

  Presently, there was a great fanfare of trumpets and much saluting, followed by what the French call “A fire of joy.” It was very amusing to notice the change in people’s expressions—practically all of whom had been bombed—when they found out that it wasn’t an air attack.

  All this noise heralded the arrival of General Giraud and General Eisenhower, accompanied by Admiral Sir Andrew Cunningham,1 General Sir Harold Alexander,12 13 General Anderson,14 Chief Air Marshal Tedder,15 Air Marshal Conyngham,16 Mr. Macmillan,17 the British political officer, and Mr. Murphy,18 the American. Mr. Murphy and General Eisenhower were the only two Americans on the stand.

  The next event was a march-past by a band of Highland pipers, I think from the 42d Regiment. They came by in the traditional half-step, counter-marched, and re-passed. It was a very splendid sight.

  When they had cleared the front, the band of the Foreign Legion, with the traditional white caps and red epaulets, numbering at least one hundred instruments, marched by leading the French contingent.

  Then, for nearly an hour, the French troops, who had participated in the battle, marched by. As usual, they marched magnificently. They have an innate capacity for ceremonial marching, and, as far as that goes, for any other kind of marching. They consisted of French white troops, French Senegalese, Goums, and the Foreign Legion. The Foreign Legion was very resplendent, with enormous whiskers, many of which were red or blond. In fact, it seems to me that the French Foreign Legion is largely composed of Germans and Swedes. They are very fine-looking troops.

  One impressive thing was that these troops, who had participated in a victorious campaign, were armed with Model 1914 equipment, in spite of which fact they had done well. Of course, now, they will be immediately re-equipped with American Lend-Lease materiel. However, during the fighting, the only American equipment they had were some Thompson sub-machine guns and some Bazookas.

  Each French regiment and separate battalion carried the Tricolor, with the battalion honors written on it. This caused almost continual saluting on the part of the spectators.

  After the French had passed, a battalion of the 34th Infantry Division came by. Our men were magnificent physical specimens, very well turned out, but there were no flags, not even company guidons; and regimental commanders marched on the right of the file closers of the leading company.

  In spite of their magnificent appearance, our men do not put up a good show in reviews. I think that we still lack pride in being soldiers, and must develop it.

  Following the Americans came the British contingents with a representation from every division in the First Army, each led by its division or corps commander. The Guard units were big men; the others were very small. All of them were dressed in shorts, except the Gurkhas, who are very small, and, in addition to their bayonets, carry a huge knife something like the Philippine bolo.

  The British also understand the art of ceremonial marching and really put on a splendid show. There was one sergeant major who should be immortalized in a painting. He typified all that is great in the British noncommissioned officer, and he certainly knew it. I have never seen a man strut more.

  Following the British infantry came the American tanks manned by British, and the British Churchill tanks, also a number of field guns.

  The whole march-past lasted about two and one-half hours. When it was over, about thirty of us were asked to a lunch at the French Residency, given by General Giraud. It was a very formal affair, but there were no toasts. Afterward, most of us had to leave at once in order to get back to our stations before dark.

  I hope this is only the first of many such triumphal processions in which I shall participate.

  The flight back was very fast because the wind had changed, and again we had about a thirty-mile tail wind, with the result that we got in half an hour before we were expected and had to wait.

  At the lunch I met my friend General Briggs, who commands the British 1st Armored Division, and had a chance to introduce him to General Harmon, who is commanding our 1st Armored Division. They are very much alike and both very successful.

  General Giraud remembered me at once and was extremely complimentary in his remarks. He is a very impressive man and looks exactly like a modernized Vercingetorix.

  Bazooka

  Notes on the Arab

  Casablanca

  June 9,1943

  It took me a long time to realize how much a student of medieval history can gain from observing the Arabs.

  All members of our oil-daubed civilization think of roads as long slabs of concrete or black-top, or at least as dragged and graded thoroughfares full of wheel ruts. As a matter of fact, roads, or perhaps it is better to call them trails, existed thousands of years before the earth-shaking invention of the wheel was even dreamed of, and it was along such roads that our sandaled or barefoot progenitors moved from place to place just as the Arabs do today.

  Viewed from the air, the Arab road is a gently meandering tracery of individual footpaths. Where the going is good, this collection of paths may spread to a width of twenty to forty yards, while, where rocky outcroppings must be circumvented or defiles pass through the wandering tendrils, they come into focus and form a single path, only again to spread out when the going improves. Nowhere is a wheel track or a heelmark, because the Arabs wear heelless sli
ppers or go barefooted; their animals are unshod—there are no vehicles.

  In the waterless districts, the roads are generally straight, but not in the brutal mathematical meaning of the term. They are straight only as a man would walk from one point to another, or as the dried slime path where a snail has crossed the sidewalk.

  In the coastal lands where there is rain, we have alternative roads. The principal track follows the ridges for the same reason that, in our West, the Indian trails and buffalo paths, and even the highways made by the pioneers, stick to the high ground. In the dry season, the meanderings of the crestlined road are short-circuited at times by trails leading across low ground which would be useless in the rainy season.

  In the forest, the roads are even more sinuous. The men who made them could not see very far, so the trail wanders largely and keeps only a general direction.

  It takes little imagination to translate the Arab on his white stallion and the men and women on donkeys into the Canterbury pilgrims, while the footman, equipped with a large staff and poniard, can easily be mistaken for Friar Tuck, Little John, or Robin Hood. This similarity not only applies to their dress, save the turban, but also to their whiskers, filth, and probably to their morals; and they are all talking, always talking. They have no other recourse. Few can read, there are no books, no newspapers, no radios, to distract them. Only the spoken word, and truly they are “winged words” with a daily rate of from forty to sixty miles, as we learned during the battles in Tunisia by checking the known origin of a rumor against the time we heard it.

  Of course rumors were not factual, but were in general little less garbled in transmission than some of those received by radio. In the rumors, tanks often were reported as trucks and trucks as tanks, and always the number attained astronomical proportions; but that is natural. Once I asked a farmer in Virginia how many