The Last Battle: The Classic History of the Battle for Berlin

by Cornelius Ryan

  Before midnight on March 29 Churchill had called Eisenhower on the scrambler telephone and asked for a clarification of the Supreme Commander’s plans. The Prime Minister carefully avoided mentioning the Stalin cable. Instead he stressed the political significance of Berlin and argued that Montgomery should be allowed to continue the northern offensive. It was of paramount importance, Churchill felt, that the Allies capture the capital before the Russians. Now, on this March 30, as he began the 60-odd-mile drive to Chequers, he pondered Eisenhower’s answer with profound concern. “Berlin,” the Supreme Commander had said, “is no longer a major military objective.”

  In Reims, Dwight Eisenhower’s temper was mounting in pace with the British protests. The London reaction to the curbing of Montgomery’s northern drive had surprised him by its vehemence, but more astonishing to Eisenhower was the storm raging over his cable to Stalin. He could see no reason for any controversy. He believed his action was both correct and militarily essential, and he was incensed to find his decision challenged. Short-tempered at best, Eisenhower was now the angriest Allied leader of all.

  On the morning of March 30 he began to respond to the messages from Washington and London. His first move was to send a brief acknowledgment of Marshall’s overnight cable. He promised a more detailed answer within a few hours, but for the moment simply stated that he had not changed plans, and that the British charge “has no possible basis in fact…. My plan will get the ports and all the other things on the north coast more speedily and decisively than will the dispersion now urged upon me by Wilson’s message to you.”

  Next, in reply to the Prime Minister’s nighttime telephone request, he sent Churchill additional details clarifying the orders which had been issued Montgomery. “Subject to Russian intentions” a central drive to Leipzig and Dresden under Bradley’s command seemed called for because it would cut the German armies “approximately in half “ and destroy the major part of the remaining enemy forces in the West.” Once its success was assured, Eisenhower intended “to take action to clear the northern ports.” Montgomery, said the Supreme Commander, would be “responsible for these tasks, and I propose to increase his forces if that should seem necessary.” Once “the above requirements have been met,” Eisenhower planned to send General Devers and his Sixth Army Group southeast toward the Redoubt area “to prevent any possible German consolidation in the south, and to join hands with the Russians in the Danube valley.” The Supreme Commander closed by remarking that his present plans were “flexible and subject to changes to meet unexpected situations.” Berlin was not mentioned.

  Eisenhower’s message to the Prime Minister was restrained and correct; it did not reflect his anger. But his fury was clearly evident in the detailed cable he sent, as promised earlier, to Marshall. Eisenhower told the U.S. Chief of Staff that he was “completely in the dark as to what the protest concerning ‘procedure’ involved. I have been instructed to deal directly with the Russians concerning military coordination.” As for his strategy, Eisenhower insisted again that there was no change. “The British Chiefs of Staff last summer,” he said, “always protested against my determination to open up the [central] … route because they said it would be futile and … draw strength away from a northern attack. I have always insisted that the northern attack would be the principal effort in … the isolation of the Ruhr, but from the very beginning, extending back before D-Day, my plan … has been to link up … primary and secondary efforts … and then make one great thrust to the eastward. Even cursory examination … shows that the principal effort should … be toward the Leipzig region, in which area is concentrated the greater part of the remaining German industrial capacity and to which area German ministries are believed to be moving.”

  Harking back to the old Montgomery-Brooke agitation for a single-thrust strategy, Eisenhower said: “Merely following the principle that Field Marshal Brooke has always shouted to me, I am determined to concentrate on one major thrust and all that my plan does is to place the Ninth U.S. Army back under Bradley for that phase of operations involving the advance of the center … the plan clearly shows that Ninth Army may again have to move up to assist the British and Canadian armies in clearing the whole coastline to the westward of Lübeck.” Afterward, “we can launch a movement to the southeastward to prevent Nazi occupation of the mountain citadel.”

  The National Redoubt, which Eisenhower called “the mountain citadel,” was now clearly a major military goal—of more concern, in fact, than Berlin. “May I point out,” the Supreme Commander said, “that Berlin itself is no longer a particularly important objective. Its usefulness to the German has been largely destroyed and even his government is preparing to move to another area. What is now important is to gather up our forces for a single drive, and this will more quickly bring about the fall of Berlin, the relief of Norway and the acquisition of the shipping and the Swedish ports than will the scattering around of our effort.”

  By the time Eisenhower reached the final paragraph of his message his anger at the British was barely contained. “The Prime Minister and his Chiefs of Staff,” he declared, “opposed ‘Anvil’ [the invasion of Southern France]; they opposed my idea that the German should be destroyed west of the Rhine before we made our great effort across the river; and they insisted that the route leading northeastward from Frankfurt would involve us merely in slow, rough-country fighting. Now they apparently want me to turn aside on operations in which would be involved many thousands of troops before the German forces are fully defeated. I submit that these things are studied daily and hourly by me and my advisors and that we are animated by one single thought which is the early winning of this war.”*

  In Washington, later that day, General Marshall and the Combined Chiefs of Staff received an amplification of the British Chiefs of Staff protest of the day before. For the most part the second telegram was a lengthy reiteration of the first, but there were two important additions. In the interim the British had learned from Admiral Archer in Moscow of the supplementary intelligence forwarded from SHAEF to Deane. The British strongly urged that this information be withheld from the Russians. In the event that discussions had already begun, London wanted the talks suspended until the Combined Chiefs of Staff had reviewed the situation.

  But by now the British were beginning to disagree among themselves—not just over the propriety of the Eisenhower message, but over which parts of it should be attacked. The British Chiefs of Staff had neglected to show Churchill their protests before sending them off to Washington. And Churchill’s objections differed from those of his military advisors. To him, the “main criticism of the new Eisenhower plan is that it shifts the axis of the main advance upon Berlin to the direction through Leipzig and Dresden.” As the Prime Minister saw it, under this plan British forces “might be condemned to an almost static role in the North.” Worse, “all prospect also of the British entering Berlin with the Americans is ruled out.”

  Berlin, as always now, was uppermost in the Prime Minister’s thoughts. It seemed to him that Eisenhower “may be wrong in supposing Berlin to be largely devoid of military or political importance.” Although government departments had “to a great extent oved to the south, the dominating fact on German minds of the fall of Berlin should not be overlooked.” He was haunted by the danger involved in “neglecting Berlin and leaving it to the Russians.” He declared: “As long as Berlin holds out and withstands a siege in the ruins as it may easily do, German resistance will be stimulated. The fall of Berlin might cause nearly all Germans to despair.”

  While agreeing in principle with the arguments of his Chiefs of Staff, Churchill felt they had brought into their objections “many minor extraneous matters.” He pointed out that “Elsenhower’s credit with the U.S. Chiefs of Staff stands very high … the Americans will feel that, as the victorious Supreme Commander, he had a right, and indeed a vital need, to try to elicit from the Russians … the best point for making contact by the armies of the West and o
f the East.” The British protest, Churchill feared, would only provide “argumentative possibilities … to the U.S. Chiefs of Staff.” He expected them to “riposte heavily.” And they did.

  On Saturday, March 31, the American military chiefs gave Eisenhower their unqualified support. They agreed with the British on only two points: that Eisenhower should amplify his plans for the Combined Chiefs of Staff and that additional details to Deane should be held up. In the view of the U.S. Chiefs, “the battle of Germany is now at the point where the Commander in the Field is the best judge of the measures which offer the earliest prospect of destroying the German armies or their power to resist. … General Eisenhower should continue to be free to communicate with the Commander-in-Chief of the Soviet Army.” To the American military leaders there was only one aim, and it did not include political considerations. “The single objective,” they said, “should be quick and complete victory.”

  Still, the controversy was far from over. In Reims, a harassed Eisenhower was still explaining and re-explaining his position. During the day, following Marshall’s instructions, Eisenhower sent the Combined Chiefs of Staff a long and detailed exposition of his plans. Next, he cabled Moscow and ordered Deane to withhold from Stalin the additional information sent from SHAEF. After that he assured Marshall in still another message, “You may be sure that, in future, policy cables passing between myself and the military mission in Moscow will be repeated to the Combined Chiefs of Staff and the British.” And finally, he came to Montgomery’s still-unanswered plea, which had arrived nearly forty-eight hours before.

  It was more than the urgency of his previous cables that caused Eisenhower to answer Montgomery last. Relations between the two men had become so strained that Eisenhower was now communicating with the Field Marshal only when absolutely necessary. As the Supreme Commander explained years later:* “Montgomery had become so personal in his efforts to make sure that the Americans—and me, in particular—got no credit, that, in fact, we hardly had anything to do with the war, that I finally stopped talking to him.” The Supreme Commander and his staff—including, interestingly, the senior British generals at SHAEF—saw Montgomery as an egocentric troublemaker who in the field was overcautious and slow. “Monty wanted to ride into Berlin on a white charger wearing two hats,” recalled British Major General John Whiteley, SHAEF’s Deputy Operations Chief, ” but the feeling was that if anything was to be done quickly, don’t give it to Monty.” Lieutenant General Sir Frederick Morgan, SHAEF’s Deputy Chief of Staff, put it another way: “At that moment Monty was the last person Ike would have chosen for a drive on Berlin—Monty would have needed at least six months to prepare.” Bradley was a different sort. “Bradley,” Eisenhower told his aide, “has never held up, never paused to regroup, when he saw an opportunity to advance.”

  Now, Eisenhower’s anger over the criticism of his cable to Stalin, coupled with his longstanding antagonism toward Montgomery, was clearly reflected in his reply to the Field Marshal. It exuded annoyance. “I must adhere,” it said, “to my decision about Ninth Army passing to Bradley’s command…. As I have already told you, it appears from this distance that an American formation will again pass to you at a later stage for operations beyond the Elbe. You will note that in none of this do I mention Berlin. That place has become, as far as I am concerned, nothing but a geographical location, and I have never been interested in these. My purpose is to destroy the enemy’s forces …”

  Even as Eisenhower was making his position evident to Montgomery, Churchill at Chequers was writing the Supreme Commander a historic plea. It was in nearly every respect the antithesis of Eisenhower’s words to Montgomery. A little before 7 P.M. the Prime Minister wired the Supreme Commander: “If the enemy’s position should weaken, as you evidently expect … why should we not cross the Elbe and advance as far eastward as possible? This has an important political bearing, as the Russian army … seems certain to enter Vienna and overrun Austria. If we deliberately leave Berlin to them, even if it should be in our grasp, the double event may strengthen their conviction, already apparent, that they have done everything.

  “Further, I do not consider myself that Berlin has lost its military and certainly not its political significance. The fall of Berlin would have a profound psychological effect on German resistance in every part of the Reich. While Berlin holds out, great masses of Germans will feel it their duty to go down fighting. The idea that the capture of Dresden and the juncture with the Russians there would be a superior gain does not commend itself to me…. Whilst Berlin remains under the German flag, it cannot in my opinion fail to be the most decisive point in Germany.

  “Therefore I should greatly prefer persistence in the plan on which we crossed the Rhine, namely that the Ninth U.S. Army should march with the 21st Army Group to the Elbe and beyond to Berlin …”

  In Moscow, as darkness fell, the American and British Ambassadors, together with Deane and Archer, met with the Soviet Premier and delivered Eisenhower’s message. The conference was brief. Stalin, as Deane later reported to the Supreme Commander, “was impressed with the direction of the attack in central Germany” and he thought “Eisenhower’s main effort was a good one in that it accomplished the most important objective of dividing Germany in half.” He felt too that the Germans’ “last stand would probably be in western Czechoslovakia and Bavaria.” While approving of Anglo-American strategy, Stalin was noncommittal about his own. The final coordination of Soviet plans, the Premier said, would have to wait until he had a chance to consult with his staff. At the conclusion of the meeting he promised to reply to Eisenhower’s message within twenty-four hours.

  Moments after his visitors left, Stalin picked up the phone and called Marshals Zhukov and Koniev. He spoke tersely but his orders were clear: the two commanders were to fly to Moscow immediately for an urgent conference the following day, Easter Sunday. Although he did not explain the reason for his orders, Stalin had decided that the Western Allies were lying; he was quite sure Eisenhower planned to race the Red Army for Berlin.

  *Churchill had shown this Russian note to Eisenhower on March 24 and the Supreme Commander, he later wrote, “seemed deeply stirred with anger at what he considered most unjust and unfounded charges about our good faith.”

  *Eisenhower’s 1,000-word cable does not appear in the official histories, and the version in his own Crusade in Europe has been cut and edited. For example, the phrase “always shouted to me” has been changed to “always emphasized,” while the angry last paragraph cited above has been dropped altogether. Ironically, the cable was originally drafted by a Britisher, SHAEF’s Deputy Operations Chief, Major General John Whiteley, but by the time it left headquarters it bore Eisenhower’s clear imprint.

  *In a long and detailed taped interview with the author.

  3

  THE THOUSAND-MILE FLIGHT to Moscow from the eastern front had been long and tiring. Marshal Georgi Zhukov sat wearily back in his field-gray staff car as it joggled up the cobblestone hill and into the vastness of Red Square. The car sped past the Cathedral of St. Basil the Blessed with its multihued, candy-striped cupolas, swung left and entered the Kremlin’s fortress walls through the western gate. Immediately behind Zhukov, in another army sedan, was Marshal Ivan Koniev. On the clockface of the great Savior’s Tower guarding the entrance, the gilt hands showed almost 5 P.M.

  Crossing the windswept interior courtyards, the two staff cars advanced into the architectural thicket of frescoed palaces, golden-domed cathedrals and massive yellow-fronted government buildings, once the domain of Russian czars and princes, and headed for the center of the Kremlin compound. Near the monumental 17th-century white brick bell tower of Ivan the Great, the cars slowed, rolled past a line of ancient cannon and came to a stop outside a long, three-story, sand-colored building. Moments later the two men, in well-cut dun-colored uniforms with heavy gold epaulettes bearing the one-inch-wide single star of a Soviet field marshal, were in the elevator headed for Stalin’s se
cond-floor offices. In those brief moments, surrounded by aides and escorting officers, the two men chatted affably together. A casual observer might have thought them close friends. In truth, they were bitter rivals.

  Both Zhukov and Koniev had reached the peak of their profession. Each was a tough, pragmatic perfectionist, and throughout the officer corps it was considered both an honor and an awesome responsibility to serve under them. The short, stocky, mild-looking Zhukov was the better known, idolized by the public and Russian enlisted men as the Soviet Union’s greatest soldier. Yet there were those among the commissioned ranks who saw him as a monster.

  Zhukov was a professional who had begun his career as a private in the Czar’s Imperial Dragoons. When the Russian Revolution began in 1917 he had joined the revolutionaries; as a Soviet cavalryman, he had fought the anti-Bolsheviks with such courage and ferocity that in the post-civil war Red Army he was rewarded with a commission. Although he was gifted with a brilliant imagination and a natural flair for command, he might have remained a relatively unknown officer but for Stalin’s brutal purging of the Red Army’s generals in the thirties. Most of those purged were veterans of the Revolution, but Zhukov, possibly because he was more “Army” than “Party,” escaped. The ruthless removal of the old guard speeded up his promotion. By 1941 he had risen to the highest military job in the U.S.S.R.: Chief of the Soviet General Staff.

  Zhukov was known as “the soldier’s soldier.” Perhaps because he had once been a private himself, he had a reputation for leniency with enlisted men. So long as his troops fought well, he considered the spoils of war no more than their just deserts. But with his officers he was a harsh disciplinarian. Senior commanders who failed to measure up were often fired on the spot and then punished for failing. The punishment usually took one of two forms: the officer either was sent to join a penal battalion or was ordered to serve on the most exposed part of the front line—as a private. Sometimes he was given a choice.