After Hitler: The Last Ten Days of World War II in Europe (26 page)

The extremity of General Patton’s views was shown in an extraordinary discussion between him and Under Secretary for War Robert Patterson that took place in eastern Austria, close to the border with Czechoslovakia, on 7 May. Patton began by raising concern over a perceived Soviet failure to respect demarcation lines and then moved on to American post-war plans for partial demobilisation of the European Army: ‘Let us keep our boots polished, bayonets sharpened and present a picture of force and strength to the Red Army,’ Patton had told a surprised Patterson. ‘This is the only language they understand and respect.’

Robert Patterson replied: ‘Oh George, you have been so close to this thing, for so long, you have lost sight of the big picture.’

Patton would have none of it. ‘I understand the situation,’ he retorted. ‘Their [the Soviet] supply system is inadequate to maintain them in a serious action such as I could put to them. They have chicken in the coop and cattle on the hoof – that’s their supply system. They could probably maintain themselves in the type of fighting I could give them for five days. After that it would make no difference how many million men they have, and if you wanted Moscow I could give it to you.’

This was a quite staggering peroration – as if Patton were proposing to better Napoleon in 1812 and Hitler in 1941 and carve a unique niche for himself in the annals of military history. The Führer and many of his German generals had made similar bombastic claims at the onset of Operation Barbarossa. They had believed that the technical proficiency of their army would win them Moscow in months. They had never reached the Russian capital.

Patton continued: ‘They lived on the land coming down. There is insufficient left for them to maintain themselves going back. Let’s not give them time to build up their supplies. If we do, then we have a victory over the Germans and have disarmed them, but have failed in the liberation of Europe: we will have lost the war!’

This was messianic rhetoric – and troublingly, it echoed the comments made by German generals and many of their officers and soldiers, for its logical corollary was that the Western Allies should unite with the Wehrmacht in common cause against the enemy from the east.

General Patton was tactically astute, with a superb instinct for war, and a courageous and brave leader. He was also an unpredictable general – and at times an utterly irresponsible one. He was at the head of an army whose morale was sky high. In the last months of the war its battle honours included four assault crossings of the Rhine, the capture of twenty-two major cities, the liberation of Ohrdruf and Buchenwald concentration camps, the seizure of a Nazi gold bullion hideaway at Merkers and taking some 280,600 Germans as prisoner. They had also managed to find and save the famed Lipizzaner stallions of the Viennese Riding School. Colonel Charles Reed of the 42nd Reconnaissance Squadron, who pulled off this exploit at the end of April, said: ‘We were so tired of death and destruction – we wanted to do something beautiful.’

At 7.30 p.m. on the evening of 4 May Patton was given his last major assignment of the war, to invade western Czechoslovakia. Bradley had reinforced his Third Army, bringing it up to a total strength of nearly half a million men. ‘This gives us the biggest army we have ever had, 18 divisions in all,’ Patton wrote in his diary. His chief of staff, Major General Hobart Gay, concurred, recording: ‘This is probably one of the most powerful armies ever assembled in the history of war.’ And the green light was on for the attack on Czechoslovakia. Patton now made an observation both typical and frightening in its martial zeal. ‘Things like this are what is going to make the peace so terrible,’ he concluded. ‘Nothing exciting will ever happen.’

General Patton had anticipated that such an opportunity might come his way. Earlier on 4 May, before the order had been given, he had readied his armoured units for the attack. Brigadier General John Pierce’s 16th Armored Division was told to hand over its occupation zone around Nuremberg to units from the 4th Infantry Division and deploy at Waidhaus. Patton intended to use the 16th Armored to spearhead a drive on Pilsen. He put other units on combat alert. Characteristically, when the command finally came through, he was able to respond almost immediately.

The same day General Bradley had transferred Major General Clarence Huebner’s V Corps from the US First Army to Patton’s Third. Huebner had sat down with his staff officers for dinner that evening. He looked around the room and said: ‘Well, I’ll give us just about twelve hours before General Patton calls up and tells us to attack something.’ Minutes later the telephone shrilled. When Huebner returned he added: ‘Well, I missed that one. Instead of twelve hours it was twelve minutes. We attack Czechoslovakia at daybreak.’

General Eisenhower was counting on Patton’s natural aggression to win him western Czechoslovakia quickly while trusting that Bradley would keep any further ambitions in check. On 5 May Patton’s troops crossed the border. They were greeted coldly by the Sudeten Germans, but when they moved into the lands populated by the Czechs they were welcomed ecstatically. ‘We were totally unprepared for the scenes of celebration which greeted us in the first Czech town we liberated,’ Captain Charles MacDonald of the 23rd Infantry Regiment wrote. Captain Burton Smead of the 12th Field Artillery Battalion commented: ‘If you stop your vehicle, it is only with great difficulty that you can get moving again. People swarm all over it: laughing, shaking hands – and pressing food, wine, flowers and flags upon you.’

By the late morning news of Patton’s advance had reached Pilsen, and also Prague. In both cities the approach of the Americans – combined with the news of the major German surrender at Lüneburg Heath the previous evening – encouraged the local population to rise up and demand that the Wehrmacht immediately leave. By the evening the Third Army had taken up positions for an assault on Pilsen. And General Patton now knew there was an uprising in the Czech capital.

General Bradley, concerned about Patton’s intentions, rang him that evening and reminded him to stop at the Karlsbad–Pilsen–Budejovice halt line. At the same time General Patton’s chief of staff, Hobart Gay, told General Irwin of the US XII Corps that his mission was now to prepare to attack the Czech capital. He instructed Irwin to ready the 4th Armored, 5th and 90th Infantry for the assault. ‘We destroy the remaining enemy formations opposing us,’ Gay said, ‘and move on Prague.’ Patton and his soldiers were still looking to do something beautiful.

The US Third Army’s advance units were now only some 40 miles south-west of Prague – and Patton wanted to move to help her. The Prague rising had been inspired by the arrival of the Americans in Czechoslovakia and US forces did not want to see the insurgents being abandoned to their fate.

The soldiers’ paper,
The Armored Tribune
, brought out from recently liberated Strazny on 5 May, caught the excitement. Leading with the exploits of the 4th and 16th Armored Divisions and the capture of Borova-Lada, Kvilda and Strazny itself – and featuring the surrender to the US Third Army of German Field Marshal Paul von Kleist, his anxious wife and twenty-five pieces of hand luggage – the paper closed with the exhortation: ‘Prague is within driving distance!’

Patton pleaded with Bradley for permission to advance beyond the Pilsen halt line. ‘For God’s sake Brad,’ he said, ‘those patriots in the city need our help. We have no time to lose.’ Patton even suggested a ruse that would get Bradley off the hook – he would remain incommunicado and report back to Bradley only when the Third Army was actually in Prague. But Bradley was not going to risk this without authorisation from Eisenhower – and Eisenhower would not budge.

On 6 May Patton wrote in his diary: ‘General Bradley called up to state that the halt line through Pilsen was mandatory and that we should not do reconnaissance to a greater depth than 5 miles north-east of it due to the fact that General Eisenhower does not want, at this late date to have any international complications. It seems to me that as great a nation as America is, it should let other people worry about complications.’ It was entirely typical of Patton to act first and think later – regardless of the consequences – and this made his generalship compelling but also dangerous. He concluded: ‘Personally, I would like to go to the line of the Moldau River and tell the Russians that is where I intend to stop.’

After this frank declaration of intent, Patton voiced further dissatisfaction about kowtowing to the Soviets: ‘General Bradley also directed that we shall discontinue our advance east along the Danube to make contact with the Russians and let them make contact with us. We will remain in a position that is about 25 miles east of the agreed Russian–American line. Again I doubt the wisdom of this.’

Finally, he recorded a pleasing military success: ‘As of 11.00am today, a combat command of the 16th Armored Division is reported to be in Pilsen.’

At 4.30 a.m. that morning US advance forces were pushing forward towards this Czech city. Troop B, 23rd Cavalry Squadron of the 16th Armored led the way. They found German troops surrendering in droves. The Wehrmacht defence of western Czechoslovakia lay in the hands of General Hans von Obstfelder’s 7th Army. Badly mauled in the Normandy campaign, and again in the Ardennes offensive, this battered Wehrmacht formation consisted of two Panzer divisions (the 2nd and 11th), an engineer brigade and an officer cadet detachment. Desperately short of supplies and fuel and unable to mount a coherent defence along the Czech border, it could only hold roadblocks and set up strongholds against the advancing Americans.

On the morning of 6 May the German 7th Army’s principal fighting unit, the 11th Panzer Division, surrendered to the US 26th Infantry Division after two days of secret negotiations. This tore open a hole in the already fragile German defence line, leaving the road to Pilsen wide open. The city was held by Lieutenant General Georg von Majewski and some 10,000 troops. On hearing of the 11th Panzer Division’s surrender, Majewski made it clear that he also was willing to capitulate to American troops. His main preoccupation – like that of the vast majority of his compatriots – was to avoid being captured by the Russians. German resistance was collapsing like a house of cards.

At 7.00 a.m. Colonel Charles Noble’s Troop B, 23rd Cavalry was on the outskirts of Pilsen. The US commander had originally been ordered to seize and hold the high ground west of the city. But sensing the enemy no longer had the will to fight, he resolved to drive straight into the centre of Pilsen. Noble had only 2,500 men – a quarter of the force that the Germans had – but his gamble proved absolutely correct. By 8.00 a.m. the first American troops had reached Pilsen’s Republic Square, to be greeted by thousands of cheering Czechs, showering their liberators with flowers and gifts and offering them jugs of their famous Pilsner beer. US captain Howard Painter recalled: ‘No-one could ever forget the happiness shown by the population of Pilsen after being liberated from the Germans.’ The Wehrmacht’s resistance was desultory.

The troops following Colonel Noble quickly secured Pilsen’s airport and by 10.30 a.m. the last pockets of German resistance had been snuffed out. All eyes were now on Prague. Hearing the first radio appeal for assistance, Patton had boldly sent a US detachment under Captain Eugene Fodor to make contact with the rebels. Fodor managed to drive into the city unscathed, hold talks with the military and civil councils directing the uprising and then drive out again. On the morning of 6 May Fodor reported back to Patton. The German garrison would continue to fight against the Czech insurgents – but it would be willing to surrender to the Americans. It seemed a golden opportunity was opening up to capture Prague with little loss of life.

Even after his first request to move on Prague was refused, Patton began to push men forward, gambling that Generals Eisenhower and Bradley might still give him permission to take the city. On the afternoon of 6 May, he disregarded orders to only conduct reconnaissance 5 miles from his front-line positions and told advance units of the 4th and 16th Armored Divisions to head straight for the Czech capital. General Patton wrote: ‘Reconnaissance elements of the US Third Army were now in the vicinity of Prague and by that act marked the furthest progress to the east of any western army.’ He was proud to claim this plaudit for his beloved Third Army. Typically for Patton, it was also an act that disregarded the clear orders of his Supreme Allied Commander.

Prague was almost within the Americans’ grasp. Lieutenant Edward Krusheski of the 69th Armored Battalion recalled that his company was ordered to seize one the bridges over the Vltava river for the use of follow-up troops in reaching Prague. ‘We got to within ten miles of the city,’ he said. One last armoured push by Patton’s men would link up with the Czech rebels and ensure the liberation of Prague.

Within Prague itself, the popular uprising had tapped into a powerful patriotism. Antonin Sticha was twenty-one years old at the time of the Prague uprising. In his teens, he had been sent to work as a slave labourer in a German factory, near the Buchenwald concentration camp. Conditions there were terrible, with regular executions, and the experience left him with an abiding hatred of the Germans and of the Nazi occupation of his country.

In the autumn of 1944 Sticha managed to escape from the factory and made his way back to Prague, where he was hidden by members of the Czech resistance. Sticha remembered that on the afternoon of 4 May 1945 unrest was already growing on the streets of the Czech capital. German posters and flags were being pulled down. And he was present at an incident in the late afternoon when inhabitants of Prague surrounded a Nazi prison train and attempted to release some of the people being held there. A German soldier attempted to fire on the crowd but was in turn gunned down by a Czech policeman. The crowd dispersed, fearing German reprisals.

By the evening of 4 May the mood in Prague was very volatile. Tram operators refused to accept Reichsmarks or to announce stops in German. The first Czech and Allied flags began to appear in apartment windows. Lone German soldiers were surrounded in the streets by Prague’s citizens and disarmed. In the Vrsovice area of the city a crowd gathered, tore up a Nazi flag and began singing the Czech national anthem.