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There was nothing more Patton could do, although his urge was probably to simply disregard the refusals and close the gap anyway. But he restrained himself. He was in the doghouse and knew it. Any transgression and he would be gone—and this one would have been a huge transgression.

Eisenhower
himself
had said no.

In the near week it took Montgomery to finally close the gap as many as 250,000 Germans—including important battle commanders—along with their equipment could have escaped through the Falaise Gap.
^bn
There’s no way of knowing the exact figure.
Allied airpower found the Germans in the pocket as they streamed out the gap and beyond and blasted them, causing considerable damage and carnage. The Germans, gap or no gap, suffered a huge defeat—primarily because of Patton’s near encirclement. But the numbers killed and the war weapons destroyed pale in the face of the consequences of the blunder of not closing the gap. Not only would many of the German soldiers, commanders, and Panzer tanks that escaped return in December to batter U.S. troops in the devastating and surprise, last-ditch counterattack known as the “Battle of the Bulge,” but the very war itself might have been ended had Patton been allowed to close at Falaise, which most historians agree he could have done. “If closed,” wrote Major General Richard Rohmer, a fighter pilot at the time in the skies above the pocket and one who has written extensively about it, the gap “could have brought the surrender of the Third Reich, whose senior generals were now desperately concerned about the ominous shadow of the great Russian Bear rising on the eastern horizon of the Fatherland.”
⁷
They knew it was only a matter of time before they were done—and better to surrender to the Americans. Bradley’s own historian, Colonel Ralph Ingersoll, wrote, “The failure to close the Argentan-Falaise gap was the loss of the greatest single opportunity of the war.”
⁸

American correspondents, censored as they were, reported little, if any part of what happened at Falaise. It was really only known in totality at headquarters and by the troops, tankers, and pilots who lived it. The reading public at the time was only told of the great victory won at the “Battle of Normandy” and the subsequent slaughter. Even the fact that Patton was leading the charge was not yet known. When he had first arrived in Normandy, the Germans were still guessing where he was, holding back crucial
reinforcements, thinking they would need them when he eventually landed at the Pas de Calais. It was good strategy to keep his presence quiet and the Germans guessing. But by the battle for Mortain, they were well aware of who they were facing. Still, his name was not released, a fact that galled him. It was Eisenhower who was quoted as to the extent of the slaughter in the victory and was therefore generally credited for the overall success—which was ironic in view of his part in not closing the gap. Even today, what happened at Falaise is generally not well known except amongst military historians and enthusiasts. It is certainly not part of the popular D-Day invasion aftermath lore or even the general story of World War II in Europe. I suspect the reason for its obscurity is how badly it would have reflected on those who disingenuously emerged as heroes of that battle, most pointedly Bradley and Eisenhower, who had vested interest in keeping the true facts about Falaise quiet.

But Patton and his troops who were there knew. He wrote in his diary, “This halt [was] a great mistake. [Bradley’s] motto seems to be, ‘In case of doubt, halt.’” And in an obvious dig at Eisenhower, he wrote, “I wish I were supreme commander.”
⁹
But he was not. And, after Falaise, as he continued his historic chase of the fleeing Germans east through Northern France, stung as he was by the obvious lack of combat leadership in his superiors, his attitude of compliance began to change. His nephew, Fred Ayer Jr., wrote that instead of continuing to adhere strictly to the rules as he had earlier resolved, “He told me that... he did in fact stop sending back any position reports, because otherwise, “some directive-reading S.O.B. would tell me, ‘Patton, you’ve already reached your designated objective, so stop there and await further orders.’ Why hell, the only thing for an army to do when it has the
enemy on the run is to keep going until it runs out of gas, and then continue on foot, to keep killing until it runs out of ammunition and then go on killing with bayonets and rifle butts.”
¹⁰

Little did he know that he soon actually
would
be out of gas, and not for any reason of his own—or any good reason at all, for that matter. For as he and his Third Army, its tanks blazing the way, had raced across France in an unprecedented display of military brilliance, enabling, among other feats, the liberation of Paris, and had entered areas near the German border where Douglas Bazata was operating, Montgomery, north of Patton and considerably behind him in terms of advancement, was hatching a plan to penetrate Germany that would siphon Patton’s gas, ammunition and even troops, and do what the Germans so far had been unable to do—stop Patton. The plan, code-named “Market Garden” and supported by Eisenhower over a similar thrust into Germany proposed by Patton—even though Montgomery had not done anything remotely as impressive as Patton (in fact, had done the opposite) would fail. And with the failure, Eisenhower would lose yet another chance to end the war before 1945, thus dooming U.S. troops to more fighting and dying and adding to a legacy of blunders like Falaise which he hoped would be kept secret.

By August 31, Patton, putting Falaise behind because he believed he would destroy the escaping Germans when he overtook them, had advanced his tanks to the east bank of the Meuse River, the next to last physical barrier before the German border, sixty-three miles to the east. This was only 140 miles from the Rhine River, the fording of which was believed to be the key to conquering all of Germany. One hundred and forty miles was less than half the distance they had traveled in the previous twelve days, according to Irzyk. That was more than twenty-five miles per day, an astounding pace for tanks.

Patton was poised to roar into Germany as unstoppable as he had been in France.

Then, on August 31—as his tanks prepared to ford the Meuse—his gasoline allotment was suddenly cut by 140,000 gallons. And that was just the beginning. In quick order, he did not have enough to continue. The Third Army was guzzling gas at the rate of 350,000 to 400,000 gallons per day.
¹²
The cut was a huge chunk. Suspicious, he wrote in his diary, “This may be an attempt to stop me in a backhanded manner,” but then tabled the thought.
¹³
Curiously, according to Fred Ayer, Jr., Patton was warned by Marlene Dietrich, the singer and film star who was entertaining troops that “someone or some group of persons was ‘out to get him’. . . . I did not then press [Patton] for details and can add none today,” wrote Ayer, although he guessed she meant reporters, who had been after Patton since the slaps in Sicily, or other powerful persons at home with whom he was unpopular.
¹⁴
But it shows, as Bazata said, that Patton already knew he was being threatened by forces on his own side.

The next morning, rather than radio Bradley about the shortage (for fear the enemy might be listening and learn his predicament), Patton went personally to see his younger boss, who, following Falaise, was now sympathetic to his pleas. However, Bradley informed him, Eisenhower was not. The Supreme Commander had decided to give Montgomery Patton’s gas and a portion of his supplies, as well as all of Bradley’s entire First Army. Bradley did not like it either. Montgomery, as far as they knew, had talked Eisenhower into supporting an ambitious plan in which he would first capture the needed Belgian port of Antwerp off the North Sea—needed because of the problem of supplying such rapidly advancing armies—and then air drop the largest force of paratroopers in history to help his tanks and infantry cross the Rhine at Arnhem, relatively close and north from Antwerp. Once in Germany, he would “dash” to Berlin and end the war, he promised. It was enticing. Eisenhower had given him what he wanted. In fact, according to Irzyk, “once given the priority for [Patton’s] gasoline and supplies, Montgomery had demanded ‘all,’ everything, and in order to have it, wanted Patton stopped ‘cold.’”
¹⁵

Montgomery’s demand, interestingly, is reminiscent of what Bazata had claimed was going on—that there was a separate underlying clandestine plot beyond immediate military need to “stop” Patton. If that was so, were the British involved? Was this the origin? Did a plot stem or grow from Montgomery and Patton’s antagonistic relationship? Montgomery and Patton were, at least, rivals. There is a good case to be made that they hated each other. Bazata was in the area and had hinted he was working for the British who, operationally, were practically running the Jedburgh program. Was Montgomery’s demand, if not Dietrich’s warning, alluding to something darker—a plot, the momentum of which would eventually grow and morph into assassination?

British World War II records are not as accessible as are those in the U.S., which themselves are not easily gotten. Much of what is in England is still classified and will remain so by law for many years—a veritable treasure trove of secrets. My own mailed questions to British archivists remain unanswered. However, I did manage to find a Donovan memorandum to President Roosevelt stating that at this exact time—“August 1944”—“General Patton through the O.S.S. detachment asked the FFI [otherwise known as the Maquis] to protect the flank of his armored divisions.”
¹⁶
This indicates that Patton had an OSS contingent that was helping him, and he was probably involved with the Maquis in the area, both of which mean Bazata, as he indicated, could have had access to Patton and may have been involved in some way then in stopping Patton’s advance—as he had cagily, but obscurely, put it, “We did some things.” James M. Gavin, one of the U.S. paratroop commanders dealt to Montgomery for Market-Garden, says without equivocation that there was a plot. “It is ironic,” he wrote, “that at about the same time [as Patton’s gas was diverted], the Germans, too, were deeply preoccupied with Patton. They considered him their most dangerous opponent and pitted their best troops against him. So both sides were doing their damnedest to stop Patton.”
¹⁷
Apparently, the “Stop Patton” plan was known by more than Bazata.

Whatever the case, Patton was told by Bradley he would just have to bide his time—at least until they came up with solutions for more gas. His advance was halted even though the way ahead—clearly the shortest route into Germany, and probably to Berlin—was open and, more importantly, undefended by the German army in retreat. This was mainly because the German army he was chasing was spread thin and disorganized and was generally being decimated at this time all along the front. On the day
he was stopped, the Germans in the West were in total disarray. A top German general involved at the time, Siegfried Westphal, General von Rundstedt’s chief of staff, later said, “The overall situation in the West [for the Germans] was serious in the extreme. The Allies could have punched through at any point with ease.” Moreover, Patton had fewer obstacles to overcome than Montgomery, who, north of him, was closer to the sea and had numerous canals and waterways blocking his—and Market Garden’s—advance. As his gas dwindled to fumes, Patton wrote, “The British have put it over again. We got no gas because, to suit Monty, the First Army [already requisitioned and preparing for the mid-September operation] must get most of it, and we are also feeding the Parisians [who, freshly liberated, were being aided by the Allies].... It is terrible to halt . . . . We should cross the Rhine... and the faster we do it, the less lives and munitions it will take.” Time was running out, he knew. Good tank weather—absence of rain and halting muck—would soon be gone. “This was the momentous error of the war. . . . No one realizes the terrible value of the ‘unforgiving minute’ except me. Some way I will get on yet.”
¹⁸

Meanwhile, Market-Garden failed. “Overall, the Allies took heavier casualties in Market-Garden than they did on D-Day”—7,579 killed or wounded, wrote historian and Eisenhower biographer Stephen E. Ambrose. The British 1
^st
Airborne Division suffered the worst losses of any Allied division in the war.
¹⁹
Patton historian Martin Blumenson puts the casualties at a higher 12,000.
²⁰
As gallant as the Allied attackers were, they were thrown back. Why?
A Bridge Too Far
, the 1974 Cornelius Ryan bestseller about the huge operation, gives a succinct answer in its title. The paratroopers were dropped too far from their main objective, the bridge over the Rhine at Arnhem, had too much to
overcome as a result, and were beaten back by fresher, stronger German defenders who had been mustered while Patton was stopped. Many of those defenders had actually escaped from around Antwerp because Montgomery, in his haste to get to the Rhine bridge, had failed to subdue them after taking the city. Eisenhower, as the Supreme Commander, was ultimately culpable, according to General Gavin among other generals in a position to know, not only for the mistakes in the operation itself, which, as overseer, he should have recognized and corrected, but for choosing Montgomery over Patton in the first place.
²¹
“Monty at the expense of Patton?” writes an incredulous General Irzyk. Monty had not won a battle since El Alamein in 1942. In fact, he had botched everything else.