The Steel Wave (20 page)

“Good morning, General,” the king said. “Quite exciting, this, wouldn’t you say?”

“Your Majesty. Welcome. I would hope we can save the excitement for the enemy.”

“Ah, yes, good one, that! I quite agree!”

Eisenhower saw Churchill watching them, the king moving that way now, a brief greeting between them. The king was ushered to the centermost seat, the seat Churchill had seemed to choose for himself; Churchill sat one seat away, leaving a gap between him and his monarch. Churchill had not removed the cigar from his mouth, and Eisenhower looked away, thought, What now? More intrigue? Some spat between them? Is everyone in this damned war twelve years old? He scanned the faces throughout the room, and scolded himself. Stop that. You have a job to do, and so do they. As long as everyone knows that, nothing else matters.

The front row was filling quickly, the arrival of the king the signal for everyone to find a seat. Eisenhower nodded to more familiar faces: the South African, Field Marshal Smuts; the British chief of staff, Lord Brooke; so many generals, admirals, air commanders. He felt a stir inside him. Good God, he thought. Hell of a time for the Krauts to make a lucky air strike. I hope word has gone out to the antiaircraft boys to pay a little more attention today.

The talk quieted. Up on the stage, Montgomery pointed toward the back of the room. “Security, you will lock the door and man your posts outside. As of now, no one may enter.”

At the rear of the room, two American military policemen stood tall in white helmets, white holsters holding their sidearms. Eisenhower knew they had been chosen for the job for one reason: They were both huge men, enormously intimidating. They obeyed Montgomery’s order with silent precision, exited through the door, pulled it shut. Montgomery looked toward Eisenhower, who would give the first presentation, but Eisenhower knew he would have to wait for Montgomery’s own formal greeting, offering as host a show of ceremony that he was entitled to. Montgomery moved across the stage.

“I wish to welcome Your Majesty to these proceedings. Mr. Prime Minister—” There was a loud banging on the door, and Montgomery stopped, clearly annoyed. “What in blazes…?”

Eisenhower rose, saw heads turning toward the back of the room, saw the door open with a loud clatter, a white-helmeted MP staring in, silently apologetic. Eisenhower thought, Who the hell would be late? An officer strode past the MP, silver helmet glistening, moving quickly down the aisle, silently finding a seat. It was Patton.

A
ll eyes were on Eisenhower. He glanced at the king, who looked up at him with a benevolent smile, Churchill as well watching him with polite expectation. I’m not an orator, dammit. Don’t look at me like I’m supposed to win the war on this stage. He glanced toward Montgomery, Bradley, Tedder, more faces, the division and corps commanders, naval officers, and airmen. There were no glimpses of the derision he had heard so much about, no one showing hints of their discontent either with Eisenhower’s style or with his orders. It was there, of course, too many annoying reports of sneers and insults from some of these same men, spewed about in back rooms. No matter how much I insist we work together, we are two different people. No matter what I say or how much cooperation we’ve worked for, we can still spit at each other like alley cats.

But the faces that watched him showed none of that now, every man in the room seeming to recognize why they were there and how important the briefings would be. He drew energy from that, could feel a sense of cooperation, the backbiting and rivalry suspended, at least for a few hours. This will never happen again, he suddenly realized, not like this, not all of us in one place. He felt himself straining to hear outside, some telltale sign of an air raid, a siren, or the gut-churning drone of German bombers. But there was nothing, only silence, the men watching, waiting, each one there because he was a part of something much larger than these men themselves, much more significant than any of them could ever have imagined. He felt a strong confidence now, so many of the faces familiar in a way that suddenly inspired him. All right then. Let’s get on with it.

“We are on the eve of a great battle. We have come here in this assembly to deliver to you the various plans made by the different force commanders. I would emphasize that I consider it to be the duty of everyone in this room who sees a flaw, in any part of this plan, to speak up. There must be no hesitation. I have no sympathy with anyone, whatever his rank or position, who will not accept criticism of what he considers to be his own perfect strategy. We are here to get the best possible results, and those results rely on every man in this room.

“This briefing will start with the three principal commanders, ground, sea, and air, beginning with General Montgomery.”

Eisenhower stepped down from the stage—full of nervous energy, his heart pounding—moved to his seat, studied the map again and heard Montgomery begin his presentation.

“This is an excellent plan. We have a sufficiency of troops, we have all the necessary tackle. We will confront a man, Field Marshal Rommel, with whom I am familiar. He is an energetic and determined commander and has created a formidable obstacle for us to breach. But breach it we will. He will do his level best to Dunkirk us. He will try to force us from the beaches, and he will defend the towns of Caen, Bayeux, and Carentan with his usual vigor. But he is too impulsive for the set-piece battle. His method is disruption. He is best at the spoiling attack. We will instead do what we can to spoil
him.
”

A
fter three brutal hours, they adjourned for lunch and then resumed the meeting, the presentations and discussions lasting all afternoon. Every senior commander offered details of the plan, some capturing the attention of the throng more effectively than others. Through it all, the commanders had given out a variety of details: the timetable for the amphibious landings, the troop movements beyond the landings, the goals that Montgomery’s staff had illustrated on the great map.

On June 5, the paratroopers would go in first, just after midnight, the British 6th Airborne on the far left flank, the American 82nd and 101st on the right. If the drops were effective, the paratroopers would seriously disrupt German movements behind the beaches by capturing bridges and key intersections at various small villages.

Immediately after dawn, the amphibious landings would begin on five designated beaches. Two, Omaha and Utah, fell into the American zone to the west. Farther east, the British would land at beaches labeled Gold and Sword, the Canadians at Juno. It had been a surprise to many that the landings would come at low tide, the troops to be deposited by landing craft far from the high-water line. But the work of the commandos and reconnaissance planes had convinced the planners that the landing craft and their cargoes of men and equipment would fare better if Rommel’s enormous barriers of underwater obstacles were exposed. The disadvantage for the first waves of troops would be the wide-open ground they would have to cross, several hundred yards of wet sand, which would surely be a shooting gallery for German machine gunners and riflemen in the heights beyond the beaches. The choice of a dawn landing had been hotly debated, some believing the attack should come well before daylight, offering the infantry the cover of darkness. But the navy and the air forces had swayed that argument.

Even as the landing craft made their way to the beaches, an enormous armada of naval power would be called upon to blanket the German fortifications that faced the sea with a devastating barrage of fire that could suppress German opposition. In addition, vast waves of Allied bombers would drop their payloads on German positions along the beaches. To avoid friendly fire, the bombers and air gunners would require at least minimal daylight. Though the ground troops would be visible from shore, if the attacks by the air and naval forces were effective, there might be very little left on the beaches to oppose them.

As the infantry and engineers made their initial landings, they would be accompanied by armor, dozens of self-propelled amphibious tanks, odd contraptions that still inspired some skepticism, tanks surrounded by tall inflatable skirts to keep them afloat while a propeller drive pushed them to shore. The timetable of the landings had been designed carefully and methodically, additional waves of men and equipment pouring onto the beaches in a rhythm that would ensure that foot soldiers were supported immediately by additional manpower, as well as armor and artillery, allowing them to push inland as rapidly as possible.

Throughout the day at St. Paul’s School, the details poured forth to the assembled mass of officers and officials, most of it matter-of-fact and specific, with only occasional bursts of hyperbole. The king had spoken as well, an effective display of encouragement and temperament, more subdued than most of the military men, but a positive message of hope and optimism.

By the end of the day, the plans had been fully spelled out. Throughout it all, there were no cheers, only a few laughs, no applause, and no ceremony. At four-thirty in the afternoon, Eisenhower rose to speak again, the day complete, the nagging fear that had gripped him all day finally releasing itself.

“In one half hour, we shall have vacated this place. It is apparent to me that Hitler will have missed his one and only chance of destroying, with a single well-aimed bomb, the entire high command of the Allied forces.”

As the room emptied, the collective exhaustion kept the conversation to a minimum. Eisenhower knew that each man carried away from this extraordinary gathering much of the knowledge and planning of the others. The parts had given way to the whole. Late in the day, as the speakers completed their tasks, Churchill had come forward. His speech had been fiery and eloquent, with his usual flare for dramatic language. But Churchill had offered one brief phrase that had driven into Eisenhower with sharp meaning. For so many months there had been wrangling and argument, debate and disagreement, what Eisenhower believed were fundamental doubts among so many of his superiors, that Operation Overlord might not work at all.

Now Churchill looked directly at him.
“I am hardening toward this enterprise.”

It wasn’t gratuitous, no mindless optimism, no political grandstanding or patriotic cheerleading. Eisenhower didn’t know if the prime minister had absorbed something new from the meeting itself, some clarity about pieces of the puzzle he hadn’t understood before. But it was perfectly clear to Eisenhower that, finally, after so much rancor and so many disagreements, Churchill was offering a message to the Americans and to the rest of the British high command. There was one goal now, one purpose: to devote themselves fully to the success of Operation Overlord.

12. ADAMS

BRAUNSTONE PARK, NEAR LEICESTER
MAY 28, 1944

“
A
ll leaves are canceled and, effective immediately, all officers and enlisted men are confined to base. MPs will be patrolling the perimeter of this compound and will be regulating all vehicle traffic both in and out of base.” Colonel Ekman looked up from the paper, seemed to dare a response. “Good. I don’t want to hear any griping about this. You have a problem, tell it to your sergeant. Should you feel that need, he has my permission to slap hell out of you.” He paused again, and Adams saw his eyes dart across the sea of faces. “This is the real thing, boys. There will be no further practice jumps. Those of you who are injured will have a few days to recuperate. And you
will
recuperate. I don’t believe there is a single man in the Five-oh-five who will shirk from this duty. General Ridgway is counting on me, and I am counting on all of you. I have promised General Ridgway that we will deliver…and I’ll be damned if anyone is going to make a liar out of me. You are dismissed.”

Ekman stepped down from the makeshift platform, seemed to vanish behind a flock of officers. The hum began now, the inevitable questions, and Adams moved away from the crowd, staring out toward the distant rows of C-47s. He felt a strange coldness and clenched his fists, a chill in his hands. We’re really going. Again. Son of a bitch.

The others were moving past him, the entire regiment pouring out of the hangar, the voices coming, loud calls, a few whoops, the sounds digging into him. He wanted silence, but there was nowhere to find it now, nowhere to go to escape the idiotic loudmouths, the men who truly had no idea what was about to happen. The veterans streamed past him as well, silent and subdued. Most of them were familiar to him, the faces if not the names. He had learned, they had all learned, that names didn’t matter. Even the men in his own platoon could be no more to him than a rifle or a submachine gun, a grenade, a radio, and those precious few, a Browning Automatic Rifle, what everyone knew as simply the BAR. No matter the weapon, if one went down, another would follow, and every step they took along the way was one step closer to the unthinkable.

He thought of walking out, far into the field, but aircraft were in motion. Keep your ass inside, he thought. Nothing for you to do out there but get in the way. He glanced up at the thick gray sky, the inevitable rain. Too damned cold for this. No need to stick my boots into some muddy hole.

He had feared his ribs had been broken, the pain more severe than any injury he had suffered before. The lieutenant had ordered him to report to the doctor, an older grouch of a man, whose name seemed only to be Doc. Adams had been surprised by his own reaction to the examination, pure panic that a busted rib might actually send him home, take him right out of the war. But the doctor had dismissed him with a casual wave, said it was nothing more than a heavy bruise, had even complimented Adams on the exceptionally colorful results, a saucer-shaped patch of blue below his heart. The bruise was nearly gone now, a faint yellow stain, and he ignored it. Dammit, he thought, if I’m going to get hurt, it’s not going to be from some useless practice jump. The voices were still swarming all around him, and he tried to avoid them, so many of the men spilling out their stupidity or their fear. Adams couldn’t help his anger; he had felt this way with every wave of replacements. He hated them for their inexperience.