Another factor that made the later date a desirable one was the degree of dependence we were placing upon the preparatory effort of the air force. An early attack would provide the air force with only a minimum opportunity for pinpoint bombing of critical transportation centers in France, whereas the improved weather anticipated for the month of May would give them much more time and better opportunity to impede the movement of German reserves and demolish German defenses along the coast line. The virtual destruction of critical points on the main roads and railroads leading into the selected battle area was a critical feature of the battle plan. Nevertheless, acceptance of the later date was disappointing. We wanted all the summer weather we could get for the European campaign.
Along with the general plan of operations we thoroughly considered means of deceiving the enemy as to the point and timing of attack. Our purpose was to convince him that we intended to strike directly across the Channel at its narrowest point, against the stronghold of Calais. In many ways great advantages would have accrued to us could we have successfully attacked in this region. Not only were the beaches the best along the coast, they were closest to the British ports and to the German border. The enemy, fully appreciating these facts, kept strong forces in the area and fortified that particular section of coast line more strongly than any other. The defenses were so strong that none of us believed that a successful assault from the sea could be made except at such terrific cost that the whole expedition might find itself helpless to accomplish anything of a positive character, after it got ashore. But we counted upon the enemy believing that we would be tempted into this operation, and the wide variety of measures we took for convincing him were given extraordinary credence by his Intelligence division.20
The complementary attack against southern France had long been considered—by General Marshall and me, at least—as an integral and necessary feature of the main invasion across the Channel. In the planning of early 1944, I supposed that all principal commanders and the Combined Chiefs of Staff were solidly together on this point. Our studies in London, however, soon demonstrated that, even with a June date of attack, the Allies did not have enough landing craft and other facilities to mount simultaneously both the cross-Channel and the Mediterranean attacks in the strength we wanted.21
The United States was at that time committed to offensive action in the Pacific and the necessary additional craft could not be diverted from that theater. In the face of this, General Montgomery proposed the complete abandonment of the attack on southern France, which then had the code name of Anvil. He wrote to me on February 21, 1944: “I recommend very strongly that we now throw the whole weight of our opinion into the scales against Anvil.”22 I refused to go along with this view.23 But it became clear that there was no other recourse except to delay the southern attack for a sufficient time to permit ships and craft first to operate in Overlord and then to proceed to the Mediterranean for participation in that battle.24 We concluded that this arrangement was not especially disadvantageous; at least it was far better than cancellation. The presence of Allied troops in the Mediterranean would prevent the German from completely evacuating his troops from southern France, while, if he gradually drained that area, our later advance from the south would be much speedier. Consequently we agreed upon the delay in the southern attack with the recommendation that it be made as soon after July 15 as was feasible.
Our scheme for employing the air force in preparation for the great assault encountered very earnest and sincere opposition, especially on the political level. To demolish the key bridges, freight yards, and main rail arteries of France would inevitably result in casualties among the French population. Even though we planned, in the case of large cities, to disrupt communications by bombing critical points surrounding the locality instead of within the highly populated centers, some statisticians calculated that the plan would cost at least 80,000 French lives. Such a catastrophe was of course likely to embitter the French nation; the Prime Minister and many of his subordinates insisted that some other way must be found to employ the air forces in support of the attack. The Prime Minister was genuinely shaken by the fearful picture presented to him by opponents of our idea, and his appeals to me were correspondingly urgent and appealing. He said, “Postwar France must be our friend. It is not alone a question of humanitarianism. It is also a question of high state policy.”25
My own air commanders and I challenged the accuracy of the statisticians’ figures. We anticipated losses of not more than a fraction of 80,000—particularly because we planned to issue both general and specific warnings to the inhabitants. We used every possible means repeatedly to tell the French and Belgians to move away from critical points in the transport system. More than this, preceding every raid we planned to warn inhabitants, by radio and by leaflet, to evacuate temporarily the areas selected for that attack. We could afford to give these definite warnings because of our knowledge that we had badly diminished the strength of the German Air Force and because also we knew that the enemy could not have anti-aircraft in sufficient quantities to cover, on short notice, every critical spot in the transportation system of France. The plan had to be so arranged that it did not, by its general pattern, reveal the area selected for assault. Consequently, in furtherance of our deception plans, we invariably chose some targets in the Calais area for heavy bombing simultaneously with every critical raid.26
The value and need of the bombing were argued long and earnestly and of course, sympathetically, because of human factors involved. Finally the Prime Minister and his government and General Pierre Joseph Koenig, the commander of the French Forces of the Interior, all agreed that the attacks had to be executed as laid down, with the hope that the measures we adopted for warning the population would be effective in minimizing casualties. In the outcome the efficacy of this preparatory bombing for the ground attack was clearly proved. Moreover, not only were the civilian casualties a mere fraction of those originally estimated, but the French nation as a whole calmly accepted their necessity and developed no antagonisms toward the Allied forces as a result of them. In addition to the work of the air forces against the transportation system of France we continued our steady pounding at German oil plants and other vital parts of its warmaking industry. Moreover, the air forces constantly sought to engage the Luftwaffe in battle with a view to wearing down its strength still more, before the crisis of the land battle should develop.27
In the meantime both ground and air staffs were constantly working on the perfection of measures for the co-ordination of ground and air in actual battle. We had long ceased to refer to “air support of the ground forces” and referred to our battles merely as “ground-air.” This interdependence is a characteristic of modern battle. Ground forces must always be determined to gain and protect favorable localities from which the air can operate close up to the front lines, while on the other hand constant fighter-bomber support of ground forces must be accepted as a matter of routine. In several crises of the European campaign the air flew more than 10,000 combat sorties per day as its share of the ground-air battle.28
One of the most difficult problems, which invariably accompanies planning for a tactical offensive, involves measures for maintenance, supplies, evacuation, and replacement.
Prior to the late war it had always been assumed that any major amphibious attack had to gain permanent port facilities within a matter of several days or be abandoned. The development of effective landing gear by the Allies, including LSTs, LCTs, ducks, and other craft, did much to lessen immediate dependence upon established port facilities. It is not too much to say that Allied development of great quantities of revolutionary types of equipment was one of the greatest factors in the defeat of the plans of the German General Staff.29
Nevertheless, possession of equipment and gear that permit the landing of material on open beaches does not by any means eliminate the need for ports. This was particularly true in Overlord. The history of centuries clearly shows th
at the English Channel is subject to destructive storms at all times of the year, with winter by far the worst period. The only certain method to assure supply and maintenance was by capture of large port facilities.
Since the nature of the defenses to be encountered ruled out the possibility of gaining adequate ports promptly, it was necessary also to provide a means for sheltering beach supply from the effect of storms. We knew that even after we captured Cherbourg its port capacity and the lines of communication leading out of it could not meet all our needs. To solve this apparently unsolvable problem we undertook a project so unique as to be classed by many scoffers as completely fantastic. It was a plan to construct artificial harbors on the coast of Normandy.30
The first time I heard this idea tentatively advanced was by Admiral Mountbatten, in the spring of 1942. At a conference attended by a number of service chiefs he remarked, “If ports are not available, we may have to construct them in pieces and tow them in.” Hoots and jeers greeted his suggestion but two years later it was to become reality.
Two general types of protected anchorages were designed. The first, called a “gooseberry,” was to consist merely of a line of sunken ships placed stem to stern in such numbers as to provide a sheltered coast line in their lee on which small ships and landing craft could continue to unload in any except the most vicious weather. The other type, named “mulberry,” was practically a complete harbor. Two of these were designed and constructed in Great Britain, to be towed piecemeal to the coast of Normandy. The principal construction unit in the mulberry was an enormous concrete ship, called a “phoenix,” boxlike in shape and so heavily constructed that when numbers of them were sunk end to end along a strip of coast they would probably provide solid protection against almost any wave action. Elaborate auxiliary equipment to facilitate unloading and all types of gear required in the operation of a modern port were planned for and provided. The British and American sectors were each to have one of the mulberry ports. Five gooseberries were to be installed.
Experience in Mediterranean warfare had demonstrated that each of our reinforced divisions in active operation consumed about 600 to 700 tons of supplies per day. Our maintenance arrangements had to provide for the arrival of these amounts daily. In addition we had simultaneously to build up on the beaches the reserves in troops, ammunition, and supplies that would enable us, within a reasonable time, to initiate deep offensives with the certainty that these could be sustained through an extended period of decisive action. On top of all this we had to provide for bringing in the heavy engineering and construction material needed to re-establish and refit captured ports, to repair railways, bridges, and roads, and to build airfields. A further feature of the logistic plan, and a most important one, provided for the speedy removal of wounded from the beaches and their prompt transfer to the great array of hospitals in England.
In SHAEF my principal logistic officers were Lieutenant General Sir Humfrey Gale and Major General R. W. Crawford, both widely experienced and extremely able. The commander of the American logistic organization was Lieutenant General John C. H. Lee. He was an engineer officer of long experience, with a reputation for getting things done. Because of his mannerisms and his stern insistence upon the outward forms of discipline, which he himself meticulously observed, he was considered a martinet by most of his acquaintances. He was determined, correct, and devoted to duty; he had long been known as an effective administrator and as a man of the highest character and religious fervor. I sometimes felt that he was a modern Cromwell, but I was ready to waive the rigidity of his mannerisms in favor of his constructive qualities. Indeed, I felt it possible that his unyielding methods might be vital to success in an activity where an iron hand is always mandatory.
Special tactical problems anticipated in the initial attack were many, some of them most difficult of solution. The principal subordinate commanders and staff officers met with me frequently to discuss and fit together evolving plans; often experts and specialists of a variety of categories attended these meetings to give technical advice.
Constant advisers in all tactical and operational affairs were these officers in whom I reposed the greatest confidence. They were Major General Harold R. Bull, Brigadier General Arthur S. Nevins of the American Army and Major General J. F. M. Whiteley of the British.
At a secluded spot in eastern England the British Army constructed every type of tactical obstacle that the German might use in defending against our attack. The British built pillboxes, massive stone walls, and great areas of barbed-wire entanglements. They planted mine fields, erected steel obstacles for underwater and land use, and dug anti-tank ditches. Each of these was a replica of similar defenses we knew the Germans had already installed. Then the British set about the task of designing equipment that would facilitate destruction of these obstacles. They used the area for actual test of the equipment so developed and for trying out new battle techniques.31
An interesting example of this experimentation was a new method for using the Bangalore torpedo. This torpedo is nothing but a long tube filled with explosive. It is thrust out into a mine field and upon detonation explodes all the mines planted along its length. Thus is created a narrow path through the mine field, along which troops can advance and continue the attack while others in the rear come forward to clear up the remaining portions of the field. These torpedoes had long been used in warfare but the British developed a novel way of employing them. They did this by covering a Sherman tank with a series of pipes, each of which contained a Bangalore torpedo. The pipes pointed straight to the front and were, in effect, guns with light charges of black powder at the rear. As the tank advanced it automatically fired these makeshift guns in succession so that, as each of the torpedoes flew out in the air and exploded some thirty feet in front of the tank, it cleared a continuous path through the mine field. Each tank carried a sufficient number of torpedoes to clear a path approximately fifty yards long. The idea was that, instead of depending upon defenseless foot soldiers to do this hazardous work, it would be done by a tank crew, from the comparative safety afforded by its protecting armor. I never saw this particular piece of equipment used in action but it is an example of the methods by which we tried to ease the problem of the foot soldier. Transportable bridges to span anti-tank ditches, flame-throwing tanks, and flails, plows, and heavy rollers for destroying mines were other items constantly under development and test.
As always, the matter of the Army’s morale attracted the constant attention of all senior commanders. Sometimes this attention had to be directed toward particular and specific points. For example, a columnist estimated that any attempt to land on the defended coast of northwest Europe would result in eighty to ninety per cent losses in the assaulting units. This irresponsible statement was sufficiently circulated to cause doubt and uneasiness in the command. Bradley and others immediately took occasion, during numerous visits to troops, to brand this statement for just what it was—a fearful, false, and completely misguided statement by someone who knew nothing of warfare or of the facts. Bradley predicted that the attacking losses would be no greater than in any other stiff battle of comparable size. We went so far as to give publicity to his estimate in the papers and used every other means available to us to prevent the doleful prediction from shaking the confidence of the troops.
The air plan, in both its preparatory and supporting phases, was worked out in minute detail, and as the spring wore on the results obtained in the preparatory phase were reviewed weekly. Reconnaissance by submarine and airplane was unending, while information was gathered from numbers of sources. The naval plan involved general protection, mine sweeping, escorting, supporting fire, and, along with all else, erection of artificial ports, repair of captured ports, and maintenance of cross-Channel supply. The coastal defenses were studied and specific plans made for the reduction of every strong point, every pillbox. Pictures were studied and one of the disturbing things these continued to show was the growing profusion of
beach obstacles, most of them under water at high tide. Embarkation plans for troops, equipment, and supplies were voluminous, and exact in detail. Routes to ports, timings of departures and arrivals, locations, protection and camouflage of temporary camps, and a thousand related matters were all carefully predetermined and, so far as feasible, tested in advance.
Senior commanders used every possible moment in visiting and inspecting troops. Records left by a staff officer show that in four months, from February 1 to June 1, I visited twenty-six divisions, twenty-four airfields, five ships of war, and numerous depots, shops, hospitals, and other important installations. Bradley, Montgomery, Spaatz, and Tedder maintained similar schedules. Such visits, sandwiched between a seemingly endless series of conferences and staff meetings, were necessary and highly valuable.
Soldiers like to see the men who are directing operations; they properly resent any indication of neglect or indifference to them on the part of their commanders and invariably interpret a visit, even a brief one, as evidence of the commander’s concern for them. Diffidence or modesty must never blind the commander to his duty of showing himself to his men, of speaking to them, of mingling with them to the extent of physical limitations. It pays big dividends in terms of morale, and morale, given rough equality in other things, is supreme on the battlefield.
As the time came for shifting our concentrations toward the ports, the southern portion of England became one vast camp, dump, and airfield. At our request the British Government stopped all traffic between this part of England and the remainder of the United Kingdom, just as it did between the United Kingdom and Eire, since enemy spies abounded in neutral Eire. The government even took the unprecedented step of arbitrarily stopping all diplomatic communications from the United Kingdom to foreign countries and drew down upon itself angry and prolonged protest.32 Further, it withdrew from normal use its coastwise shipping so that we could employ these immensely valuable vessels for military purposes. This threw an almost impossible load on the already overworked railways. Passenger traffic practically ceased and even essential commodities were transported with difficulty. Construction of the great artificial harbors engaged the services of thousands of men and added indescribable congestion to already crowded ports and harbors.
Crusade in Europe Page 30