Crusade in Europe

by Dwight D. Eisenhower

  We soon learned that strain had also been developing in Washington during the long preinvasion period of preparation. We were scarcely well on the beaches when General Marshall, Admiral King, General Arnold, and a group from their respective staffs arrived in England. I arranged to take them into the beachhead during the day of June 12. Their presence, as they roamed around the areas with every indication of keen satisfaction, was heartening to the troops. The importance of such visits by the high command, including, at times, the highest officials of government, can scarcely be overestimated in terms of their value to soldiers’ morale. The soldier has a sense of gratification whenever he sees very high rank in his particular vicinity, possibly on the theory that the area is a safe one or the rank wouldn’t be there.

  The period from D-day to our decisive breakout on July 25 was a definite phase of the Allied operation and has received the name “Battle of the Beachhead.”

  Interest in battles of the past, for soldier and civilian alike, often centers around points that were either of no great moment at the time of their happening or did not impress the actors as being so. An extraordinary amount of research and analysis, to say nothing of charge and countercharge, frequently concerns the originator of an idea; the detail in which developments conformed to preconceived plans; the inspiration for given decisions and the influence of particular individuals upon particular actions.

  The Battle of the Normandy Beachhead proved no exception to this rule. A deal of froth and fury, as well as much painstaking and objective research, have been devoted to the support of individual theories concerning matters which, had they been recognized at the time as of special later value, might have been settled for all time by the maintenance of written record.

  Fortunately most soldiers in war become very objective and the judgment of history does not seem as important, in the midst of battle, as does victory. Moreover, the lack of time and the demands upon the attention of all commanders and staff officers preclude the keeping of day-by-day and minute-by-minute accounts of everything that happens. Many significant actions are initiated by verbal contact, and frequently no record is kept. Battle orders, even for large formations, are often written after instructions have been issued in an exhaustive conference. Notes of the actual discussions do not exist. Moreover, later curiosity so often concerns itself with responsibility for thought and idea, rather than with events and results, that possibly even the most painstaking amanuensis could not leave any clear and unchallengeable account of all the occurrences that go to make up a campaign.

  Concerning the origination of plans and decisions: it is my conviction that no commander could normally take oath that a particular plan or conception originated within his own mind. Preoccupation with the concerns of his command are such that it is impossible for any person later to say whether the first gleam of an idea that may eventually have developed into a great plan came from within his own brain or from some outside suggestion. One of his problems is to keep his mind open, to avoid confusing necessary firmness with stubborn preconception or unreasoning prejudice.

  Another point: there is a vast difference between a definite plan of battle or campaign and the hoped-for eventual results of the operation. In committing troops to battle there are certain minimum objectives to be attained, else the operation is a failure. Beyond this lies the area of reasonable expectation, while still further beyond lies the realm of hope—all that might happen if fortune persistently smiles upon us.

  A battle plan normally attempts to provide guidance even into this final area, so that no opportunity for extensive exploitation may be lost through ignorance on the part of the troops concerning the intent of the commander. These phases of a plan do not comprise rigid instructions, they are merely guideposts. A sound battle plan provides flexibility in both space and time to meet the constantly changing factors of the battle problem in such a way as to achieve the final goal of the commander. Rigidity inevitably defeats itself, and the analysts who point to a changed detail as evidence of a plan’s weakness are completely unaware of the characteristics of the battlefield.

  The Battle of the Beachhead was a period of incessant and heavy fighting and one which, except for the capture of Cherbourg, showed few geographical gains. Yet it was during this period that the stage was set for the later, spectacular liberation of France and Belgium. The struggle in the beachhead was responsible for many developments, both material and doctrinal, that stood us in good stead throughout the remainder of the war.

  Knowing that his old antagonist of the desert, Rommel, was to be in tactical charge of the defending forces, Montgomery predicted that enemy action would be characterized by constant assaults carried out by any force immediately available from division down to battalion or even company size. He discounted the possibility that the enemy under Rommel would ever select a naturally strong defensive line and calmly and patiently go about the business of building up the greatest possible amount of force in order to launch one full-out offensive into our beach position. Montgomery’s predictions were fulfilled to the letter.2

  From the day we landed the battle never settled down, except in isolated spots, to anything resembling the trench warfare of the first World War. But it was the possibility of such an eventuality that we could never forget, particularly our British comrades with their memories of Vimy Ridge and Passchendaele.

  Bradley had predicted that the capture of Cherbourg was going to be a rather nasty job and counted on speed and boldness as much as upon the strength of his assaulting forces to gain an early decision in that area. His estimate was “ten days if we are lucky, thirty if we are not.” Among other things, all such predictions depended, of course, upon our success in maintaining the scheduled build-up. The landing tables provided in great detail for the daily and hourly arrival of given quantities of every kind of fighting unit, sandwiched in between the ammunition and other supplies which were required, not only for the daily operations but to provide the reserves to sustain continuous action once we should pass to the decisive stages of the battle.

  On the eastward flank, the city of Caen did not fall to our initial rush as we had hoped and we were consequently unable to gain the ground south and southeast of that city where we had planned to make early exploitation of our tank and combat air strength. But the battling in that area reached a sustained and intensive pitch: Rommel defended tenaciously, and as the fighting progressed it became clear why it was necessary for him to do so.

  To support the divisions in the attack area the enemy first drew into the battle zone all the troops he could spare from the Brittany Peninsula. Next he brought up divisions from the south of France and others from the Low Countries. His only remaining major reserves in northwest Europe not committed to the fighting were in and about Calais, in the German Fifteenth Army. To maintain connection with these troops he had to hold Caen. If he lost that city his two principal forces would be divided and could thenceforth operate together only if both executed a long withdrawal. So to Caen he hurried his strongest and best divisions, and made every possible preparation to hold it to the end.3

  Our frustration in the attainment of our immediate tactical goals in the eastern sector involved no change in the broad purposes of the operational plan. It was merely another example of the age-old truth that every battle plan comprises merely an orderly commitment of troops to battle under the commander’s calculations of desirable objectives and necessary resources, but always with the certainty that enemy reaction will require constant tactical adjustment to the requirements of the moment. As quickly as it became certain that the enemy intended at all costs to hang onto Caen as the hinge of his operations it instantly became to our advantage to keep him so preoccupied in that region that all other Allied operations would be facilitated.

  On the far western flank General Collins’ VII Corps initially attacked straight westward to cut the peninsula in two. He then turned swiftly toward Cherbourg but had also to establish on his southward flank a se
cure line to block any enemy reinforcements attempting to push into the peninsula.4

  On June 12, 1944, the first flying bomb, known as V-1, reached London. The V-1 was a small pilotless airplane which flew at high speed on a predetermined course and terminated its flight by means of settings in its mechanism. It contained a large amount of explosive which detonated upon contact, and the blast effect was terrific.5 The first V-2 was not used until early August. It was a rocket, shot into the air to a great height, which fell at such high speed that the first warning of its coming was the explosion. During flight it could not be heard, seen, or intercepted and for these reasons was never as terrifying as the V-1.

  The V-2 bomb was particularly destructive when it fell directly into a structure of some kind. Owing to its speed, it penetrated deeply into the ground and its great explosive effect was exerted directly upward. As a consequence, when it fell into open spaces it was relatively ineffective, but so great was its explosive charge when it hit a building that destruction was almost complete.6

  The development and employment of these weapons were undoubtedly greatly delayed by our spring bombing campaign against the places where we suspected they were under manufacture. Peenemünde, in Germany, was known to be one of the largest of the German experimental plants and periodically we sent large formations of bombers to attack that area. There were other places indicated to us as suspicious. One was Trondheim, in Norway, where we thought that the Germans were engaged in atomic development. We also bombed the suspected launching sites along the coast of northwestern Europe, where our reconnaissance photography showed numerous facilities and installations that could not be interpreted in terms of any known weapon. These areas were continuously hammered.7

  The effect of the new German weapons was very noticeable upon morale. Great Britain had withstood terrific bombing experiences. But when in June the Allies landed successfully on the Normandy coast the citizens unquestionably experienced a great sense of relief, not only at the prospect of victory but in the hope of gaining some insurance against future bombings. When the new weapons began to come over London in considerable numbers their hopes were dashed. Indeed, the depressing effect of the bombs was not confined to the civilian population; soldiers at the front began again to worry about friends and loved ones at home, and many American soldiers asked me in worried tones whether I could give them any news about particular towns where they had previously been stationed in southern England.

  It seemed likely that, if the German had succeeded in perfecting and using these new weapons six months earlier than he did, our invasion of Europe would have proved exceedingly difficult, perhaps impossible. I feel sure that if he had succeeded in using these weapons over a six-month period, and particularly if he had made the Portsmouth–Southampton area one of his principal targets, Overlord might have been written off.

  Defensive measures against the V-1 soon attained a very high degree of efficiency, but even so, the threat of their arrival was always present at all hours of the day and night and in all kinds of weather. We in the field wanted to capture the areas from which these weapons were fired against southern England. However, it must be said to the credit of the British leaders that never once did one of them urge me to vary any detail of my planned operations merely for the purpose of eliminating this scourge.

  On June 18, Montgomery still felt that conditions permitted the early capture of Caen. His directive of that date stated: “It is clear that we must now capture Caen and Cherbourg, as the first step in the full development of our plans. Caen is really the key to Cherbourg.…” In the same directive he gave the following instructions to the British Army: “The immediate task of this Army will be to capture Caen.” The final sentence of that order was: “I shall hope to see both Caen and Cherbourg captured by June 24.”8

  On the left the German armor and defensive strength continued to defeat our intentions, but the port of Cherbourg fell on June 26, just twenty days after the landing. General Collins had conducted against it a relentless offensive and as a result of the operation justified his nickname, “Lightning Joe.” The final assault was materially assisted by heavy and accurate naval gunfire.

  In the matter of luck we had enjoyed a rough medium between Bradley’s minimum and maximum estimates of the influence of this imponderable factor. Our good luck was largely represented in the degree of surprise that we achieved by landing on Utah Beach, which the Germans considered unsuited to major amphibious operations, and by the effective action of the two airborne divisions, the 82d and the 101st, which had landed almost in the center of the peninsula. Our bad luck was in the hurricane that struck us on June 19. It stopped for a period of four days nearly all landing activity on the beaches and therefore interfered seriously with every operation; it was so fierce in character as to render offensive fighting extremely difficult.

  During that time sea communications between the United Kingdom and the Continent were completely interrupted and it was almost impossible to land an airplane on the small landing strips we had constructed in the bridgehead. The mulberry at Omaha Beach in the American sector suffered damage beyond repair. Great numbers of ships and small vessels were grounded or hurled onto the beach.9

  Conditions would have been ideal for a German counterattack except for the prior effectiveness of the air forces’ campaign of isolation. Here, as always, was emphasized the decisive influence of air power in the ground battle.

  On the day of the storm’s ending I flew from one end of our beach line to the other and counted more than 300 wrecked vessels above small-boat size, some so badly damaged they could not be salvaged.

  When the storm struck, one American division, the 83d, was still lying in its ships just off the beach. Bulk unloading was out of the question and so during the entire storm the division underwent an extremely uncomfortable and trying experience. I visited the men of that division the day they finally got ashore and found a number of them still seasick and temporarily exhausted.

  There was no sight in the war that so impressed me with the industrial might of America as the wreckage on the landing beaches. To any other nation the disaster would have been almost decisive; but so great was America’s productive capacity that the great storm occasioned little more than a ripple in the development of our build-up.

  With the capture of Cherbourg the work of port rehabilitation was started immediately. The Germans had accomplished major demolitions and had planted in the harbor and its approaches a profusion and variety of mines. Some of the new types of mines could be removed only by deep-sea divers, who had to descend to the bottom to disarm the mines. The work of the mine sweepers and the deep-sea divers in Cherbourg Harbor was dramatic and courageous.10

  During the twenty days required by the U. S. VII Corps to capture Cherbourg, the fighting was continuous throughout the remainder of the front, with only local gains anywhere, and almost stalemate in the Caen sector. The sketch shows our lines on June 12 and 26.

  Montgomery’s tactical handling of the British and Canadians on the eastward flank and his co-ordination of these operations with those of the Americans to the westward involved the kind of work in which he excelled. He well understood the personal equation of the British soldier, and the morale of his forces remained high, in spite of frustrations and losses that could easily have shaken troops under a commander in whom they did not place their implicit trust.

  General Bradley displayed qualities of steadfastness, drive, professional skill, and a capacity for human understanding which became so obvious to his subordinates and his superiors alike that the American teamwork forged on the many battlefields of the Normandy beachhead was never thereafter seriously shaken. He was then commanding the First Army. Major General Elwood R. Quesada, a young and active air commander, was in charge of the tactical air groupments immediately supporting him. The mutual confidence they developed, the systems and methods they worked out for battlefield co-ordination, and the spirit they infused among all their subordinate
s, were in pleasing contrast to other cases that I had encountered early in the war. The Navy likewise fitted perfectly into the picture. The accomplishments in Europe of the three United States services operating under unified command strongly influenced my determined advocacy of a similar type of organization in postwar Washington.

  During the early stages of the battle my own life was one of almost incessant travel. A visit to Montgomery, Bradley, or to troops on the front would be immediately followed by a period of activity in the Portsmouth headquarters, where the work of co-ordinating and adjusting shipments and major phases of planning was interspersed with countless interviews and conferences. Along with this there was of course a constant need to visit formations still in England and destined for early entry into battle.

  One incident, pleasing to me personally and indicative of General Marshall’s constant thoughtfulness for his subordinates, was the arrival of my son in the theater about the middle of June. He graduated from West Point on D-day and, with General Marshall’s approval, was given authority to spend his short graduation leave with me in the battle area, subject only to the proviso that he return to the United States in time to enter upon his advanced training by July 1. He traveled with me everywhere, and his sole disappointment was my refusal to interfere in the normal routine for a young graduate and assign him to one of the infantry divisions then in Europe.