No Less Than Victory

by Jeff Shaara

  Eisenhower stood, walked to the map that spread out over one of the plywood walls. He glanced at Churchill, who peered up at him from under the brim of his hat, no expression at all. Eisenhower picked up a stick pointer, felt suddenly ridiculous, like some schoolmaster educating the ignorant. Dammit, the French know this map better than I do. I shouldn’t have to explain this.

  “General de Gaulle, it was most unfortunate that the French First Army could not secure the Colmar pocket.” He stopped, wanted to say so much more about that, but he could already feel an icy silence in the room. Beside him, Churchill made a short low grunt. Eisenhower thought, fine, I’ve put myself in a damn minefield. Now get out of it. “I mean to say of course, that it is unfortunate that the French and American armies could not drive the enemy from that area. The enemy’s strength there has been a patch of thorns we have had to devote considerable resources to contain. Had the enemy chosen to do so, he might have struck out from Colmar in a way that might have produced a second bulge, and caused us a serious problem. However, by staying put, he has kept his advantages to himself. The German holds a strong defensive position. With this new assault coming at us across the Siegfried line, Hitler is no doubt anticipating that we will respond by drawing strength away from the Ardennes. We cannot do that. Thus, it is militarily sound that we withdraw those troops under attack in Alsace to a far more defensible position, to contract our lines, and allow the German to destroy himself against our defenses. I understand that Strasbourg lies outside of the new position I propose, and I understand your concerns for the safety of the civilian inhabitants.”

  “Perhaps you do not, General. I cannot allow my army to participate in the abandonment of the city. Strasbourg has been a symbol of French greatness for generations. We have rescued the inhabitants from the boot heel of Boche occupation in the past, and now we have done so again. If I allow this retreat, the French people will lose faith in their government and in their army. They will also lose faith in yours. If you intend to follow through with the order to withdraw all across the Alsatian front, the French First Army will be forced to operate independently. We will defend the city ourselves, and deal with whatever horrors the enemy thrusts upon us.”

  Eisenhower felt the heat rising in his brain, tapped the stick pointer against the palm of his hand.

  “Despite how you may feel about this strategic decision, General, I do appreciate your zeal for protecting your people. I share that. I am attempting to protect all our people against a German breakthrough that could damage everything we have gained in the Ardennes. If you order your commanders to ignore this strategy, you will force me to allow just what you propose. The French First Army will become independent. I have no doubt that the German response will be to swarm out of Colmar, push hard through Alsace, and surround Strasbourg with considerable energy. Your army will become quite a prize for whatever German general can claim it. They will make every effort to cut you off from our protection, and their highest priority will be to sever all your lines of supply. I fear greatly that the citizens of Strasbourg will suffer a fate as unfortunate as any of your people have thus far. Their city will become a battlefield, and most likely will be reduced to rubble. I do not insult the fighting spirit of the French soldier, General. But the Germans will understand immediately what you have done, and they will appreciate the opportunity you have offered them. They will respond with as much force as they can muster.”

  De Gaulle had stopped smiling, looked away from the map, glanced at Churchill, who still did not speak.

  After a long silent moment, de Gaulle said, “If my country loses this fight in the way you describe, my government will lose the support of the French people. It is that simple. If my government does not survive, there will be anarchy, and that will destroy France. That will produce serious consequences for you as well. You have long maintained that you are our ally. Such friendship promises mutual support. If the French people no longer choose to support your cause, there could be difficulties for you in the future. Supply lines might be the least of your challenges.”

  Eisenhower moved back to his chair, sat, one hand across his mouth, rubbing slowly. He looked at de Gaulle, the man utterly serious. Dammit, he’s right. The room was silent for a long moment, and Eisenhower avoided de Gaulle’s stare. He glanced toward the silent Churchill, thought, you’re not helping at all. A minute passed, interminable silence, and finally, Eisenhower reached for the phone on his desk, waited for the voice on the other end, said, “Get me Devers.”

  The response was annoying, too uncertain. “Well dammit, find him!”

  He hung up the phone, looked again at the map.

  “I have decided to order General Devers to withdraw the northern portion of his lines to the positions we have already planned. I will instruct him to maintain the city of Strasbourg within our lines, and furthermore, I will cease the withdrawal of any additional troop strength from his sector. By now, we should have sufficient manpower in the Ardennes sector to complete that campaign successfully. As long as we can prevent a German breakthrough in Alsace, Strasbourg will not be …” He fought for the right word. “Sacrificed.”

  The smile returned to de Gaulle, Churchill still maddeningly silent. De Gaulle stood, snapped to attention, seemed to touch the ceiling with his hat. He made a short bow, said, “The French people have great admiration for your military skills, General. The French army will continue to serve you with gallantry. Alongside our allies, we shall destroy the German plague.”

  The meeting was obviously over, and Eisenhower stood as well, took de Gaulle’s enormous hand in his own. Without another word, de Gaulle turned and left the room, his interpreter close behind. Eisenhower sat again, felt the heat in the room, looked at Churchill, tried to be annoyed, but there was no anger, Eisenhower so often disarmed by the short squat figure who watched him with a hint of a smile.

  Churchill said, “Quite the politician, eh? You, I mean, not that French rooster. But he had you, both hands firmly on your tenders. You did the wise and proper thing.”

  “I’ll hear bitching from Devers about it, but as long as I don’t pull any more people away from him, he’ll be all right.”

  Churchill shrugged.

  “I don’t know much about all that. Your department. My department concerns politics, though if you keep up this sort of thing, you’ll be gathering votes yourself.” He paused. “You are probably curious why I decided to drop in on you. I know whenever I plop myself into your affairs, it has to be a distraction, and Lord knows, you have plenty to worry about. But I thought you should know what I’m hearing from our other allies. Right now, my ears are full of blather from Joe Stalin’s minions, telling me that it is our obligation as allies to keep up as much pressure as we can on the enemy. The Russians are planning an enormous offensive that, if it works, should go far toward ending this thing.”

  Eisenhower had heard talk of the Russian operation, including messages he had received from Washington. He opened a drawer to one side, reached for a bottle, held it up for Churchill to see.

  “Brandy. Yours, I believe.”

  “Of course it’s mine. All brandy everywhere is mine. I insist, though occasionally I do allow others to share it. I was wondering when you were going to get around to offering me some. I am deeply grateful you didn’t give any away to that Frenchman.”

  Eisenhower pulled two glasses off a shelf behind him, poured Churchill’s twice as full as his own, the usual tradition. He took the glass to the prime minister, thought, no need to make you move out of that chair.

  Eisenhower returned to his desk. “I was hoping you’d chime in, you know, offer me a life preserver.”

  “Why? You handled de Gaulle perfectly.”

  “I’m not cut out for all this international sensitivity. I leave that to General Marshall, the rest of them.”

  Churchill laughed.

  “Dear boy, I’m not cut out for sensitivity at all. Still, I manage. I think often of your President Rooseve
lt, Teddy, the first one. Walk softly and carry a big stick. Magnificent, brilliant. But, you have to know when to use that stick, whether to pat the other fellow on the back or bash out his brains. With de Gaulle, you wielded the stick exactly as you should have.”

  Eisenhower appreciated the compliment, held up the brandy glass, a silent toast. He took a sip, the rough burn unpleasant, not what he needed. His mind focused again on the Russians. “Has Stalin given us a D-Day for his offensive?”

  Churchill shook his head, downed half the glass.

  “Course not. The Russians are never so forthcoming.”

  Eisenhower was annoyed, had been through this before.

  “Why the hell not? They demand every detail we can give them about our strategic operations, and they don’t reveal a damn thing about their own. Clearly they don’t trust us. It pisses me off. We are allies, after all.”

  Churchill held up a hand, stopped him.

  “You pulled a grand political stroke with de Gaulle. But Uncle Joe is a different beast entirely. And, I think beast is the proper description. The Russians don’t understand us at all, never have. They think we talk too much. They’re surprised as all hell when we actually tell them our plans without lying to them, and they’re appalled that we provide accurate information on things like casualty counts for our newspapers. But, they also think of us as a necessary inconvenience to a war they have to win. And make no mistake, Uncle Joe believes this war to be his private domain, a fight to the death between Hitler and him. It’s personal. We are merely their assistants, sometimes helpful, but never to be trusted or depended upon. They saw the entire Normandy campaign as a convenient distraction, as though we temporarily stuck a thorn in Hitler’s side. The Western Theater of the war is a back-alley stage show to them. Once I understood that, I understood Stalin’s ways. They’re not about to tell us anything important, certainly not anything as significant as the start date for their new offensive. But in the end, does it matter? Once the Russians jump off, Hitler will have his hands full. More than full. Hitler bit the tail of a tiger when he invaded Russia. Thank God for stupid mistakes.”

  On January 8, Hitler finally gave the order to his commanders in the Ardennes that allowed them to withdraw. But the order was a formality far more important to Berlin than to the men in the field. Throughout the month of January, as blizzards rolled again through the Ardennes, the Americans continued their push, punching the Germans slowly backward, until, on January 28, German forces fell back to the positions they had held prior to December 16, to the safety of the defensive works they had held when the Battle of the Bulge had begun.

  The Russian offensive began on January 12, a massive surge all across the Eastern Front, with a primary strike into the German defenses in southern Poland. Hitler had no choice but to weaken his forces in the west, pulling what remained of Sepp Dietrich’s Sixth Panzer Army eastward, a desperate attempt to hold back a Russian wave that was overpowering. Within eight days, Russian troops had shoved their way through Poland and reached the German border.

  With Dietrich’s tanks gone, the American commanders in the Ardennes kept up their pressure, striking hard at Hitler’s West Wall, what the Allies called the Siegfried line.

  Though Eisenhower was enormously pleased by the shift in momentum, and the successful actions of all of his commanders, there continued to be one burden he had no choice but to endure. On January 7, Field Marshal Bernard Montgomery opted to give a press conference, responding to the enthusiastic wishes of so many reporters who had been kept mostly in the dark during the chaotic fighting in the bulge. To the furious astonishment of the American commanders, Montgomery worded his statement to indicate in perfectly certain terms that he had saved the day. In typical Montgomery fashion, nearly every part of his report to the press explained the campaign in a way that left no doubt that Montgomery himself deserved the credit for turning the German tide, and in fact had probably saved the entire American army. It was one more bundle of dynamite added to Montgomery’s explosively poor relationship with his allies, Eisenhower included. Thus, it was a grateful Eisenhower who received the reports that Winston Churchill had wisely attempted to defuse the controversy by addressing Parliament. Churchill’s speech was specific and unambiguous.

  The Americans have engaged thirty or forty men for every one we have engaged, and they have lost sixty or eighty men for every one of us. This is the greatest American battle of the war and will, I believe, be regarded as an ever-famous American victory.

  With pressure on Germany’s borders increasing on both fronts in the ground war, the air war continued to be relentlessly one-sided. When the weather allowed, the intensity of the Allied long-range bombing campaign continued, nearly every German industrial center targeted day and night. More than once, Eisenhower had wrestled with the moral gravity of that, knowing that the obliteration of factories was never precise, that incendiary bombs had already reduced some German cities to ash and rubble, and that the cost in human terms had to be staggering. The amazing tonnage of bombs raining down across Germany’s industrial facilities had long convinced the bomber barons in England that bombing alone would defeat the enemy, would blast away Germany’s ability to wage war. But somehow, through the continuous destruction, the factories managed at least some level of output, even if the production numbers were far below what Hitler demanded.

  The greatest impact of the bombing campaign against Germany’s ability to produce gasoline became clear in the Ardennes, witnessed by the enormous quantity of German military machines abandoned from a lack of fuel. Thus the bombing campaign would continue. Eisenhower had never believed the grandiose claims of the bomber barons, but he made no argument against the continuation of the strategy, no matter how many German civilians might be dying in the process. It was, after all, a war against a kind of enemy the world had never seen, not in his own lifetime, and perhaps long before. In too many examples the soldiers had witnessed for themselves, the Germans had shown a stunning lack of regard for human life, and had repeatedly ignored what the Allies considered to be the basic rules of war.

  In a retreat from the Ardennes that was both dogged and desperate, the Germans left behind much more than slaughter on a battlefield. There was slaughter in the villages, civilians butchered by mostly renegade soldiers, exacting revenge on the Belgians or anyone else who might have aided the Americans in any way. As had happened at Stavelot, American troops pushed through the bowl-like towns vacated by fleeing Germans, only to find rows of murdered civilians, mostly unburied. To many of the GIs, the German was still a faceless enemy, but as the horrors increased, that face assumed a shape that inspired revenge the Allied commanders had never expected. Captured German prisoners seemed suddenly to disappear, many reports filtering back to company commanders of those prisoners shot while trying to escape. Though senior officers worked earnestly to prevent it, the Americans, Brits, and Canadians had learned to fight with the same viciousness as their enemy. Some officers simply turned their backs as a new brand of justice was handed out by GIs in a way no one back home would ever read about in a newspaper.

  Eisenhower and his generals, particularly the West Pointers, had been carefully educated in the rules of war, rules that were carried down from the days when gentlemen faced one another with muskets while audiences of onlookers cheered. But this war had changed everyone’s ideas about what was humane. As they advanced on their enemy, GIs were witnessing the results of slaughter and barbarism, the execution of prisoners and the astonishingly inhumane treatment of civilians, the vicious disregard of those rules that, by 1945, seemed a relic of some naïve past. The soldiers had become engulfed in the horror that no one could warn them about, no training could prepare them for. As they began their push into Germany, the war was no longer some adventure for the heroic and the stouthearted. There was evil in the world, and the face of that evil had become more than the newsreel photo of the screaming German dictator with the disheveled hair and the short black mustache. The GI w
ho carried the rifle knew now that the evil was right in front of him, hidden in a bunker, kneeling behind a machine gun, manning an artillery piece. With the Battle of the Bulge behind them, the GIs cared little about secretive Russians and arrogant Frenchmen, about generals and governments. The war was now about them, and the enemy they had to destroy.

  The best way to defend is to attack and the best way to attack is to attack. At Chancellorsville, Lee was asked why he attacked when he was outnumbered three to one. He said he was too weak to defend.

  —GEORGE PATTON

  The 106th had been put back into action, though the division’s rifle-toting infantry was only a single regiment, the 424th, the one regiment that had avoided mass capture in the Ardennes. The undersized 106th was now attached to the 99th Division, its former neighbor during the chaotic battles of December. The Ninety-ninth had suffered enormous casualties as well, but most of that division’s structure was still in place. Until the decision was made to rejuvenate the 422nd and 423rd regiments with fresh replacements, the veterans of those units who had survived would become part of the 424th.

  Benson had accepted the new orders with the same shrug of indifference that most of the veterans felt. Despite the early training in the States that emphasized unit loyalty, those cheerleading officers who instilled the rah-rah enthusiasm for their unit’s symbols, the veterans had learned to appreciate loyalty of a different sort. Benson was no different. When the new assignments came, he had been nervously grateful that Higgins was still his sergeant, and that Kenny Mitchell would remain in the same squad. By now the others in the squad had become somewhat familiar, mainly from their shared experiences during the brief push into Stavelot. But others were there as well, men who had been listed as missing in action, no longer missing. As the officers sorted through the mess of reorganizing the 424th, stragglers had continued to appear, some of whom Benson had known from their first days in action. The officers encouraged the sergeants to seek out men they had known before, and Higgins had obeyed. Among the orphans was one of those men captured on that one awful day in that one small village. The man whose obnoxious bullying had given Benson so many hours of misery had suddenly returned. George Lane had been held by the Germans for at least two weeks, but with the collapse of German momentum, he had managed to escape, along with scattered pockets of troops all across the Ardennes. Many of those had never returned, some stumbling into German patrols, blown up by mines and booby traps, or lost in ways no one might ever know. But a fortunate few had trickled through the American lines, singly or in small groups. They had survived mostly off the spoils scrounged from dead soldiers whose uniforms no longer mattered. K rations had become a treasure, stale bread and cans of sardines retrieved from frozen corpses with desperate relief.