13
Portrait of a Born General
As a result of his conversation with Sir Richard Peck, on the sunny morning of June 3rd Gregory left London in an Air Ministry car. Owing to the rationing of petrol the Great West Road was almost empty, so the car soon reached Maidenhead. In peacetime the river there would have been gay with picnic parties in punts and launches, but it was now still and deserted. The car sped on past the even lovelier reaches of the upper Thames, then across downlands until over the horizon there appeared the widely spaced hangars of Harwell Aerodrome.
It was a peacetime R.A.F. station with well-designed buildings and commodious quarters, but as it was now also the headquarters of the 6th Airborne Division it was crowded with soldiers as well as airmen. Gregory reported to the Adjutant who took him to the mess, where within half an hour he had made a dozen new friends.
Among them was Wing Commander Macnamara, whose aircraft was to tow the glider that would take General Richard Gale to France, and the Station Commander, Group Captain Surplice, who his officers united in saying was the finest C.O. under whom they had ever served. Squadron Leader Pound, a veteran of the First World War and Principal Administrative Officer, then took Gregory to the Briefing Room.
There, behind a locked door with an armed sentry on guard and blacked-out windows, another beribboned veteran was preparing the maps from which the air crews would be briefed when the signal came through that the ‘party’ was definitely on. Then at six o’clock the visitor was taken on a tour of the great airfield with its broad runways and scores of parked aircraft and gliders. They were wearing their war-paint: special recognition signs painted on only the night before, after the camp had been ‘sealed’. No-one who now entered it would be permitted to leave or write or telephone from it until the invasion had taken place.
After the drive round, Major Griffiths, who was to pilot the General’s glider, took Gregory up for a twenty-minute flight in it. There was a stiff wind so it was a little bumpy, but that did not worry him. The roar from Macnamara’s towing aircraft came plainly back to them; then, as he cast off, there came a sudden silence and a few minutes later they glided safely back on to a runway.
Next Gregory attended a preliminary briefing. It took the form of a colour film showing a part of France. For those in the long, darkened room it was just as though they were seated in a huge aircraft flying over the country shown in the film. Again and again they seemed to be carried over the German-held beaches to the fields on which the paratroops were to be dropped and the gliders come down, while the commentator pointed out the principal landmarks by which the pilots could identify their objectives.
Back in the big mess Gregory found it now packed to capacity with equal numbers of officers in khaki and Air Force blue. They all looked wonderfully fit and their morale was terrific. Macnamara introduced him to General Gale, a huge man with a ready laugh, shrewd eyes, a bristling moustache and a bulldog chin.
They soon discovered that they were the same age. ‘And a damn’ good vintage, too,’ said the General.
An officer asked the General what weapon he was going to take for the battle. He roared with laughter. ‘Weapon! What the hell do I want with a weapon? If I have the luck to get near any of those so-and-sos I’ll use my boot to kick them in the guts.’
After dinner Gregory drank and laughed with a score of officers; then, as they drifted off to bed, he stayed up for another hour talking to General Gale alone. Among other things they discussed the qualities that make a good leader, and the General said:
‘Efficiency; that’s the only thing that counts. If the men know that you really know your job, they’ll follow you blindly anywhere.’
Gregory did not agree. He argued that efficiency might be nine-tenths of the game, but the last tenth was personality. To make his point he instanced that his companion was wearing light grey jodhpurs instead of battle-dress.
‘What’s that got to do with it?’ the General wanted to know. ‘I wear the damned things because they’re comfortable and I hate the feel of that beastly khaki serge.’
‘Exactly,’ Gregory laughed. ‘Most people would be shy about dressing differently, but you don’t care a hoot. You’ve the courage of your convictions and if you have them about clothes you must also have them about running your show.’
When they at last went to bed they were a little worried about the weather, but they knew that a postponement of the operation would not even be considered unless it became exceptionally bad. That Saturday night hundreds of ships were already moving to their concentration points, so the security of the whole operation might be jeopardised if the invasion were put off even for a single day.
In the morning the weather had worsened. Nevertheless a Wing Commander Bangey took Gregory up for a flight in one of the paratroop-dropping aircraft. They did a practice run over a diagonal road that had a certain similarity to a road in the target area and the crew went through the exact drill they would follow when they were dropped in France.
Then, when Gregory got back, the blow fell. At 11.30 the Station Commander sent for him to tell him that the operation would not take place that night.
Both Gregory and General Gale were utterly appalled. They were the only people on the station who realised the full implications of a postponement. There were now over four thousand ships which had moved up in the night and many thousands of smaller craft massed round the Isle of Wight. The enemy had only to send over one recce plane and he would learn that the invasion was just about to start. That would give him twenty-four hours in which to rush additional troops to the French coast and when our troops landed they would find every gun manned.
Worse, the Germans might send their whole bomber force over that Sunday night to the Solent and if they did it must result in the most ghastly massacre among our close-berthed stationary shipping.
Fortunately, no more than a dozen people on the station knew the date that had been decided for D-Day, so remained unaware of the postponement and the terrible consequences that might arise from it. They knew only that, the camp having been sealed, D-Day must be imminent, and their joy was unbounded at the thought of at last being able to put into real use the drills they had practised for so long.
In consequence that night the crowded mess was a scene of even greater excitement and mirth. Both soldiers and airmen were offering long odds that within a week of the invasion the enemy would collapse and the war be over, but finding few takers. About nine o’clock a sing-song started. The station doctor, Squadron Leader Evan Jones, produced his accordion and they made the rafters ring with all the old favourites, from ‘She was poor but she was honest’ to ‘Auld Lang Syne’. Then three-quarters of an hour after midnight Gregory learned from the General’s A.D.C. that a signal had just come in. The great decision had been taken. The following night the show was definitely on.
The morning of Monday June 5th passed quietly. Very few people knew as yet that this was D minus 1. But at lunchtime the whispered word went round, ‘Final briefing at three o’clock.’
For the past week the Italian campaign had become the forgotten front, but while Gregory was still at lunch it was suddenly announced that General Alexander had captured Rome. An outburst of cheering greeted this splendid news and Gregory was particularly delighted, because everybody in the War Cabinet Offices regarded ‘Alex’ as by far the best of our Generals, and that his triumph should not have been spoilt by coming after D-Day was a most happy occurrence.
In the afternoon there were three briefings, each taking an hour, for the three separate but co-ordinated operations. Major-General Crawford, the Director of Air Operations War Office, had arrived from London and with him was Air Vice-Marshal Hollinghurst, the A.O.C. of the Group. Group Captain Surplice opened the proceedings by reading Orders of the Day from General Eisenhower and the Air Commander-in-Chief, Sir Trafford Leigh-Mallory. Then, having run through the general lay-out, he asked General Gale to describe the part his Division was to play.
The General said that his task was to protect the left flank of the Allied Armies. To achieve this three landings would be made to the east of the River Orne. It was imperative that a large fortified battery that enfiladed the assault beaches should be silenced. One of the first parties to land would raid a small chateau and seize a car known to be in its garage. Two paratroopers, both Austrians, would drive the car hell-for-leather towards the steel gates of the emplacement, shouting in German, ‘Open the gates! Open the gates! The invasion has started.’
The Germans would have heard the aircraft overhead, so it was hoped that they would open up; then the paratroopers would hurl bombs through which would make it impossible to close the gates again. It was a suicide job and might not come off. To make certain of silencing the battery, the General intended to crash-land three gliders across the fort’s concrete and barbed-wired surrounding ditch.
The other two parties were to seize two adjacent bridges about five miles from the coast, one of which crossed the Orne and the other a canal running parallel to it. He then meant to establish his battle H.Q. between the two seized bridges and infest with his men all the territory to the west in order to delay an attack against the British flank. Then when the attack came, as come it must, he would fight with his back to the double water line.
As Gregory listened he was thrilled by the thought that this was no academic lecture, no Staff College exercise, but the real thing. That was brought even more sharply home a few minutes later as the General went on to say that the 21st Panzer Division would be at them pretty soon, so he would need every anti-tank gun he could get in and need them pretty badly. Then, as though it had only just occurred to him, he added, ‘As a matter of fact we shall want them tomorrow.’ At that a roar of laughter went up from the packed benches.
Other briefings followed: by the Station Commander, the Signals Officer, the Secret Devices Expert and the Meteorological Officer. The last predicted clear skies under two thousand feet and broken cloud above which would let enough moonlight through for the pilots to pick up their dropping zones without difficulty.
At dinner that night Gregory looked down the lines of young faces. All of them were flushed with excitement, eager and merry. Not one of them seemed conscious of the fact that this might be the last meal he would ever eat; and Gregory thought how proud their parents and friends would be if they could see them.
Before leaving London he had looted Sir Pellinore’s cellar of a few bottles of one of the finest hocks in the world—Ruppertsberg Hoheburg Gewürztramminer feinste Edelbeeren Auslese 1920. At his suggestion General Gale asked General Crawford, Air Vice-Marshal Hollinghurst, Wing Commander Macnamara and his A.D.C. to help drink them to an Allied victory.
As they drank the fine wine they talked of the coming battle, but Gregory’s thoughts were temporarily elsewhere. They had gone back to that other fine hock of the same vintage that he had drunk with Malacou the first night they met at Sassen; and he found himself once more overlooking the occultist.
Malacou and Tarik were still in their lonely cottage and had made themselves very comfortable. The former had succeeded in bringing his astrological gear with him and was seated at the table in the living room working on some problem. A third man was present: a tall, lean fellow dressed in rough clothes but with a fine-featured intelligent face. On Malacou becoming aware of Gregory’s ethereal presence he broke off his work to communicate that they had no fears for the moment, and that their companion was a Polish engineer, also in hiding from the Nazis, who had recently taken refuge with them.
At ten o’clock Group Captain Surplice came into the mess and carried Gregory off with him. First, in his car they made a complete tour of the airfield, but everything was in perfect order and there was no need for even one last-minute instruction. Then they went to the Watch Tower, to within a few yards of which every aircraft had to taxi up before receiving the signal to take off. The weather was still far from good, but it had improved a little and there were breaks in the clouds so that the late summer twilight faded almost imperceptibly into moonlight.
The first wave consisted of fourteen aircraft carrying paratroopers, followed by four aircraft towing gliders containing special material needed as soon as possible after the paratroops had landed. The wave was led by Wing Commander Bangley, and with him as a passenger went Air Vice-Marshal Hollinghurst. He had been forbidden to go, but ‘Holly’, as this plump, dynamic little man was affectionately called by his subordinates, declared that only being handcuffed and locked up would stop him from witnessing the fine show his boys would put up after their many months of training.
At three minutes past eleven precisely the first aircraft took off. The others followed at thirty-second intervals. A Wing Commander standing beside Gregory timed them with a watch. Not a single aircraft was early or late by a split second.
There now came a period of waiting, as the second wave was not due to start until 1.50 a.m. During it Air Chief Marshal Sir Trafford Leigh-Mallory flew in. Hurried explanations had to be thought up to account for ‘Holly’s’ absence. Someone said he thought he was at the Signals Office, but he could not be found and, fortunately, his C.-in-C. had to take off again to continue his round of inspections.
Midnight came, but somehow it did not seem to Gregory to be the beginning of the long-awaited D-Day. For him and his companions that had started hours ago. Accompanied by Surplice he walked along to General Gale’s glider so as to spend this last three-quarters of an hour with him. The General had just returned from a visit to his men before they left their tented camp, where he had been drinking good English beer with them, and they were still cheering him to the echo as he came on to the airfield.
To ease the suspense of these last minutes Gregory started telling bawdy stories; the others joined in and laughed a lot. The General looked a more massive figure than ever now that the many pockets of his special kit were stuffed with maps and the dozens of other things he would need when he landed in France; but he was still wearing his light grey jodhpurs.
‘What about your Mae West, sir?’ one of his officers asked.
‘Oh, I can put that on later if I have to,’ he protested.
‘Might be a bit tricky then, sir,’ the officer persisted.
Turning to Gregory the General said, ‘I’m supposed to be commanding this damn’ Division, yet look how these fellows bully me. All right; I’ll put it on if you like.’
About six people then tried to help him into it and one of them said, ‘The tapes should go as high up under your arms as possible, sir.’
He burbled with laughter again. ‘I know what you’re up to. If we fall in the sea you want my head to go under and my bottom left sticking up in the air.’ Then a moment later he slapped his broad chest and exclaimed, ‘Good God, look at me! I must look like Henry VIII.’
His jest was not without point and some minutes earlier Gregory had noticed that painted on the side of the glider was the name of another English King—Richard the First. That, the A.D.C. had said, was because Richard Gale was to be the first British General to land in France by many hours, but the unintended parallel struck Gregory most forcibly. The great Crusader, Richard Coeur-de-Lion, had been physically just such another big man as the General who now towered over the little group standing round him, and this modern lion-hearted Richard was about to lead another Crusade against far more evil men than the Saracens who had then occupied Jerusalem.
The last little scene before he emplaned was another of those jests which delight true British fighting men when about to go into battle. A few mornings earlier, on finding that there was golden syrup for breakfast, the General had exclaimed, ‘By Jove! I love golden syrup and I haven’t seen any for years.’ So now Surplice, who had been his official host, presented him with a tin to take to France with him.
A few minutes later Gregory returned with the Station Commander to the Watch Tower. The signal was given and the twenty-five gliders, towed by Albemarles, began to move
off. They were led by Macnamara in S for Sugar, towing Richard the First and his personal staff. With the regularity of clockwork they took off at the rate of one a minute and lifted gently to disappear in the night sky.
The aircraft in the first wave were now due back; so Gregory and his host hurried over to the Briefing Room, hardly able to contain their impatience to learn if all had gone well. At last the first pilot and his crew came in. He said that, in spite of a sudden worsening of the weather, he had dropped his parachutists right on the spot at seventeen and a half minutes past midnight. But he seemed a little disappointed. Asked by Surplice why he was looking so glum, he replied:
‘Well, sir, it might have been one of the practice droppings we’ve carred out so often here. It was quite dark, no flak, nothing to see, no excitement. In fact it’s difficult to believe that we’ve had anything to do with opening up the Second Front.’
To Gregory that was the best possible news. It meant that his friends in the Deception Section had achieved an almost unbelievable triumph. The enemy could have known neither the date nor place of the expected assault. General Montgomery had been given the dream of all Commanders when opening a great battle: complete tactical surprise. Our losses during the landings a few hours hence would now be only a tithe of what they would have been against an alerted opposition.
As other pilots came in this splendid news was confirmed. Only the later comers had seen anything. Not till after they had dropped their parachutists had some enemy batteries opened up with light flak. Then ‘Holly’, safely returned, said that he had seen the synchronised attack by heavy bombers on the fortified battery—a last attempt to destroy it by pinpoint bombing. All who had seen the terrific explosions by which the redoubt had been lit up agreed that very few of its German garrison of one hundred and eight could still be alive or in any state to lay a gun.
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