The Last Battle: The Classic History of the Battle for Berlin

by Cornelius Ryan

  The previous afternoon Eisenhower had made a quick flight to Paris for a press conference. The big news was the victory on the Rhine. The Supreme Commander announced that the enemy’s main defense in the west had been shattered. Although Eisenhower told reporters he did not want to “write off the war for the Germans are going to stand and fight where they can,” in his opinion the German was “a whipped enemy.” Buried in the conference was a reference to Berlin. Someone asked who would get to the capital first, “the Russians or us?” Eisenhower answered that he thought “mileage alone ought to make them do it,” but he quickly added that he did not “want to make any predictions”; although the Russians had a “shorter race to run” they were faced with “the bulk of the German forces.”

  Eisenhower spent the night at the Hotel Raphael; then, leaving Paris shortly after dawn, he flew back to Reims. At 7:45 A.M. he was in his office and conferring with his Chief of Staff, Lieutenant General Walter Bedell Smith. Waiting for Eisenhower, in General Smith’s blue leather snap-top folder, were a score of overnight cables that only the Supreme Commander could answer. They were labeled with the highest security tag: “For Eisenhower’s Eyes Only.” Among them was Montgomery’s message, seeking approval for his dash to the Elbe and Berlin. But the most important cable was from Eisenhower’s superior, the U.S. Army Chief of Staff, General George C. Marshall. By coincidence Marshall’s and Montgomery’s messages had arrived at SHAEF within two hours of each other the previous evening—and both were to have a major influence on Eisenhower. On this Wednesday, March 28, they would act as catalysts in finally crystallizing for the Supreme Commander the strategy he would follow to the war’s end.

  Months before, Eisenhower’s mission as Supreme Commander had been spelled out by the Combined Chiefs of Staff in one sentence: “You will enter the continent of Europe and, in conjunction with the other United Nations, undertake operations aimed at the heart of Germany and the destruction of her armed forces.” He had carried out this directive brilliantly. By dint of personality, administrative ability and tact, he had welded the soldiery of more than a dozen nations into the most awesome force in history. Few men could have achieved this while keeping animosities to such a minimum. Yet the 55-year-old Eisenhower did not conform to the traditional European concept of the military leader. Unlike British generals, he was not trained to consider political objectives as part of military strategy. Eisenhower, though a master diplomat in the politics of compromise and placation, was in international terms politically unaware—and proud of it. In the American military tradition he had been schooled never to usurp civilian supremacy. In short, he was content to fight and win; politics he left to the statesmen.

  Even now, at this crucial turning point of the war, Eisenhower’s objectives remained, as always, purely military. He had never been given a political directive regarding post-war Germany, nor did he regard that problem as his responsibility. “My job,” he later said, “was to get the war over quickly … to destroy the German Army as fast as we could.”

  Eisenhower had every reason to be elated with the way the job was going: in twenty-one days his armies had catapulted across the Rhine and burst into the German heartlands far ahead of schedule. Yet their headline-making advances, so eagerly followed by the free world, were now presenting the Supreme Commander with a series of complex command decisions. The unanticipated speed of the Anglo-American offensive had made obsolete some strategic moves planned months before. Eisenhower had to tailor his plans to meet the new situation. This meant changing and redefining the roles of some armies and their commanders—in particular, Field Marshal Montgomery and his powerful Twenty-first Army Group.

  Montgomery’s latest message was a clarion call for action. The 58-year-old Field Marshal was not asking how the battle would be fought; he was demanding the right to lead the charge. Quicker than most commanders to realize the political implications of a military situation, Montgomery felt that the Allied capture of Berlin was vital—and he was convinced that it should be undertaken by the Twenty-first Army Group. His cable, indicative as it was of Montgomery’s intractability, made clear there were still vital differences of opinion between him and the Supreme Commander. Eisenhower’s reaction to the Field Marshal’s cable, as General Smith and others at SHAEF were to recall, was “like that of a horse with a burr under his saddle.”

  The crucial difference between the military philosophies of Montgomery and Eisenhower concerned the single thrust versus the broad-front strategy. For months Montgomery and his superior, Chief of the Imperial General Staff Field Marshal Sir Alan Brooke, had agitated for a lightning-like single thrust into the heart of Germany. Almost immediately after the fall of Paris, while the Germans were still disorganized and fleeing France, Montgomery had first put his plan up to Eisenhower. “We have now reached a stage,” he wrote, “where one really powerful and full-blooded thrust toward Berlin is likely to get there and thus end the German war.”

  Montgomery spelled out his scheme in nine terse paragraphs. He reasoned that the Anglo-American forces lacked the supply and maintenance capabilities for two side-by-side drives into Germany. In his view there could be only one—his own—and it would need “all the maintenance resources … without qualification.” Other operations would have to get along with whatever logistical support remained. “If,” warned Montgomery, “we attempt a compromise solution and split our maintenance resources so that neither thrust is full-blooded, we will prolong the war.” Time was “of such vital importance … that a decision is required at once.”

  The plan was boldly imaginative and, from Montgomery’s viewpoint, accurately timed. It also marked a strange reversal in the Field Marshal’s usual approach to battle. As Lieutenant General Sir Frederick Morgan, now Eisenhower’s Assistant Chief of Staff, later described the situation: “Put succinctly, Montgomery, principally celebrated hitherto for cautious deliberation, had conceived the notion that were he to be accorded every priority to the detriment of the American Army Groups, he could, in the shortest order, overwhelm the enemy, drive to Berlin and bring the war to a speedy end.”

  Obviously the plan involved a gigantic gamble. To hurl two great army groups of more than forty divisions northeast into Germany in a single massive thrust might invite speedy and decisive victory—but it might also result in total and perhaps irreversible disaster. To the Supreme Commander, the risks far outweighed any chance of success, and he had said as much in a tactful message to Montgomery. “While agreeing with your conception of a powerful thrust towards Berlin,” Eisenhower said, “I do not agree that it should he initiated at this moment.” He felt that it was essential first to open the ports of Le Havre and Antwerp “to sustain a powerful thrust deep into Germany.” Further, Eisenhower said, “no reallocation of our present resources would be adequate to sustain a thrust to Berlin.” The Supreme Commander’s strategy was to advance into Germany on a broad front, cross the Rhine and capture the great industrial valley of the Ruhr before driving for the capital.

  That exchange had taken place in the first week of September, 1944. A week later in a message to his three army group commanders, Montgomery, Bradley and Devers, Eisenhower further elaborated on his plan: “Clearly Berlin is the main prize and the prize in defense of which the enemy is likely to concentrate the bulk of his forces. There is no doubt whatsoever in my mind that we should concentrate all our energies and resources on a rapid thrust to Berlin. Our strategy, however, will have to be coordinated with that of the Russians, so we must also consider alternative objectives.”

  The possible objectives as Eisenhower saw them, varied widely: the northern German ports (“they might have to be occupied as a flank protection to our thrust on Berlin”); the important industrial and communication centers of Hanover, Brunswick, Leipzig and Dresden (“the Germans will probably hold them as intermediate positions covering Berlin”); and finally, in southern Germany, the Nuremberg-Munich areas, which would have to be taken (“to cut off enemy forces withdrawing f
rom Italy and the Balkans”). Thus, warned the Supreme Commander, “We must be prepared for one or more of the following:

  “A. To direct forces of both north and central army groups on Berlin astride the axes Ruhr-Hanover-Berlin or Frankfurt-Leipzig-Berlin or both.

  “B. Should the Russians beat us to Berlin, the northern group of armies would seize the Hanover area and the Hamburg group of The central group … would seize part, or the whole of the area Leipzig-Dresden depending on the progress of the Russian advance.

  “C. In any event the southern group of armies would seize Augsburg-Munich. The area Nuremberg-Regensburg would be seized by the central or southern groups … depending on the situation at the time.”

  Eisenhower summarized his strategy in these words: “Simply stated, it is my desire to move on Berlin by the most direct and expeditious route, with combined U. S.-British forces supported by other available forces moving through key centers and occupying areas on the flanks, all in one coordinated, concerted operation.” But, he added, all this would have to wait, for it was “not possible at this stage to indicate the timing of these thrusts or their strengths.”

  Whether the broad-front strategy was right or wrong, Eisenhower was the Supreme Commander and Montgomery had to take his orders. But he was bitterly disappointed. To the British people he was the most popular soldier since Wellington; and to his troops Monty was a legend in his own time. Many Britons considered him the most experienced field commander in the European theater ( as he was well aware), and the denial of his plan, which he believed could have ended the war within three months, left Montgomery deeply aggrieved.* This strategic dispute in the autumn of 1944 had opened up a split between the two commanders that had never completely healed.

  In the seven months since then, Eisenhower had not deviated from his concept of a broad coordinated pattern of attack. Nor had Montgomery ceased to express his opinions on how, where, and by whom the war should be won. His own Chief of Staff, Major General Sir Francis de Guingand, later wrote, “Montgomery … feels justified in bringing all influences to bear in order to win his point: in fact the end justifies almost any means.” One of the influences he brought to bear was powerful indeed: the Chief of the Imperial General Staff, Field Marshal Brooke, saw Eisenhower as vague and indecisive. He once summarized the Supreme Commander as a man with “a most attractive personality and, at the same time, a very, very limited brain from a strategic point of view.”

  Eisenhower was perfectly well aware of the biting comments that emanated out of the War Office and Montgomery’s headquarters. But if this whispering campaign over his strategic policies hurt, Eisenhower did not reveal it. And he never hit back. Even when Brooke and Montgomery advocated the appointment of a “Land Forces Commander”—a sort of field marshal sandwiched in between Eisenhower and his army groups—the Supreme Commander displayed no anger. Finally, after months of “sitting with clenched teeth”—to use General Omar Bradley’s expression—Eisenhower lost his temper. The issue came to an explosive boil after the German attack through the Ardennes.

  Because the enemy drive split the Anglo-American front, Eisenhower was forced to place all troops on the northern salient under Montgomery’s command. These forces included two thirds of General Bradley’s Twelfth Army Group—that is, the First and Ninth U.S. armies.

  After the Germans had been thrown back, Montgomery gave an extraordinary press conference in which he implied that he had almost singlehandedly rescued the Americans from disaster. He had neatly tidied up the front, the Field Marshal declared, and “headed off … seen off … and … written off” the enemy. “The battle has been most interesting. I think possibly one of the most tricky … I have ever handled.” He had, Montgomery said, “employed the whole available power of the British group of armies … you thus have the picture of British troops fighting on both sides of the Americans who have suffered a hard blow.”

  Montgomery had indeed mounted the main counteroffensive from the north and east and had directed it superbly. But, at the Field Marshal’s press conference, to use Eisenhower’s words, “he unfortunately created the impression that he had moved in as the savior of the Americans.” Montgomery failed to mention the part played by Bradley, Patton and the other American commanders, or that for every British soldier there were thirty to forty Americans engaged in the fighting. Most important, he neglected to point out that for every British casualty forty to sixty Americans had fallen.**

  German propagandists were quick to make matters worse. Enemy radio transmitters put out an exaggerated, distorted version of the conference and beamed the broadcasts directly toward the American lines; it was this version that gave many Americans their first news of the incident.

  On the heels of the press conference and the uproar it caused, the old controversy about a land forces commander flared again, this time supported by an active campaign in the British press. Bradley blew up. If the Field Marshal were appointed ground forces commander, he declared, he would resign his command. “After what has happened,” he told Eisenhower, “if Montgomery is to be put in charge … you must send me home … this is one thing I cannot take.” Patton told Bradley: “I’ll be quitting with you.”

  Never had there been such a rift in the Anglo-American camp. As the “promote-Montgomery” campaign intensified—a campaign which seemed to some Americans to originate directly from Montgomery’s headquarters—the Supreme Commander finally found the situation intolerable. He decided to end the bickering once and for all: he would fire Montgomery by making an issue of the whole matter before the Combined Chiefs of Staff.

  At that point Montgomery’s Chief of Staff, General de Guingand, learned of the impending blow-up and hastened to the rescue of Anglo-American unity. He flew to SHAEF and met with the Supreme Commander. “He showed me a signal that he was about to send to Washington,” De Guingand later recounted. “I was stunned when I read it.” With the aid of General Bedell Smith he prevailed on Eisenhower to delay the message twenty-four hours. Eisenhower agreed with great reluctance.

  Returning to Montgomery’s headquarters, De Guingand bluntly laid the facts before the Field Marshal. “I told Monty that I had seen Ike’s message,” De Guingand said, “and that, in effect, it said ‘It is either me or Monty.’” Montgomery was shocked. De Guingand had never seen him “so lonely and deflated.” He looked up at his Chief of Staff and said quietly, “Freddie, what do you think I should do?” De Guingand had already drafted a message. Using this as a basis, Montgomery sent Eisenhower a thoroughly soldierly dispatch in which he made clear that he had no desire to be insubordinate. “Whatever your decision may be,” he said, “you can rely on me one hundred per cent.” The message was signed “Your very devoted subordinate, Monty.”*

  There the matter had ended—for the moment anyhow. But now, at his headquarters in Reims, on this day of decision, March 28, 1945, Eisenhower was hearing again the distinct echo of an old refrain: not the agitation for a land forces commander once more, but the older, more basic issue—single thrust versus broad front. Without conferring with Eisenhower, Montgomery had, in his own words, “issued orders to Field Commanders for the operations eastwards” and now hoped to make a single great push toward the Elbe and Berlin, obviously intending to enter the capital in a blaze of glory.

  The fact was that in making the main thrust north of the Ruhr, Montgomery was actually following agreed strategy—the Eisenhower plan approved by the Combined Chiefs of Staff at Malta in January. What Montgomery now proposed was simply a logical extension of that drive—a move that would carry him to Berlin. If he was acting in haste, his eagerness was understandable. Like Winston Churchill and Field Marshal Brooke, Montgomery believed that time was running out, that the war might be lost politically unless Anglo-American forces reached Berlin before the Russians.

  The Supreme Commander, on the other hand, had received no policy directive from his superiors in Washington reflecting this British sense of urgency. And although he was Commande
r of the Allied Forces, Eisenhower still took his orders from the U.S. War Department. In the absence of any redefinition of policy from Washington, his objective remained the same: the defeat of Germany and the destruction of her armed forces. And, as he now saw it, the method by which he could most quickly achieve that military objective had changed radically since the presentation of his plans to the Combined Chiefs of Staff in January.

  Originally, under Eisenhower’s plan, General Bradley’s Twelfth Army Group in the center was to have a limited role, supplementing Montgomery’s main effort in the north. But who could have foreseen the spectacular successes achieved by Bradley’s armies since the beginning of March? Good fortune and brilliant leadership had produced dazzling results. Even before Montgomery’s massive Rhine assault, the U.S. First Army had captured the Remagen bridge and had quickly crossed the river. Farther south, Patton’s Third Army had slipped across the Rhine almost unimpeded. Since then, Bradley’s forces had been on a rampage, going from victory to victory. Their achievements had fired the imagination of the U.S.public, and Bradley was now seeking a larger role in the final campaign. In this respect Bradley and his generals were no different from Montgomery: they, too, wanted the prestige and glory of ending the war—and, if they got the chance, of capturing Berlin.

  At the right moment, Eisenhower had promised, he would launch one massive drive to the east, but he had not specified what group—or groups—would make the final thrust. Now, before making a decision, Eisenhower had to consider a variety of factors, all of which affected the design of his final campaign.

  The first of these was the unexpected speed of the Russian advance to the Oder. At the time the Supreme Commander formulated his plans for the Rhine assault and Montgomery’s offensive north of the Ruhr, it looked as if months might pass before the Russians got to within striking distance of Berlin. But now the Red Army was barely 38 miles from the city—while British and American forces were still more than 200 miles away. How soon would the Russians launch their offensive? Where and how did they intend to mount the attack—with Zhukov’s army group in the center opposite Berlin, or with all three groups simultaneously? What was their estimate of the German strength opposing them and how long would it take the Red Army to break through those defenses? And, after they crossed the Oder, how long would it take the Soviets to reach and capture Berlin? The Supreme Commander could not answer these questions, all of them vitally important in his planning.