The Steel Wave - Jeff Shaara [19]
“Kesselring has forced a stalemate, Erwin. Let us not forget that. He has held the enemy below Rome.”
“A stalemate? Are we so desperate that we now believe that a stalemate is a victory? There can be no stalemate here, Friedrich. I have seen what the Americans bring to this war. I have seen the tanks and guns and trucks. And one day soon, how many millions of those Americans will push their way into France? Von Rundstedt insists that the most brilliant strategy is simply to allow that to happen, then, once they are ashore, we can attack them and drive them into the sea. It is fantasy. No, worse, it is suicide. And men like Colonel Sasser deserve better.”
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3. EISENHOWER
* * *
HAYES LODGE, MAYFAIR, LONDON
JANUARY 26, 1944
“The war could very well be over by April. In fact, should our plans continue unimpeded, I am quite certain of it.”
Eisenhower leaned back in his chair, already exhausted by Air Chief Marshal Harris’s bluster. He glanced at Smith, stroking his chin, could see that his chief of staff was itching to reply. It was Bedell Smith’s way to hold nothing back, a trait that had endeared him to no one but his boss. Eisenhower had always known that “Beetle” inspired a chorus of grumbling from the British, mostly deserved. He had a clumsiness to him; his attempts at diplomacy always fell short. But now, an indiscreet missile launched at the arrogance of this British air marshal would have been perfectly appropriate.
Harris, oblivious to the frowns, continued. “We have quite perfected the art of the massed bombing attack, you know. The Hun tried it against us, and, dare I say, it was only the stiff backbone of the British people that prevented it from working.” He paused, a professorial tilt to his head, speaking to inattentive students. “In 1940, you know. Our splendid resolve in the face of certain disaster. What we of course refer to as the Battle for Britain.” Eisenhower nodded, forced himself to hide a screaming need for sarcasm.
“Yes, I am familiar with the term. I have made it a point to study the history of the past four years.”
Harris seemed satisfied that his lesson had taken hold. “Well, yes, of course. Naturally, the Germans have no such pride, and thus, by widespread destruction of their cities, we shall achieve what Mr. Hitler could not. We shall utterly destroy the enemy’s will to fight. It is a grand spectacle, you know. One simply cannot imagine the power, the pure delight at seeing a thousand heavy bombers letting loose their loads to deliver what could only…well, I daresay the Almighty Himself would be impressed. Every one of these missions produces a rain of fire of biblical proportions. And, as I said, it will end this war. All this nonsense about land forces, amphibious invasion…such a waste.”
Eisenhower could feel Smith twisting in his chair and glanced at him again, the silent order: No, keep quiet, not now. This jackass is, after all, our ally.
Air Marshal Arthur “Bomber” Harris was a thick-chested bull of a man whose credentials included combat hours in a fighter plane in World War I. Now, he commanded the Allies’ strategic bombing campaigns. Harris had worked hard to gain approval for his strategies and was in part responsible for the plans that had nearly obliterated the German city of Cologne in 1942, a devastating attack that had impressed even Winston Churchill. Harris’s was the loudest voice among many of the air commanders, including several Americans, whose faith in the heavy bombers had convinced them that Operation Overlord was not only a waste of time but would cost far more than it would gain. It was one more argument that Eisenhower didn’t need.
“Marshal Harris, I appreciate your input. I believe your statement is a bit optimistic.”
Harris seemed wounded. “But you must understand.