The Steel Wave - Jeff Shaara [26]
Bradley returned the paper to Eisenhower.
“Wrong, Brad. Plenty to argue about. I never saw so many mother hens trying to keep their own eggs in the basket. Hell, I don’t have to explain that to you. At least we’re all in agreement about the infantry. Morgan’s original plan didn’t call for enough people, enough power. Not his fault. Nobody could have done as good a job putting this thing together. But he underestimated what we’d need to get ashore and hold the beachheads. No one would commit to giving him any landing craft, so he had to assume we couldn’t get more than three divisions ashore. It was Monty who pushed the idea that we need five beachheads and a hell of a lot more people. He’s right on that one, for sure.”
Eisenhower paused.
“I have no problems with the navy, not yet anyway. Admiral Ramsay has committed the British to as much support as we could ask for. I like the man, Brad. I worried that when Cunningham was moved up to First Sea Lord, we lost the best friend we had. I expected it would cause us some problems working with the navy that we never had before. But Ramsay is top notch. Tedder too, of course. Always liked him. The Joint Chiefs have agreed with me that he’ll be my number two here, and not just command the air forces.”
He paused again.
“I’m getting some bitching from our side about this, that this is just North Africa all over again. All my principal subordinates are British, and there are still some people who choke on that. The smart ones know to keep their choking quiet, but I know it’s there. Annoys the hell out of me, Brad. There has to be some political reality here. We’re trying to build a team, and I’ve got to have the full support of our people and theirs. Churchill understands that. He knows the value of what I’ve tried to do.”
“No objection from me, Ike. I’ll do what Monty needs me to do, until you tell me otherwise.”
Eisenhower had no doubts about Bradley’s ability to follow orders. “I don’t need to hear that, but thanks. I wish…hell, it’s not like I’m happy with everybody. This isn’t some pleasant little social club, and I can’t tell everybody how I want them to act. Too much out of my control. All those British air commanders—so damned ritualistic. Every damn operation falls under some kind of textbook rules. I can’t get them to understand that Overlord isn’t just another normal tactical operation, but I don’t have the authority to tell them what to do. I keep yelling at them that we’re going to need bombers on the beaches, and they keep saying, no, we’ll just keep bombing Germany, and we won’t need the beaches at all. The fighter people, Leigh-Mallory and his bunch, keep reassuring me that their fighter planes can get the job done and we don’t need the bombers at all. He’s been chosen to head the combined air assault. The man has never worked with ground commanders before. Never. It surprised hell out of me that Brooke would push him for the job. All I know about Leigh-Mallory is that he’s a man who makes enemies, and in the British air force he has quite a few. The bomber people despise him. Doesn’t bode well for cooperation. They’re in some kind of damned contest with each other over who gets the glory, while the infantry is supposed to wade ashore hoping somebody’s paying attention—somebody besides the damned Germans.”
Bradley said nothing. Eisenhower appreciated the silence. Enough damned ranting, he thought. He looked through Bradley’s ever-present eyeglasses, no change of expression on the man’s face. “You talked to Monty today?”
The expression changed, a slight frown.
“This morning. He called to tell me he had been out to the Twenty-ninth Division. Checking on the progress of the training.”
Eisenhower sagged in the chair. “He’s touring our divisions? Without you?”
Bradley shrugged. “Sure. I have no problem with