The Steel Wave - Jeff Shaara [66]
The proceedings at St. Paul’s were to begin promptly at 9 A.M., and the briefings were expected to last all afternoon. The purpose of the gathering was very specific: to explain the invasion plan, with various commanders from each branch of the service offering their viewpoints and outlining their specific contributions, timetables, and variables, so many precious secrets finally revealed. To some, it would be the first time the details of every aspect of the operation would be explained. The conflicts were still there, disagreements about specific tactics, mostly minor points now, but Eisenhower was comfortable that the major differences had been put to bed. If there was not perfect clarity in everyone’s mind, this day would offer the opportunity for anyone to ask questions and speak out, on what might be the last opportunity to air concerns and grievances. He had always encouraged dissent and had encouraged the various specialists to critique whatever failings the plan contained. There is room for that still, he thought, but not much. He had felt it for some time, the momentum of Overlord slowly overwhelming the men who created it. I don’t see what else we can do at this point to change things, he thought. D-Day is just three weeks away.
He saw Bradley moving toward the front of the room, purposeful, staring downward. There was no smile, no informal greeting, Bradley seeking only to find his seat, moving close to Eisenhower now, seeming not to notice him.
“Brad. Everything okay?”
Bradley looked at him, seemed surprised. “Sorry, Ike. Good to see you. You looked at the map?”
There was a hard grumpiness in Bradley that was unusual. Eisenhower looked up at the stage.
“Haven’t gone over this one too closely. Monty’s people drew it up. Is there a problem?”
Bradley glanced around, self-conscious, uncomfortable, and lowered his voice.
“Not the best time to talk about it. I had a few words with Monty. Not a pleasant way to begin this thing. But dammit, Ike, take a look. He’s drawn in those idiotic phase lines. Told him I won’t have that, not in my sector anyway. You can’t lay out this campaign like some dance lesson. Worthless exercise. I won’t impose that on my people.” He stopped, waiting for more men to move past, Tedder and Ramsay, cordial nods to Eisenhower. Bradley was obviously upset. Eisenhower, looking toward the stage again, saw Montgomery standing on the far side, arms crossed, staring out at the growing audience with a look of patient satisfaction.
“It’s not the time, Ike. Sorry I mentioned it.”
Eisenhower studied the map and saw what Bradley was referring to, crooked lines of tape marking rows of boundaries that expanded away from the beaches, spreading out like so many ripples in a pond. Oh, for God’s sake. That’s pure Monty, planning out every last detail. He’s predicting the future, telling his men where he expects them to be every step of the way. Nothing wrong with that, I guess, as long as he pulls it off. But Monty knows there’s no hard and fast timetable to a campaign, no matter how carefully he designs one. We can’t assume that every part of this operation is a well-oiled machine, no matter how much preparation Monty makes. The quote echoed through Eisenhower’s brain, a cliché now, one of those Teutonic truisms they toss around at West Point. No paper plan ever survives in practice. Who was that, Clausewitz? Von Moltke maybe. But then, Monty didn’t go to West Point.
Churchill appeared at the back of the room, a hum of activity flowing around him. He wore a heavy frock coat, held a cigar tightly in his teeth, and moved quickly through the officers: brief words, small greetings. He saw Eisenhower and removed his hat.
“Morning. Good time for some of that damned coffee you like so much. This place is an icebox. We getting started soon?”
Eisenhower saw the king approaching, all smiles and pleasantries.