The Army That Never Was (eBook)

PROLOGUE

Britain was in the middle of a long, hot spell. At the end of May 1944 high pressure had descended on southern England and the Channel. For day after day the weather was warm, dry and without strong winds. The hottest day of the year so far came on 28 May, reaching what in those days was recorded as 88 degrees Fahrenheit (31 degrees Celsius). Ideal weather in which to launch an invasion. But the Allied armies were still gathering. Equipment was still being prepared and men being trained. The Deceivers were still spinning their webs of deception. They were not yet ready for D-Day.

On 29 May 1944, General George S. Patton Jr gave a speech in the south-east of England to a group of men from his army, the First US Army Group. A platform had been erected at the base of a slight hill. Men arrived and surrounded the platform, and then as more came along they spilled up the hillside, creating a natural amphitheatre. Before his arrival the scene was alive with anticipation. Silence fell as his black Mercedes finally appeared with flags flying, and he emerged surrounded by an escort of Military Police. A band played stirring marches as he strode onto the podium. All the soldiers present jumped to attention. At the centre, General Patton stood there tall and with a rod-like straight back, resplendent in a smartly tailored uniform, the epitome of a great commander. He was a three-star general who proudly displayed his trio of stars on his helmet, his shirt collar and his shoulder pads. The bevvy of medals glittering on his chest included the Distinguished Service Cross awarded ‘for extraordinary heroism’ in the First World War. He wore knee-high leather cavalry boots, complete with spurs, so heavily polished that they positively shone in the bright sun. He stood in immaculately creased riding breeches held up by a hand-tooled leather belt sporting a gleaming brass buckle. He also carried a holster which boasted a white pearl-handled revolver visible to all. He stood there facing his men, formal and totally formidable, every inch a warrior. Alongside him, standing perfectly still, as though at attention and mimicking the General, was his white bulldog terrier, Willie.

When he began to address the troops he spoke in a rather high-pitched voice, not the deep drawl that might have been expected to come from such a striking figure. But the words he used silenced everyone. In hushed anticipation every man present strained to hear what this magnificent-looking figure had to say. First he told them, ‘At ease,’ and that they could sit down. Then, after a pause, he began his peroration, which was full of profanities. But he was accustomed to inspiring his listeners on the eve of battle.1

He spoke first of the American desire to win, whether in sport or at war. ‘Men … when you were kids, you all admired the champion marble player, the fastest runner, the big league ball players, the toughest boxers,’ he began. ‘The Americans love a winner, and cannot tolerate a loser. Americans despise cowards … That’s why Americans have never lost and will never lose a war, for the very thought of losing is hateful to an American.’ He talked about how all men show signs of fear when they first experience combat. ‘But the real man never lets fear of death overpower his honour, his sense of duty to his country, and his innate manhood.’ He told his audience that every one of them had to be alert at all times. If not, ‘some German sonofabitch will sneak up behind and beat you to death with a sockful of shit.’ This roused a laugh and a cheer.

Patton carried on: ‘All the real heroes are not storybook combat fighters either. Every single man in the Army plays a vital part. Every little job is essential to the whole scheme.’ He spoke of the truck drivers who continued to bring up supplies despite being under fire, of the quartermasters who delivered the food and clothing, and of the cooks and washers-up who kept the men fed and watered. He talked of a man whom he discovered in the heat of battle up a telegraph pole under heavy fire, repairing a wire. He asked him if it wasn’t a little unhealthy up there now. ‘“Yes, sir,” the soldier replied, “but this goddam wire has got to be fixed.”’ The General continued: ‘Each man must not only think of himself, but think of his buddy fighting alongside him. We don’t want yellow cowards in the Army. They should be killed off like flies. If not, they will go home after the war, goddam cowards, and breed more cowards. The brave men will breed more brave men.’ A few men were shocked by this. But most applauded loudly.

As he continued Patton bellowed out proudly, ‘We have the finest food, the finest equipment, the finest-spirited men in the world.’ Then he rose to his crescendo: ‘Why, by God, I actually pity those sons of bitches we are going up against – by God, I do.’ The men clapped and cheered. Giving his words a Shakespearian tone reminiscent of Henry V’s speech on the eve of Agincourt, Patton concluded, ‘Thank God that, at least thirty years from now, when you are sitting around the fireside with your grandson on your knee and he asks what you did in the great World War Two, you won’t have to say “I shoveled shit in Louisiana.”’ The men roared with approval. They loved the earthy prose, the profanities and the sense that everyone relied upon everyone else. It made them feel good, part of something big and important. Patton knew how to command men and marshal his words for battle.

On 23 May, a short while before Patton gave his rousing speech, another general addressed a group of his officers, who were part of the 21st Army Group. He was speaking in the south-west of England. This commander was General Bernard Law Montgomery, the great victor and hero of Alamein and North Africa. He too was a great orator who had the ability to get through to his men. He did not use swear words, however. He spoke in short, staccato sentences. He called on God to support the Allied mission and spoke with an evangelical passion, almost as though he were leading a crusade. He expressed his faith in the good and righteous in their struggle to overcome the bad and evil. He was shorter and far less physically impressive than the American general. Nor did he dress flamboyantly. Unlike Patton, he wore simple khaki battledress like his men and usually sported a plain black tanker’s beret. The traditional view of British generals, mostly left over from the First World War, was that they were rather pompous and stiff, and lived behind the lines grandly in splendid chateaux. This was not the case with Montgomery, universally known as Monty. He lived very simply, and when in the field he used a set of caravans which comprised his map room, his office and his bedroom.2

From January 1944 onwards, Monty had carried out a series of visits to the troops under his command. This was part of a campaign he called ‘Salute the Soldier’, and these visits were intended to raise the morale of fighting men whom Montgomery realised were growing weary after four years of war. They needed a lift before the upcoming new offensive. Most of the men in his Army Group had never met their new commander before. His fame preceded him, but they did not know what it was like to be in his Army. He wanted to impress every one of them with a sense of mission. Monty had a dedicated train on which he travelled up and down the country to give dozens of talks. Sometimes he spoke to a battalion, sometimes a regiment or a brigade. On occasions he spoke to an entire division. Monty would address up to 30,000 men in a single day. The purpose of the talks was for his men to be able to see and hear him as much as it was for the General to meet them.

The sequence of events usually followed the same pattern. He would arrive at a unit in a humble jeep and summon the troops around him by loudspeaker. He would then walk down the ranks of the assembled men, staring into their eyes. Army Intelligence reports had concluded that many soldiers expected to die in the invasion of Europe. So Monty would often begin by picking out a single infantryman and asking him, ‘What is your most valuable weapon?’ The soldier would always reply, ‘My rifle, sir.’ Monty would respond, ‘No, it isn’t, it’s your life, and I’m going to save it for you. Now listen to me …’3 He would usually conclude his speeches with encouraging words. ‘We’re going to finish the thing off … you and I together … with God’s help we will see the thing through to the end.’ One journalist who heard some of his talks said that he ‘made the soldiers feel that they were embarked upon something which made them larger and finer and more commanding human beings than they were before’.4 A junior officer who heard one of Monty’s pep talks probably summed up the view of many when he wrote, after hearing him, that ‘I fell completely under his spell and had no further doubts about the outcome of the war in Europe.’5

In addition to speaking to the troops, Monty also addressed industrial workers, who were facing more austerity and another bleak year of restrictions and drabness. He spoke to railway workers, miners, dockers and munitions workers. He visited factories and football grounds. At Hampden Park in Glasgow he was cheered when he entered the ground. To everyone he urged further effort to sustain the final struggle that was still to come. ‘Keep on working,’ he encouraged them. ‘We British have had many disasters in this war; they have been...