Attlee drained his glass again and positioned it neatly on the table, moving blotting pad, pen stand and all the other writing accoutrements into perfect position, squared off, symmetrical, much like his thoughts that had just been perfectly placed into position in the greater run of things.
“Richard, I need you to perform your country a great service.”
Intruiged, Sir Richard Carruthers listened.
At first, in horror, as Attlee repeated all the awful details of the disaster that had befallen RAF Bomber Command.
Secondly, with concern, as the poor military situation in Europe was summarised.
Thirdly, in curiosity, as Attlee outlined an intruiging proposal.
Already, the disaster was having a knock-on effect, the USAAF bomber missions for the day having been scrubbed, leaving solely fighter and interdiction sorties in place
Eisenhower had finished a very difficult briefing session with Air Chief Marshall Tedder; one that left him in no doubt that Bomber Command would take some time to recover.
An investigation had started, and had already looked at the intelligence on which the raid was based, deciding the no action was to be taken on such reports until further notice.
Whilst the loss of so many aircraft and crews was awful, other matters became more pressing as the morning wore on, reports of Soviet gains arriving, reflecting an increase in pressure across the front as a whole.
The situation map illustrated the changes, or at least, it was constantly attended by staff personnel, desperate to keep the map current as the situation started to become extremely fluid.
The Soviets were taking big chunks out of the front line and the Allies were falling back in front of them, his Generals doing a difficult job in difficult circumstances, and doing it extremely well.
Eisenhower held off calling some of his senior men, leaving them to do their job uninterrupted.
He opened his second pack of the day and inhaled the smoke, watching as a small problem became a huge problem and red arrows spread like a virus towards the Ruhr.
By the time he lit another cigarette the situation was clear; awful, but crystal clear.
He suddenly became aware of an USAAF Lieutenant holding out a handset to him.
“General Bradley, Sir. It’s urgent.”
Of that, Eisenhower had little doubt.
After a brief outline of the situation, reinforcing the visual image conjured up by the map in front of him, Eisenhower sought answers to Bradley’s problems, and found none without pain.
With some reluctance, Eisenhower announced his decision.
“OK General. I get the picture and I understand your choices, limited as they are.”
Ike scribbled an order as he spoke, relaying the contents to a worried Bradley.
“I am ordering the 18th Airborne Corps to be placed under your command. Use them wisely, Brad, and try and give them back to me intact. I will scare up some more assets to help plug the gap but I agree. Now is the time for Guderian and our German allies to take some strain.”
He signed the document and dotted the signature so forcefully as to penetrate the paper and mark the exquisite walnut table top.
“I will contact both Guderian and Ridgeway,” he thought quickly, “And in that order too, telling them to take their orders from you. Anything else you need from me, Brad?”
A few staff officers had gravitated towards Eisenhower, understanding that there was about to be a burst of activity.
Eisenhower laughed a laugh that held no amusement whatsoever.
“Miracles are not within my purview I’m afraid, Brad. One moment.”
Eisenhower held out his hand to receive a report he had been waiting on. Swiftly reading it, Ike nodded in satisfaction.
Placing it on the table, Eisenhower refocused on the 12th’s Commanding General.
“I will certainly tell Air to prioritise you for now, but there is a lot going on, Brad.”
Obviously Bradley wanted to get about his business, now he had some extra assets to play with.
“OK Brad, you do that. I will tell both to contact you immediately. Get your boys in line safely, General.”
He looked at his watch, his face betraying a modest calculation.
“Sure thing, Brad. Now, get it done. Good luck, General.”
The written order was given up to be typed, and another two were quickly issued.
Two telephone calls were made.
Eisenhower was never quite sure why it was, but his dealings with the Germans often made him feel inferior.
‘Maybe that’s part of it?’
In this instance, it may have been because Guderian had expected such an order, and had started to make some adjustments to his forces already.
By the time he put the phone down on Ridgeway, the map threw up another problem.
Stuttgart was surrounded.
“Get me General Devers on the horn, please.”
Knocke and Lavalle were sat discussing a delicate problem when they were interrupted by an insistent knocking on the door.
Both men were handed seperate messages, and both men were long enough in the tooth to know what they were before they read them.
Dismissing the messenger, Knocke pulled out a map, angling it so that Lavalle could examine it with him.
The two worked in silence, making the calculations, imagining the move and all the pitfalls it held.
Finally, Lavalle moved back, pouring two Perriers, and passing one to his Brigade Commander.
“Santé, Ernst.”
Knocke acknowledged the toast and took a sip before putting his glass down.
“Distance of about ninety kilometres to the present line, one hundred to break through?”
Lavalle concurred.
“Will they hold, Sir?”
“The Algerians are a tough bunch, Ernst. They will hold.”
The order had given specific instructions on what was expected of them once they got to the Stuttgart area, but little of substance on how to get there, and what assistance they might expect.
“Right then, Ernst. Take the two ready units of ‘Alma’ under your command, and get your Brigade ready to move as soon as possible. I will organise some support and get the information we will need.”
Lavalle took another look at the map, examining a rough route pencilled in by Knocke.
“That seems appropriate, but I think the bridges at Pforzheim are down?”
Without the merest hint of superiority, Knocke shook his head briefly.
“Back up yesterday, Sir. Two bridges, both capable of bearing my Panzers.”
And without the merest hint of offence, Lavalle acknowledged the information.
‘Well, he is the best, isn’t he?’
“How long, Ernst?”
Taking a look at his watch and another sip of water, Knocke did a swift calculation.
“I can have Camerone rolling within the hour, Sir.”
At 1925 hrs, the first units of ‘Camerone’ moved out of their laager and through the small town of Malsch, heading to the sound of guns, and the relief of Stuttgart.
Chapter 73 – THE CAMERONE’S
On a man to man basis, the German ground soldier consistently inflicted casualties at about a 50 per cent higher rate than they incurred from the opposing British, Canadian and American troops under all circumstances. This was true when they were attacking and when they were defending, when they had local numerical superiority and when, as was usually the case, they were outnumbered, when they had air superiority and when they did not, when they won and when they lost.