Cadogan stiffened. “I am a reporter. I will inform you of all I know, and the committee’s task is to draw the conclusions.”
Tension shimmered in the room. Finally the Allied Air Forces commander inhaled deeply and dipped his chin at Cadogan, an apology. The room was quiet for a moment. One by one, the committee members turned to the prime minister. Defense decisions were ultimately his. Churchill never formally polled the committee, but he always tried to gain consensus advice. He knew he could be crashingly wrong, witness Gallipoli.
I should briefly describe the chain of command. Doggedly following Wilson Clay around as I did, I could easily exaggerate his pre-invasion role. I don’t wish to do so here. Despite more American troops and equipment arriving daily, the defense of England remained primarily a British undertaking.
The War Ministry was charged with governing Great Britain and directing the war effort, with Churchill as its principal. Reporting to the ministry were the Imperial General Staff and the Anglo-American Joint Chiefs of Staff, which met together as the Defense Committee. Reporting in turn to the Joint Chiefs were the commanders of the Allied Naval Forces (Gilford), Joint Army Operations (Alexander), and Allied Air Forces (Douglas), all British officers.
Then, on yet a lower rung, were the battle chiefs. The American Expeditionary Force commander (Clay) and the Home Forces commander (Stedman) reported to Alexander. Commanders of the U.S. Atlantic Fleet East (Stanton), the Royal Navy Home Fleet (Fairfax), and the Eastern and Southern Approaches (Admiral Sir Hugh Pembroke) reported to Admiral Gilford. Finally, all air operations were under General Douglas, including the American Army Air Force East and the RAF Fighter Command and Bomber Command.
“General Cadogan, is there more?” the prime minister asked glumly.
“Yes, sir. You have read my report on the German paratrooper killed by a farmer just south of the Humber early this morning. The commando’s wireless was the same equipment that was being used by the Irish spy your troops captured near Rye this morning, General Clay.”
“A German radioman on the east coast, another on the south,” Alexander said. He had a high forehead and eyebrows that could climb most of it. “We know the German’s aren’t targeting both our east and south coasts. It would be a logistical impossibility. So one of the radiomen was a decoy, and the other was going to guide the invasion. Which was which?”
“We have examined their equipment and interrogated the Irishman at length. We received no clue either way.”
General Barclay said, “The Germans would not have told the decoy he was a decoy.”
“There is more,” Cadogan said.
Mouths turned down around the room.
“General Laidlaw of the 2nd Infantry was thorough. He had troops from his reconnaissance regiment search the area. They found a second parachute which had been buried a quarter mile away from where the first German was killed. They also found footprints heading west toward the Lincolnshire Wolds, but have been unable to find him.”
The inevitable question was asked by Arthur Stedman, “Were we supposed to find that parachute?”
The chief of the Intelligence merely shook his head.
“Will you summarize for us, General Cadogan?” Churchill asked. His hands were folded in front of him as if he were in prayer.
“We have new evidence—if that evidence is taken at face value—that our North Sea coast may be the target of the invasion. The pathfinder submarine, the increasing radio activity before the blackout this morning, and, of course, the intensified bombing of rail installations along the east coast last night, on which you’ve seen preliminary reports from the Observer Corps and Coastal Command, all point that way.”
Cadogan walked to the best estimate map on the wall to the prime minister’s left. He brought up his pointer. “As you know, we are faced with three German Army groups, A, C, and B, arranged from the Netherlands south and east along the coast to the Cherbourg Peninsula. Rommel’s Army Group C is in Dutch ports, here and here.”
He moved the pointer. “Army Group A, under Von Rundstedt, which remains near Antwerp and south roughly to here.” He struck the board at Ostend, on the Belgium coast near the French border. “Von Rundstedt’s army also includes the divisions we think are marching north. CIC believes that between 45,000 and 50,000 Wehrmacht soldiers have left Normandy between Le Havre and Dieppe, and are heading northeast.”
Cadogan stepped along the map. “Finally, Army Group B, with just three corps, remains here in Normandy, largely from Caen east. We know of nothing new here. There are other German divisions inland on the continent, of course, but these are troops of occupation.”
“Thank you, General,” the prime minister said, dismissing him. When the door closed behind Cadogan, Churchill went on, “I have always thought the Germans would choose our east coast.”
“So you have said on numerous occasions,” Clement Attlee remarked. The leader of the Labour Party was dry, unemotional, and self-effacing, Churchill’s polar opposite. But he and the prime minister worked together with surprisingly little disharmony.
“I’ll say it again, Clement. The Wehrmacht movements described by General Cadogan reinforce my argument. Our east coast has open, gently shelving beaches, a requirement for an amphibious assault. Many of the beaches on the south coast are flanked or dominated by cliffs, or are overlooked by escarpments of downland, much more difficult for landing craft.”
“And the East Anglian plain offers better opportunities for blitz warfare than does the quilted, intricate terrain of Kent and Sussex,” General Alexander added. “The German’s first goal will be to isolate London, which will be easier from the east.”
Admiral Gilford disagreed. “The Germans would have three or four times the sea distance coming to our east coast than to our south coast.”
Lord Erskine spoke his first words of the meeting. “They will be able to land eight or ten divisions anywhere they choose before we can counter them. If the invasion armada crosses the North Sea to our east coast, the Royal Navy will have an improved chance to cut off the German’s second wave and their efforts at resupplying the first wave. The Kriegsmarine surely knows this. So they will choose the shortest sea route possible, to our south coasts. Kent, Sussex, Hampshire, from France.”
“Eight or ten divisions anywhere they choose?” Alexander was sputtering. “Do you think, Lord Erskine, that the British Army has been spending all this time laying out welcoming mats?”
The first sea lord had a scimitar nose and veiled eyes. His features gave away nothing. His voice was a rich baritone, and he used it with effect. “I have long maintained the Germans will gain tactical surprise, despite your gallant efforts, General.”
“Poppycock,” Arthur Stedman injected. “Sheer and utter poppycock.”
“I agree with Lord Erskine,” Admiral Gilford joined in. “Eight or ten divisions, tactical surprise.”
The first sea lord asked, “Have you ever been to sea, General Alexander?”
“Not often,” Alexander admitted icily. “Every time I do, I have an uncontrollable urge to urinate.”
Lord Erskine inhaled sharply, gathering himself for an outburst, but Churchill held up his cigar, cutting off the squabbling. “Let us not have history record we were discussing bodily functions at the critical hour.”
We had heard this argument countless times. Early on, the location of the invasion was utter guesswork, and even Scotland, the Shetlands, Ireland, and Iceland were mentioned. Then the committee became divided along service lines, with the army believing the German target would be the east coast and the navy arguing the south coast. As evidence mounted over recent weeks that Rommel had formed a third army, Army Group C, in the Dutch ports, and with Cadogan’s new intelligence that certain German units were moving north, the view favoring the east coast was prevailing. RAF General Douglas had before this meeting supported the navy position, but as he told General Clay later, the heavy bombing of the railways along the east coast the night before had convinced him otherwise. The first sea lord and Admiral Gilford tenaciously clung to their cross-channel argument.