I promise to return as soon as circumstances permit.
Now, I find myself with the Army Command, observing the machine that moves our glorious soldiery around the landscape of Europe, sending extra men to trouble spots, directing fast-moving reserves to exploit holes riven in the front lines of our dastardly foe, and that organizes the whole war with the ease of a game of chess.
Whilst the great General himself organizes the movement of his huge army, I have been extremely fortunate to have been shown around by one of his senior staff, who I can only call Colonel Arnold.
He has explained the complexities of warfare on this scale, as best as this reporter can understand, and it seems that our forces have planned and planned for this huge battle, and that all is going precisely as anticipated.
Colonel Arnold tells me that there have been some casualties, but less than predicted, which can only be a good thing, and supports the view that this is going well and easier than expected.
The loss of any soldier is a tragedy, of course, but back home, you can rest assured that your fathers and brothers, husbands and sons, are in the best possible hands and as safe as can be.
The offensive goes on and, with the special permission of the commanding general, I will be permitted to go further forward tomorrow, and visit a Division Headquarters where I can get experience of real fighting at first hand.
To me, this is yet another indication of the ease and success of our efforts against the enemy of free Europe.
The best indication of all is the confidence of the officers and men moving around me, their serious faces showing dedication and great intent in their work, betraying their total commitment to the success of this great crusade.
The General himself, who I cannot name, works with great energy and care, his ebullient manner and outgoing nature both clearly advantages in the management of his war machine and the men who serve it.
Before I finish this report, I must speak of what now flies over this headquarters. My companion estimates some seven hundred aircraft, of all types, passing over our heads, carrying the war forward.
Such numbers will not, cannot be denied.
We must all give thanks for our leaders’ planning and the strength of our armies.
Perhaps our boys really will all be home for Christmas.
[Author’s note – On the 28th March, US Seventh Army logs show the presence of John Thornton-Smith, and also show that he was placed under the care of Lieutenant Colonel Arnold H. White. A note from White’s personal diary betrays a certain dislike of the young reporter, based around his innocence and enthusiasm for war. According to that diary entry, it was Patch’s deliberate decision to send JTS forward, where he might get some experience to be able to understand what war was actually about. My profound thanks to the family of Brigadier-General Arnold H. White.]
Dear Reader,
Today I am privileged to be able to speak with soldiers from across the ocean.
Not from our dear Allies, the Americans or Canadians, but from new Allied states.
I write of the South Americans.
All around me are excited men and officers, assembling for a briefing on the present state of affairs at the front. None of these men know, but today may bring their call to action, as all their units have, so far, acted as a reserve, and lain awaiting the call to summon them to glory.
My guide for the day, a South African Captain called Johannes, walks with me amongst the excited jabbering common to the races of that wonderful continent.
Amongst them are voices from Rio de Janeiro, Montevideo, Buenos Aires, Asunción, Havana, and Mexico City.
Smart and well armed, these soldiers from so far away are ready to fight and play their part in the great journey that is being undertaken, and, to a man, they pray that it will take them all the way to Moscow and beyond.
Most of these men could not have dreamed of being here a year ago, and you can see their pride and fervour.
They display their weapons with pride and, despite their relaxed manner, exhibit an energy I have rarely seen amongst the common soldiery.
Their very real joy when friendly aircraft fly overhead brings on spontaneous displays of emotion, manifesting itself in shouting, prayers to God and, when the excitement is too much, the firing of weapons into the air, something their officers move quickly to discourage.
You cannot fault the ardour of these men, and their wish to get to grips with the enemy.
It is my fondest hope that I will have an opportunity to observe these wonderful soldiers experience their first taste of battle, when, I am convinced, they will take the battle to the Communists with great elan.
Further to my submission, the briefing did not bring forth the news that these brave soldiers were waiting for, and they are yet to remain in our reserve, waiting for the moment that they are set loose.
Whilst their disappointment was evident, they resumed their duties with joy in their hearts.
The atmosphere around me is one of noisy anticipation, and I suspect that the campfires will be surrounded by laughter and song well into the night.
For my part, I will miss it, as I move forward again.
[Author’s note – On the 29th March, JTS was visiting the forces of SAFFEC, the South American grouping that was kept in reserve during the early days of the attack. I discovered that his guide, Captain Johannes de Wilhout, acting as a liaison between 6th SA Armoured and the SAFFEC headquarters, was killed in an accidental discharge incident two days later. His room mate, Major Fidel Castro, was also wounded.]
Dear Reader,
Having taken my leave of the wonderful South Americans and my gracious South African host yesterday evening, my excitement knew no bounds this morning, as I arrived at the battle headquarters of a division at the cutting edge of our glorious advance into enemy held territory.
The sound of gunfire reached my ears, heavy gunfire that continued without let up, as nearby friendly artillery units persistently poured their shells into the enemy hordes.
How marvellous it was to listen to the wondrous instrument of war that our leaders have created, the constant crack and rumbling of heavy weapons a fitting backdrop to the critical decisions being made within the command tent in front of me.
Today, my escort was Major William, an experienced front line soldier with more medals on his chest than I have seen in a lifetime.
A man of few words, his grunts of agreement and occasional shakes of the head answered all my questions, as we observed the divisional commander responding to whatever problem was brought before him.
Muddy men came and went, some with information, others to take away orders.
This was where the business of war was done, and where the link between the commanding general and the man in the trench lay, translating the orders into commands that the Lieutenants and Sergeants could understand.
Occasionally something would happen, an unexpected event, a problem, but the commanding officer of the division would calmly consult with his closest advisors.
Once, our planned move forward was halted, even as orderlies and officers worked to strike down tables and phones. A small enemy counter-attack gave the command group a different priority.
It proved to be no great issue, and the command group relocated some hours later.