fortifications are a hundred times more formidable then what we faced at Normandy.”
Doolittle was clearly uncomfortable. “Sir, you know that both America’s and England’s bomber command’s priorities are Germany’s factories and war-making potential. It’s the opinion of both commands that every bomber taken from attacking those targets will prolong the war. If we can stop their ability to produce weapons and fuel, the German military machine will grind to a halt.”
“Indeed,” Ike said dryly, “but it will grind to a halt with us on one side of the Rhine and the Germans safely on the other. Jimmy, the only way to do it is the old fashioned one-we have to dig them out because, no matter what, we will still have to cross that damned river in order to end this war. Unless your bombers pay greater attention to these defenses, our casualties will be horrendous.”
“Ike, we’ve been bombing them off and on since we crossed the Seine. And before that we bombed the Seine works. We have a lot of planes and crews, but not enough to do both things.”
“Then why is bomber command implying that they don’t need as many pilots as they are getting and that they are running out of viable targets? If my bluntness offends anyone, so be it,” said Ike, “but I don’t think strategic bombing has been all that effective. The Germans have successfully repaired much of what has been bombed, and they’ve dispersed their factories to hidden and underground locations. They have been able to fix their railroads overnight. While we’ve certainly made life inconvenient for them, they are continuing to produce weapons, including their damned tanks and that jet fighter. In my opinion, continued massive bombing of factories and rail facilities would be redundant.”
Ike lit another cigarette and puffed angrily. “We need to confuse Rundstedt and Himmler as to where we will finally cross. We need confusion like we did with Normandy. Everybody in the German high command was uncertain as to whether the real attack would come at Pas de Calais or Normandy. We need them confused as to whether Patton’s or Hodges’ boys will be in those landing craft and that means two major areas east of the Rhine have to be isolated and bombed to hell and back.”
Doolittle smiled wanly. “You don’t want much do you?”
Ike flashed his famous grin. Doolittle was one of his favorites and a past member of his staff. Ike was angry, but not with his old friend. “And I want it yesterday. Look, everybody’s convinced that we’re going into winter quarters and they are largely correct. When we clean out the west bank of the Rhine there really won’t be much of anything for our forces to do until the spring and we do fight our way across.”
“Forgive me for being an idiot, Ike,” said Doolittle, “but why not cross in the winter?”
Bradley answered. “Because planes can’t fly and bomb accurately in bad weather, because it’s too cold and muddy for our vehicles to operate effectively, and because the Rhine will be so cold that our men won’t be able to wade in like they did at Normandy. Even worse, any poor soldier spilled into the river will likely freeze to death before he makes shore or is rescued. At least the waters off Normandy and the Seine were reasonably warm. We can and will try to send isolated swimmers across, probably navy SEALS, for reconnaissance purposes, again like Normandy, but not in any numbers large enough to affect anything.”
“In a very large way,” added Ike, “this will be like D-Day all over again. We will rest and refit, and we will train, and train. Hopefully, we will get enough landing craft, the LCVI which carry a platoon and can be brought to the river by train, or even the DUKW that can carry a squad, or maybe something else. Our reconnaissance shows that the Germans are stripping the west bank of the Rhine of anything that floats, which will stop us from using local boats for the crossing.”
“Nor can we bring ships up the Rhine,” Bradley added, stating the obvious and enjoying Doolittle’s discomfort. “First, any ships would be within point blank range of German guns, and, second, the Nazis will doubtless destroy all the Rhine bridges, which means that the resultant rubble will halt any river traffic.”
Doolittle shook his head. “Jesus, anybody here got any good news?”
Ike smiled. “We do have a few surprises up our sleeves. The Germans are good, but we’re pretty good, too, and we’re getting better. Regardless Jimmy, I need those bombers and I need them over targets soon and for a very long time.”
“And if the air force balks?”
“If they balk, then tell them that Germany wins the war.”
The forests of Germany to the west of the Rhine came as a shock to the men of the 74th. They were dense, the trees were tall, and the roads primitive to nonexistent. The American forces to the north of them were having an even tougher time navigating woodlands that reminded them more of the forests of Pennsylvania or northern Michigan than what they thought Germany would be.
The Germans were retreating as usual-slowly, tenaciously, and fighting hard to inflict as many casualties as they could on the advancing Americans. One of their new favorite tactics was to fire artillery timed to explode in the tree covering thus showering the exposed troops below with splinters that ripped into soft flesh. The men in the tanks were fairly safe, but those on foot or in Jeeps or trucks or those roofless tank destroyers or half-tracks were vulnerable.
Morgan’s Jeep was covered by a couple of pieces of sheet metal patched together from wrecked trucks. It wasn’t armor, but he hoped the metal would deflect the lion’s share of the deadly debris that rained from the sky. So far he’d been lucky. Nothing major had tested their improvised defenses, although some shells exploding nearby had sent twigs clattering onto their roof. Many of the drivers of other exposed vehicles had make similar armor out of anything they thought might protect them, including wood. Still, casualties had been severe and bloody.
As usual, the 74th was crawling, slipping and sliding over the muddy and narrow roads, while a light snowfall made their lives even more miserable. Jake was on the ground while two other pilots took the planes on their excursions. Their reports were dismal. The forest hid much of what the Germans were up to. Enemy machine gun nests were well hidden and well sited, and their artillery was invisible. German big guns would fire a few rounds and then move. American mortars were ineffective because no one could see the fall of shot. It was galling to know that very small numbers of Nazis could cause such disproportionate casualties and halt the advance of a much larger and more powerful American force.
German machine gun fire ripped insanely a few hundred yards ahead of him. Morgan was too tired and too cold to wince. He almost agreed with the philosophy that if a bullet had your name on it, there wasn’t much you could do about it.
Fortunately, the Germans were only fighting a series of delaying actions as they moved men and equipment east and over the Rhine, and not making a major stand. More and more Volkssturm outfits were surrendering, including several that seemed to have somehow “lost” their officers. The consensus was that the enlisted men had killed them because the officers wanted to continue suicidal resistance. The only units that were now really fighting were the SS. Jack assumed that was who they were now up against.
“Morgan, can your pilots pinpoint the krauts?”
It was Whiteside and he looked angry and frustrated. “In a general sense, sir,” said Morgan.
“Could you give a fighter pilot a rough perimeter using smoke?”
Morgan said they could and Whiteside told him to have his pilots drop smoke and flares around the German strongpoint that was holding them up. Troops on the ground would do the same thing to identify their own lines. Whiteside informed them that the fighter bombers had a new weapon they wanted to test.
“And that means we pull out when the perimeter is outlined,” Whiteside said. “No insult to your past calling, Captain, but I don’t trust anybody else’s aim.”
“Sounds like a prudent idea to me, sir.”
Half an hour later, an area several hundred yards in diameter had been outlined by a circle of smoke and, hopefully, was visible from the sky. Just as important, the 74th had pulled back nearly a mile. Jack was wondering just what the hell was going to happen when a pair of P47’s flew over, turned, and began another run. This time, what looked like bombs dropped from them.
Jack was thinking that dropping bombs in a forest wouldn’t accomplish much, when the bombs hit and erupted in billowing clouds of fire.
Two more planes came and dropped their deadly cargo, then two more. Within seconds the area in which the Germans were supposed to be entrenched was engulfed in greasy clouds of roiling fire. He couldn’t see the
