Across Europe the major battles had all ended, and even the small ones had all but ceased, so bad were the conditions.
Rivers normally running freely in winter became nothing but solid walkways and, in a few instances, commanders launched their men across the ice.
Supply issues hounded both sides, and it almost seemed that an agreement was reached between opposing forces.
‘If you keep out of my way, I’ll leave you alone too.’
There were no recorded instances of cease-fires, no sign of a reoccurrence of the First World War camaraderie between opposition troops.
It was not the Soviet way, and the Allies seemed less inclined than had been the case in the past.
None the less, unspoken agreements reduced the fighting to a minimum, unless stirred by some interloping officer from a higher command.
In both armies, casualties caused by bullet, bomb and shell declined, whilst those caused by the extreme cold rose.
Men from sunnier climes suffered the most.
Above the frozen ground the aircraft still flew, but cold weather missions were not without risk, and accidents rose.
The Allied Bomber force continued to pound anything that could be of use to the Red Army, which found much of its new supply of men and materiel could not move forward because the infrastructure was being dismantled by Allied high-explosives.
Choke points then attracted more attention from bombers, and trauma casualties behind the lines exceeded those at the front, often by considerable distances.
Bridges meant for the Army were needed at points where men and supplies were choked up, so the vital equipment never reached the engineers who would need it when the thaw came.
The war at sea was virtually over, the occasional Mediterranean scuffle with a submarine from the Black Sea Fleet normally resulted in the Soviet craft remaining underwater permanently.
The political and military hierarchies on both sides concluded that it was in their best interests to use the big freeze to rebuild, rest, plan, and prepare for the thaw.
On each side there were individuals who counseled otherwise, stressing that the enemy would be doing likewise.
None of their voices were heard or, if they were, their argument was ignored in favour of the enticement of an extended spell of peaceful time.
Perhaps the Soviet dissenters were more correct, in that the mighty industrial power of the United States would not stop for snow, the convoys that plied the Atlantic, no longer troubled by the small but effective Elektroboote force, would go on through storm and ice, and the build-up of men, weapons, and ammunition, would continue unhindered by air attacks, the Red Air Force being spent as an offensive arm for the foreseeable future.
The GKO had other thoughts, perhaps they were blinded by the dazzling possibilities of the Atomic programme’s progress.
The Allies, perhaps also enchanted by their own programmes, almost seemed to forget the resilience and come-back capabilities of their enemy, capabilities that had drawn many plaudits when they all sat on the same side of the table.
From SHAEF’s headquarters in Versailles, to that of the Red Banner Forces of Europe under the rock of Nordhausen, the military commanders had curtailed their plans in favour of renewal and rest.
Their political masters, Churchill aside, had concurred, and supported the unofficial cease-fire. Churchill’s desire to strike hard was considered unrealistic, but he was right in some of what he said, as the advantages of Spectrum Red were slowly eaten away by the lull.
When Eisenhower went for a walk, or when Konev ventured from his underground tunnels, both found the air so cold that it hurt to breathe, and the ground covered with snow, sometimes above the height of the tallest of men.
The weather forecast predicted more of the same, without thaw, well into the New Year.
A Europe filled with armed men was relatively quiet, but the plans were being laid for when they could start killing each other again.
Bedell-Smith settled into his chair, the one normally occupied by his commanding officer.
Eisenhower was thousands of miles away, enjoying a well-earned leave at his home.
Staff in the headquarters had been on the same flight, the situation enabling others who had been in Europe since 1943 to go home and spend Christmas with their loved ones.
Not that the Allied Armies would be repeating the errors of 1944, when the German attack had caught them badly unprepared. Once is a mistake, twice is unforgivable.
The situation map was quiet, the last reports he had seen were those detailing aircraft casualties from the night’s raids, and assessments of damage caused by their bombs. There were also personal messages from him, messages of encouragement and congratulations requiring his signature, due to the units that had carried out the missions.
The ever-present Colonel Hood broke his reverie.
“Sir, the meeting. It’s nearly eleven.”
“Thank you, Thomas.”
Bedell-Smith stood and stretched, and walked crisply to the conference room, meeting Major Goldstein en route.
“How’s your German today, Major.”
“Well I’ve been practicing some, General. I’ve a hunch that Speer’s briefing’s gonna get all technical on me today, so I’ve brushed up on some big words.”
He held out a book.
“Also I brought this, just in case.”
Bedell-Smith grinned.
“Very wise, Major, very wise indeed.”
“Good morning, gentlemen. Please sit.”
The sound of chairs scraping as they responded to Bedell-Smith’s invitation echoed around the large room, eventually dying away as the last of the men made themselves comfortable.
Bradley and De Lattre sat on one side of the large table, opposite Bedell-Smith and Goldstein.
Devers had sent his apologies, but the weather had socked his area in completely.
To their left, Generals Robertson, Simpson and Horrocks, the latter acting as McCreery’s eyes and ears until the Denmark situation subsided. The two vacant seats were left for Tedder and Patton, should their respective aircraft be able to land on time.
To their right sat Von Vietinghoff, Guderian, and Speer, all for the German Republic, and it was they who had requested this extra meeting. The empty seat belonged to Von Papen, who had been taken ill that very morning.
Bedell-Smith took the lead in Tedder’s absence.
“Well, gentlemen,” he directed his comments at the German leadership contingent, “What is it that has caused such a stink?”
He omitted the word ‘panic’, despite it being used freely around SHAEF when the request had been sent in.
Von Vietinghoff took up the baton.
“Our forces have suffered heavily in the failed assault on Cologne. We can bring our units up on manpower without problem or loss of time. In fact, we will be able to increase our number of units in the field if we can resolve the equipment issue.”
“Equipment issue?”
“General Smith, our units are equipped with German tanks and weapons, most of which have been supplied from 1944/1945 stocks.”
The Allied officers in the room read that as ‘captured’, which was correct.
“Our munitions level is good, as is the morale of our troops. But we now see a shortage of the vehicles, particularly tanks and personnel carriers.”
Bedell-Smith had heard there might be a problem in the future, but clearly it was here and now, and of sufficient concern to force a meeting just two days before Christmas.
“I assume that you have a solution, General?”