McAuliffe received a written report with a grunt, read it, and handed it across to Crisp.
“So, navy say they can definitely squeeze you all into Kingsbury. Let’s get it done, Colonel. It won’t be for too long. Just make sure your boys give the ‘Bulldogs’ enough room for them to stand up and cock a leg to pee, ok?”
“I hear that, Sir.”
The 327th had taken a pounding during its time in Pomerania, losing their commander, Bud Harper, injured in the initial stages. They then suffered the loss of the replacement regimental commander to Soviet mortars on the final day of their exposure to front line action.
Which left Acting Lieutenant Colonel Griffin Field in charge, a man with whom Crisp had an excellent relationship, following the bloody slugfests at Wolin.
“Liaise with Field and get ’em stowed away so that Kingsbury can get away by midday, Crisp.”
The harbour at Swinemünde was capable of taking only two decent sized vessels, much of the ports facilities having been damaged by the Allies, then the Germans, then the Russians, and finally, the Allies once more.
McAuliffe acknowledged Crisp’s salute and set his mind to the next problem, which had doubled in complication with the damage to APA-127 USS Allendale, which vessel was now occupying one of his two berths.
Determined to put a ‘burr under the arse’ of the ship’s captain, McAuliffe strode off down the dock, followed by harassed staff officers who were better equipped for organising an airborne assault than a seaborne evacuation.
101st had been denied an aerial return, the increased number of Soviet jet aircraft cited as one reason, the constant presence of transports delivering Spanish and Polish units another, although rumours about shortages of transport aircraft through to fuel abounded.
Still, as McAuliffe had quipped to his senior officers, it was a lovely time of year for a cruise.
Truman stood at the window, his brain full of facts and assumptions, statements of intent and promises, some of which were historical, and some of which had been dramatically set out before him by the small group of men sat silently behind him.
‘Ban the bomb… use the bomb… send more troops… bring the boys home…’
He rammed his hands onto his hips and set his jaw, examined his reflection and scowled at himself.
He turned round and slammed his hand on the desk.
“Goddamned censure? Is he really expecting us to believe that?”
“No way, Mister President, but Governor Arnall is talking about it just the same. Moreover, at the moment, he’s the only one that’s talking openly about it, Mister President, but others are following suit behind the scenes, stirring the pot.”
“Say that again, John.”
“It’s not just Arnall that’s talking up censure as a way of making you use the bomb and bring the boys home. Sure, Georgia’s taking the lead, but South Carolina, California, Florida, Michigan, Virginia, New York, and Texas are close behind. Not counting the few on the other side of the argument, who are also rumbling on the matter… I mean those who are tentatively backing the application of pressure to withdraw… either way, there is a ground swell of heavy muscle that is taking a stance against the way you are running this war.”
“On what grounds?”
“Mister President, on the grounds that you are failing to prosecute the war to the fullest extent and endangering American lives and the safety of the American nation by not so doing.”
“What?”
A session intended to discuss the changing situation in Britain and Canada had become something entirely different.
John R. Steelman, White House Chief of Staff, was the bearer of the bad news.
Truman resumed his seat and looked at each man in turn.
“Gentlemen, before we go any further with this session… has any of you brought me good news?”
The silence was heavy with meaning.
“George?”
George Marshall prepared himself to heap more bad news on top of it.
“Mister President… I have some figures here…”
“One moment, please. Henry?”
“I’m afraid not, Mister President.”
Henry Stimson had anything but good news to deliver.
Truman looked directly at James Byrnes, Secretary of State, and pursed his lips in a silent request.
“No, Sir. I am the bearer of bad tidings.”
Truman heard them all out, taking the latest casualty figures from Europe badly, the total American casualty figures since December 1941 now approaching two million, including a staggering total of six hundred and seventy thousand dead, two hundred and sixty-five thousand in the period commencing on August 6th 1945.
Considerably more than half the number that had died in the previous four years of war.
He winced as Secretary of State Byrnes relayed messages, ranging from concern to outrage, from heads of state or ambassadors, most accompanied by threats to withdraw direct support from the Allied cause.
Stimson and Marshall added to the sense of foreboding with their appreciation of the military situation, and the likely effects of continuing the struggle.
Stimson, in an attempt to be upbeat, played the technology card, talking of new tanks, new guns, new aircraft, all being made available to the boys on the front line, but nothing he said could hide the truth.
The Unites States capacity to wage war was intact, but the political situation was confused, with rival camps wanting peace or use of the bombs, entrenched polar opposites who wouldn’t budge.
Truman spoke to no-one in particular, simply giving voice to the turmoil in his head.
“So, all it’s gonna take is one single thing, one tragedy, one lost battle, one effective speech, one more bloody demonstration on an American street. That’s probably now all that is needed to bring it all crashing down around us, one way or the other.”
“Use the bomb, Mister President.”
Only Byrnes refrained from the call.
Steelman led the baying for its deployment.
“If the Allied nations are going to fall out, then to hell with it. Use the bomb… use it now… stop the rot spreading… stick one on the Communists and we will have all the public support back behind us… talk of censure will disappear because it’ll shut up the ‘go for broke’ lobby… people will see that our boys will prevail. If you prevaricate and the Allies start falling away, that’ll obviously give the anti-war movement steel in their backs and create more issues.”
“No.”
“But Sir, we must d…”
“I said no. We will not use the bombs and fracture the Allied cause. Without a strong Allied group, the Communists will prevail, if not now, then at some time in the future. I will not pass on that legacy to the world. I will NOT! We WILL maintain the Allied grouping at all costs. Am I clear on that point, gentlemen?”
There was little to be unclear about.
The meeting terminated with no further decisions, save to diplomatically massage the Allies, pressurise the Canadians as nicely as possible, and to sympathetically and publically support Churchill in his struggle against public discontent the length and breadth of the United Kingdom and beyond.
It was also decided to review the military plan and reduce US exposure to the barest minimum.
Truman enjoyed a moment’s solitude before the door opened and one of his secret service agents stuck his head around it.
“Sir, your eleven-thirty is still waiting.”
Truman looked at the clock and grinned momentarily.
‘11.50. Let the man wait a while longer.’
Truman grinned at his own thoughts.
‘Petulance isn’t your style, Harry. Let him have his say.’