General Emilio Esteban Infantes y Martín, the new Spanish liaison officer, simply rose from the table and moved to an alcove, turning his back on the scene of the betrayal.
McCreery simply sat rigidly still, his fierce eyes burning into those of his own political leader, carrying as much contempt as he could possibly project.
Churchill, a man previously his idol, had transformed into a pariah with a few words.
General Juin, the French CoS, said nothing, his face twitching with anger and disbelief in equal measure.
Bradley’s mouth started to move, the jaw working up and down, but no recognisable sounds emerged.
Walter Bedell-Smith poured himself a glass of water, and quickly followed it with a second full measure. The dryness that temporarily robbed him of speech simply refused to go away.
Amongst the military hierarchy present, it seemed that only von Vietinghoff was unaffected by the incredible proposition, remaining impassive and without movement.
There was a blur of movement and the sound of ripping cloth.
Patton’s epaulettes skittered across the table, one falling into Truman’s lap.
“Mister President,” George’s control was as magnificent as it was unexpected, “If that really is your order, you can keep those, ‘cos I’ll go to goddamned hell before I obey that order.”
Eisenhower stood at speed, holding out his hands, one directed at the fiery Patton, the other, more surprisingly, palm first towards his commander-in-chief.
“George, sit down and shut up.”
That was as about as abrupt and out of character as Eisenhower had been in living memory.
He turned his full attention to Truman.
“Mr President, is that your order, Sir?”
Harry Truman removed his glasses to buy himself a moment, the display by Patton having fired up his Missouri soul.
“General… that is our considered opinion, an opinion we’ve just set out before you… as a proposal… a suggestion.”
Truman looked around the room, seeking as much eye contact as he could, whilst Churchill was engaged in his own silent exchange of glares with McCreery and Alexander.
“As yet it is not an order… but it may well become one… may need to become one. That’s the purpose of this meeting.”
Patton rose to tackle the thing head on, but was again waved to his seat by a clearly upset Eisenhower, who wanted to say his piece.
“Sir, let me put my cards on the table right now. If you do make it an order that we withdraw our troops from Poland, and that we leave our Polish allies there to survive with only logistical support… well… my own epaulettes will be lying aside General Patton’s, and you’ll have to find someone else to run your goddamned war!”
Truman rose and leant forward, his hands on the table in front of him.
“Let me make this clear, General. Presently, we’re asking, not ordering. The Polish enterprise has not been successful, and we have recreated another Anzio in all but name.”
That was a fair point, and the similarities had been painfully clear to all those with the right level of knowledge and recollection of ‘Operation Shingle’.
Truman leant back, making himself appear less aggressive.
“Gentlemen, the domestic political situation presents us with certain imperatives. Things at home have changed since the furore of the Soviet betrayal. I don’t need to tell you that the casualty figures are horrendous. There are riots… civil unrest across the spectrum of our Allies.”
He gestured Eisenhower to resume his seat, leading by example.
“As Prime Minster Churchill has said, the Polish excursion served some purpose, but now solely seems to consume men and supplies holding a bridgehead. There is no intent or capability to exploit it and, according to your reports, it is of minimal use pinning down Soviet assets.”
That was indeed the finding of a report that Eisenhower had submitted not a week hence, so he could only give the briefest of nods in agreement.
Churchill took up the baton.
“General Eisenhower, we believe the Poles, with supply from us, can hold the ground more than adequately. If circumstances change, we can return and exploit their labours another day. If they cannot, then we will do our best to pluck them from danger. Undoubtedly, the forces we withdraw would presently serve us better in the main line… the removal of the Allied units from the bridgehead would reduce strain on our supply… release air and naval assets for other tasks… as the President has alluded, the wildcat has once more become a stranded whale.”
Churchill had famously used the same description on the inactivity of the Anzio-Nettuno landings in early 1944.
“With respect, Prime Minister, had we withdrawn then, we would not have left an Allied nation’s soldiers behind to die or surrender.”
“You make an excellent observation, General Eisenhower, and, as I said, if it became necessary, we would advocate recovering as many of our brave Polish Allies as possible.”
Politicians’ speak rarely rested easily with military men, and that particular sentence certainly did nothing to reassure them.
Eisenhower baulked at the first thought that came into his mind, sending the reference to Gallipoli to the deeper recesses of his mind, deciding that dragging up a World War One Churchill failure would serve no purpose.
“There’s no way that we can make a full evacuation of all forces in the Polish bridgehead. The safe extraction of our own forces would require considerable forces left in situ to cover any withdrawal, probably requiring all of the remaining Polish forces, and probably even some of our own assets to ensure success. That’s just unacceptable.”
There was a rumble of agreement from the Generals around him, with only George Patton’s ‘you’re goddamned right, Ike’ understandable.
“Surely, Prime Minister… Mr President…, you can’t ask us to abandon the very nation with whom the British allied themselves, and ultimately committed to war to preserve?”
Truman bristled.
“General, it’s not a question of abandoning. If we withdraw from the landing we can consolidate elsewhere. Yes, we will have to leave some men behind… that is regrettable.”
He nodded at Churchill.
“At Dunkerque, the British accepted that some brave men would have to remain in order to preserve the safe escape of others. Poland would be no different an…”
“With respect, Mister President, the situation would be wholly different. The British were forced to flee… we would be exercising choice to withdraw… and from a position of military strength… a choice that would spell death to thousands of our Polish allies… and possibly even undermine support for our cause with them and other nations.”
“According to your own report, we can hardly call our Polish excursion a position of strength, General.”
“It’s hardly the same as Dunkerque, Mister President. As we stand, we ain’t going to be overrun or pushed into the sea. It’s only an order like you’re proposing that’ll make that a possibility!”
Realising he had just closed down on his boss, Ike rose and held out both hands in a placatory gesture.
“Sir… Mr President… I understand that the domestic political position in many of our homelands is not positive… and we have taken steps to reduce the effects of combat on our home populations… but if we stand back from Poland now, we will be sending out negative messages in all directions, not just to Georgia in the States, but also to Georgia in the east… a message that might make them believe that we are weak and lack the will to succeed.”
He looked around the room, checking that everyone present was cleared for what he was about to say.
“We have yet to fully understand how successful Operation Atlantic has been. Surely that must make a difference?”