Atlantic, the attempt to lure Soviet forces to their southern borders, appeared to have affected Soviet thinking, and intelligence and reconnaissance both indicated a movement to the south, but nagging doubts existed as to whether it was a genuine move or one designed to convince the Allies their plan had worked.
Truman took a deep breath and wiped his hands across his face.
When Churchill and he had discussed the Polish matter at Charters, it had seemed a lot simpler, but now, in the presence of the military commanders, the waters had been well and truly muddied.
Churchill cleared his throat and extracted one of his cigars, using the moment to bring peace to the room, his puffing the only sound until he exhaled and stood slowly.
“General Eisenhower, you make your point eloquently, and I think that the President and I can understand the risks present in what we have presented for discussion.”
The lessening of importance, the lower weight in the words, were not wasted on any of the men listening.
“But, I think we can agree that the present predicament cries out for remedy… for action… for a decision on how to proceed, rather than allowing the status quo to slowly fester and reduce our options in the future.”
Churchill drew in the rich product and exhaled noisily.
He stood, carefully placing the Cuban in the crystal ashtray, clearly buying a moment to weigh his reply carefully.
“We… the President and I… do not believe we can trust to the success of ‘Atlantic’, much as we pray for it. Any benefits from its fruition may not become available until long after the Polish Bridgehead has been resolved… and not necessarily resolved in our favour.”
He grabbed his lapels, in the style he adopted in the house, when addressing his nation’s parliament.
“Inactivity is inexcusable in the face of the incompleteness of the Polish mission. Success was ours, initially, but since we have simply permitted the whole landing and exploitation to become nothing more than an irritating boil to the Communists, and a significant drain on manpower and resources for us.”
He puffed on his cigar before resuming his classic pose.
“Gentlemen, the situation cannot endure… must not endure… which is why President Truman and I are here. If not this suggestion, what? What would you have us do? There is no option for inactivity in Poland. We must either do something positive, or withdraw… and we simply cannot… must not… rely on some unsupportable vision of unprecedented success from Operation Atlantic to cloud our vision… our decision making… and our unpalatable duty.”
Churchill took a deep breath.
“Now, what are our options? General Eisenhower, you have said that to further reinforce the bridgehead is a fool’s errand. So we have no option to expand operations. We are left with a choice between status quo or reduction, unless you can bring some new idea before us.”
Winston resumed his seat, drawing on the rich Cuban cigar and carefully avoiding sending any of the smoke in Truman’s direction.
“Breakthrough to ’em, Prime Minister. Give us the word and we’ll smash through the goddamned commies all the way to Warsaw.”
Patton’s simple reply avoided the issues that had first steered Churchill and Truman down the path of contemplating withdrawal.
“General, that is not an option as things stand.”
Truman expected no rebuttal, but it came anyway.
“Yes it is, Mister President. Use the bombs, and we will carve our way through the bastards like a hot knife through butter.”
Truman made a display of anger, slapping his hand, palm down, on the table.
“No! We cannot! How many times do I have to tell you all? The use of those weapons in Japan has caused so many problems for the Alliance! To use them here, unilaterally, without political consultation, would almost certainly ensure the end of support for our cause from too many nations to count.”
Alexander got in before George Patton had time to draw breath.
“Then, Sir, have a consultation. Lay it out before our Allies. Tell them we need to use these bombs to succeed. Tell them the alternatives if we don’t use them… if we lose… sir.”
“The process would be a waste of time, Field Marshal. We have had deputations from numerous nations, stating their clear position on further use in the Far East, let alone in mainland Europe. No, no, no. it’s not happening. Find us another solution to the Polish problem.”
George Patton could control himself no longer.
“No! No! No! Can’t you see it, Mister President? The Commies have orchestrated it all, goddamn them. All of this crock of shit… this… this… anti-bomb thing.”
He strode round the table and went up to a map of Europe.
“We got bombs… let’s use the damn things… hit ’em hard, where it hurts… here… here… here… destroy their will to fight.”
‘Blood and Guts’ virtually punched each spot on the map as he marked out his preferred targets of Moscow, Leningrad, and Chelyabinsk.
“General Patton, please sit down.”
“Sir, you gotta understand that all we need to do…”
“General Patton, sit down.”
Eisenhower rose to interject.
“George, com…”
“The hell I will… the HELL I will! We’re in possession of the goddamn means to end this thing and lack the goddamn spine to do it! My God, what’ll history think of the men in this room, eh? Commanders of the greatest army ever assembled, with the best weapons, and best soldiers, and no goddamn balls to use it!”
Truman virtually flew out of his chair.
“Sit down, General Patton!”
“The hell I goddamned will!”
Eisenhower shouted.
“George! Enough!”
Patton turned to him, his eyes ablaze, and with no pretence of control.
“Ike, you see it. You have to goddamn see it! We’ve the tools and this sonofabitch won’t do what’s needed to be done.”
Truman flushed with colour and stood rock still, exuding white hot anger, a feeling of something wholly unpleasant, a something that stopped even the mad as hell Patton in his tracks.
“You, General Patton, are hereby relieved of your command. You, General Eisenhower, will have this officer placed under arrest, awaiting proper disposal by courts-martial.”
Patton went from white anger to realisation in a split second.
He opened his mouth, but Eisenhower closed him down immediately.
“General Patton, stand down.”
Ike nodded towards the door that had flown open in the middle of the furious exchange, a door now filled with three gun-toting MPs who had wondered if World War IV had commenced in the meeting room.
“Captain.”
The MP officer strode forward, into the centre of more military and political muscle than he had even seen in his lifetime of service.
“Sir.”
“Arrest General Patton and escort him to his quarters in this building. You and your men will stand guard on his door and he is not to leave, or be allowed to see anyone, until I personally relieve you. Is that clear?”
The Captain nodded, the orders crystal clear, but the reasons lost on him.
“George… George…”
Patton, shocked and stunned, turned his head from the silent Truman to his field commander.
“Sir?”
“General, surrender your sidearm to the arresting officer.”
“What?”
“Your gun, General Patton… give the man your gun.”
Patton retrieved the Colt.45 revolver with the distinctive stag horn grip from his holster and passed it to the waiting MP, who moved it on to his sergeant like it was a hot coal from hell itself.
“Now… please… go with this officer, General.”
To everyone’s surprise, George Scott Patton did exactly what Eisenhower ordered, without so much as a word or a look back.