“Dortmund,” General Bradley said. “There’s no doubt about it; not that there ever was. They’ve been driving straight toward the depots at Dortmund and they are not even attempting a pincers movement to reach the Rhine. They’ve given up all attempts at trapping us on this side of the Rhine.”
Ike had earlier come to that conclusion. The lack of an enveloping maneuver had confirmed it. The Russians had used a pincers strategy whenever practicable. They’d done it at Stalingrad and, later, at Berlin. Their change of strategy in the north had come as a slight surprise, although not totally unexpected considering the prize the Russians saw awaiting them at Dortmund.
Bradley frowned. “And they’re moving in great strength. We’ve identified two rifle armies, as well as two tank armies. It also looks like another tank army, the Third, has been moved up in reserve and will be crossing the Weser at any time.”
The 3rd Guards Tank Army had previously been identified as belonging to Koniev. That meant, in the week and a half since the initial assault on the Weser, the Russians had successfully put five armies on the American side, with a sixth about to cross over. It was only seventy-five miles from the Weser to Dortmund; Russians had already taken Paderborn and were more than halfway there. According to intelligence, the Russians, despite the enormous casualties they’d sustained, still had more than a million men thrusting toward that city like some giant convulsive animal.
Yet the attack was on a relatively narrow front with Simpson’s First Army as it’s focus, which left it potentially vulnerable to attacks on its flanks. Inside the Russian attacking front was an immense compression of men and equipment. So far, the U.S. Army had been unable to contain its advance.
Ike puffed on one of the cigarettes he chain-smoked. “It certainly proves that our attacks on their supplies and transportation network have paid off. It looks to me like a move based on sheer desperation. They must be in even worse shape than we dreamed of for them to distort their offensive objectives like they have. I’d say they’ve totally forgotten about Antwerp as their primary objective. At least for the time being.”
Ike’s thoughts were interrupted by a clerk informing him that they had Patton on the line. Ike took the telephone handed to him. “George, how’s it going?”
“Ike, we kicked off just before dawn and are making some gains against damn stiff resistance.”
Patton’s limited counterattack had been reluctantly approved and was planned merely to disrupt the Russian offensive, which was proving far stronger than expected. It was hoped that the Russians would have to shift some troops to defend themselves from being cut off, or that Patton would be allowed to run wild in their rear. All of this supposed that Patton would be able to punch through them. Patton was saying the going was slow, which meant that he was failing.
Bradley slipped Ike a note. He read it and his face turned crimson. He looked at Bradley, who turned away. “George,” he said grimly, “are you using German tanks in your attacks?”
“Hell, yes. Got me a couple hundred Panthers and about fifty Tigers heading up my Shermans. They’re a helluva lot better than anything we have. The kraut tanks were scattered all over southern Germany, and it took us a while to assemble and repair them, and put U.S. designations on them just like the air force did with the jets, but they’re working just fine. Why, is that a problem?”
“I don’t know,” said Ike. “That might just depend on who’s driving them.”
There was a pause. “Aw, hell, Ike, do you really want to know?”
Eisenhower thought that one over. Did he really want to know what the devil his most irrepressible and irresponsible subordinate was up to?
“George, are you using Germans to crew those tanks?”
There was another pause. Finally, “Yes.”
“George, you know we can’t do that.”
“Yeah,” Patton interrupted, “and it makes no sense. We get to use the krauts as pilots for their jets, and as antiaircraft gunners, but not as tank drivers to fight the Russians. And don’t tell me Brad’s not using those German-crewed antiaircraft guns as antitank weapons, either. Hell, I know I am.”
Ike shook his head. Patton had a point. The policy regarding Germans was inconsistent and flawed. And, yes, Bradley was indeed using German-crewed antiaircraft guns to kill tanks. But a promise had been made, both by Ike to Marshall and by Patton to Ike. The Luftwaffe was considered probably clean of war crimes, while the ground troops were the ones more likely to have committed atrocities. Although he realized that most of them probably had not, some doubtless had. The thought of GIs serving alongside some of the people who had butchered Jews and other innocent people was as repugnant to him as it would be to the American people.
Patton continued. “Ike, I won’t bullshit you. I always had every intention of using every weapon I could possibly get my hands on to defeat the Russians. But I’m only using regular German soldiers and not the SS. This isn’t tiddleywinks or football, Ike, this is war, and I don’t give a damn what or how I have to do to win. I will do it.”
Patton actually laughed. His normally high-pitched voice sounded tinny over the phone. “Y’know, I kinda think Marshall suspects what we’re doing. After all, isn’t he the one who conned Truman into letting us use the antiaircraft guns and crews in the first place? Don’t tell me he didn’t know they could be used to kill tanks as well.
“As to Truman? Hell, let him fire me. Ten dollars says he won’t do anything until the war’s over and then he’s going to try to hush it all up. Not even Truman would fire a general whose only crime is cheating to win a war.”
Ike quietly admitted that Patton had a point.
“Hell, Ike, you can never have enough weapons. Besides, if I want to make a real mark on history, this is my only time around.”
Eisenhower hung up. He would deal with Patton later. After all, there was the possibility that Patton would be proven right. Winners are honored and losers face humiliation. It was entirely likely that Patton would get a medal for his act of disobedience. It wouldn’t be the first time. But now he would work with Bradley as he dealt with the main thrust of the Russian armies nearing Dortmund. At the rate they were going, the Russian armored columns would be there in a couple of days.
What would the Russians do when they reached that town? What would their reaction be?
The long barrel of the 88 mm gun was twisted back as if it were a toy destroyed by a large and malevolent child. Beside it were the blackened and torn bodies of its crew. Germans, Suslov thought. Goddamn Germans. They wore American uniforms, but their ID said they were German. They were not the first dead Germans in American uniforms he had seen in the last few days, nor, he surmised, would they be the last.
German ground participation on the American side had come as a bitter surprise to them all. So too had the manner in which the Germans had fought them. The 88 mm guns that had proven so effective against Russian armor in the past had been arrayed against the onrushing Soviet tanks. Flashes of light from their dug-in positions and the crash of hot metal against Soviet tanks brought back terrible memories. He could still hear the screams of crews from those tanks with radios as they cried out for help from the flaming hell their tanks had become.
Yet the Red Army had persevered and punched through still another defensive line. In a little while they would reach the Dortmund area, where they had been told all manner of supplies waited for them to feast on, supplies that they desperately required. Suslov thought it would be heavenly, except there was no heaven in Stalin’s Russia.
First and foremost the tanks needed diesel and the other vehicles needed gasoline. Next, they needed weapons and ammunition. Many of the Russian guns had been destroyed. Some didn’t particularly like the idea of using American weapons, but there was no other alternative.