He was right. His ghastly tactic stunned the Germans. Wehrmacht fatalities were staggering. Their front froze. The vaunted blitzkrieg shuddered to a halt, choking and thrashing.
24
My last council of war—unless one counts my current membership on the board of UCLA’s student newspaper—occurred the next evening in the hole in the ground. Winston Churchill called us to order by tapping an ashtray on the green cloth.
I do not believe General Clay had the slightest idea whether this meeting would be triumphant or recriminatory. It certainly began badly, though, when Churchill nodded at General Barclay, who said, “We will have a moment of silence for General Crawford Douglas.”
Clay’s head snapped up. He had not known the Allied Air Forces chief was dead.
Barclay said quietly, “Douglas was killed in a retaliatory phosgene strike while visiting a forward base. The gas bomb was delivered by a Luftwaffe dive-bomber.”
During that silent moment, Clay’s eyes went from man to man, judging his support. I could not determine a tally.
Churchill ended the tribute abruptly, “General Clay, will you report?”
Clay began aggressively, “Our situation is vastly improved since last we met.” He stepped to the map of southern England. “The German advance, which was gaining a mile of English territory every hour, is dead in its tracks.”
Clay spoke for several minutes, repeatedly sweeping his hand across the map, wiping away the Wehrmacht. He concluded, “We believe the Wehrmacht divisions, including the 28th, 8th, and 6th Mountain, which were spearheading the encirclement drive, and many of the encircling second-wave reserves, including the 7th and 8th Panzer and the 20th Motorized, have ceased to exist as fighting forces.”
I am not sure of this, but despite the solemnity in the room, I believe that Winston Churchill grinned demonically at that moment. With the pretense of planting his cigar in his mouth, his hand quickly rose to cover the smile.
Clay went on. “The German has suffered exceptionally high casualties. Those Wehrmacht soldiers who escaped with their health have been rendered almost useless by the sudden plunge in their morale. They no longer have the will to take your land.”
“How do you know the state of German morale?” General Alexander asked.
“Interviews with POWs. Captured soldiers tell my G2 that the Wehrmacht infantry is morose and haggard, paralyzed by the sudden reverse.”
General Stedman asked, “How many POWs do you have?”
“Too many to count. I suspect my men have snatched more Germans in the last twenty-four hours than have been captured by all prior Allied efforts in the war.”
I swear Churchill grinned again behind his hand.
“We have noted that a generalized Wehrmacht retreat has begun. The withdrawal may not have been ordered by OKW, but it is the result of battlefield reality. We are also noting a peculiar phenomenon. Many of the Wehrmacht regiments and battalions seem to be acting independently of command, seemingly without coordination.”
Arthur Stedman said, “We think we know the reason. Bletchley’s direction finders report an abrupt end to the concentration of signals coming from a position southwest of Horsham. They conclude a major Wehrmacht headquarters was destroyed in the gas attack, a corps or even an army headquarters.”
Applause or congratulations would have been too much to expect from the British, who usually have chilled water in their veins, but this news should have produced at least a few clucks of approval. The room was leaden with silence. And, to my mind, it screamed with the as yet unasked question to Clay: Who authorized the gas?
The prime minister said, “We’ll hear now from Captain Swarthmore.”
The weatherman entered with a brisk walk I had not seen before. He quickly took his spot in front of the map. His dark eyes seemed to dance. He said, “I have good news.”
Swarthmore outlined conditions on the channel, which continued to deteriorate. Swells were approaching seven feet, with twenty-knot winds that would hold for a minimum of thirty-six hours.
Churchill asked, “Are you saying that the German landing operation will be entirely interrupted”
Swarthmore replied with prickly pride, “I am a meteorologist, Prime Minister, not a sailor.”
Alexander said, “We do not believe a single Wehrmacht regiment has been able to land since noon today. Certainly no armor can make it to shore.”
After Swarthmore left the room, General Stedman reported on the enemy landing at Lyme Bay in Dorset, where the Wehrmacht’s momentum seemed to have slowed in sympathy with the devastation on the main front. No gas had as yet been used in Dorset, but no British troops were without their masks.
Then Stedman outlined efforts to reinforce the Clay’s AEF and the Canadian I Corps with British units from the north. Before the chemical assault, Second Dunkirk, the heroic and impulsive rising of the English citizenry to transport their soldiers, seemed foolish. But with Wehrmacht forward units in gasping, stumbling disorder, the civilian land bridge might make a difference, Stedman said. Rather than in precise military columns of march along narrow, Luftwaffe-pocked roads, the army was being moved south in wide waves by British volunteers. General Barclay shook his head at the wonder of it.
Lord Lindley finally broached the subject that had hung in the room like the gas itself. “General Clay, may I inquire as to your authority to use the chemical weapon?”
“I am commander of the American Expeditionary Force,” Clay answered. “I ordered the gas.”
The minister for coordination of defense pressed, “You intentionally misunderstand my question, General. Who allowed you to be the first in this war to use chemical weapons?”
General Clay spread his hands on the table, a gesture of endless patience and reasonableness. “My army was on the verge of extinction. I had no alternative.”
“Your alternative would have been, at the very minimum, to consult with us,” Clement Attlee said. “You took it upon yourself to breach a treaty that has kept the world free of chemical battlefields for two decades.”
“Mr. Attlee,” Clay responded, his voice still level, “had I not used the chemicals, von Rundstedt would right now be delivering his orders from the chair you are sitting in.”
Lord Lindley said, “We should not engage in profitless speculation—”
Clay cut him off, “And all your asses would be in Canada by now.”
“My dear chap—”
“This group would be a shamed, defeated, impotent government in exile, just like the Poles who issue their useless communiques from London.”
I noticed that the politicians, not the military men, were grilling Clay.
Lindley said icily, “You are aware, General Clay, that your Congress and administration are in an uproar. There are members of your Congress calling for your summary arrest. General Marshall is under intense pressure to resign because he chose you to lead the AEF. Even President Roosevelt is mired in controversy, with your newspaper reporters shouting questions at him and some senators claiming he must accept the ultimate responsibility for your acts and step down. The wire traffic between here and Washington has brimmed with it.”
Attlee brought his chin up. “General Clay, one question has fairly consumed me since I learned of your use of the gas. Did you consider the English civilians who would surely perish? Did you give them a thought?”
Clay said softly, “I did.”
Attlee asked in an old man’s voice, “Do you in any way share our anguish over their fate?”
“I do.”