The three Generals slipped into a small alcove, followed by the staff corporal with the fresh and steaming coffee.
Drinks poured, the orderly withdrew, leaving the senior officers to discuss the momentous news.
Ike ceded the moment to Bedell-Smith, who slowly went through the preliminary report on Soviet supply difficulties.
It took just under ten minutes, by which time the change in Bradley’s demeanour was noticeable.
When he had arrived, the burden of his command and the nature of his task were both obviously heavy upon his shoulders.
With the latest intelligence report, a new hope was awoken, and the fire in Omar Bradley’s eyes burned bright and fierce.
“Well I’ll be. So what’s the plan, General?”
Eisenhower smiled softly, but his eyes also reflected a new steel.
“We do what we said we were going to do. Move back to the Rhine. Their engineering issue has not improved.”
Bradley moved to remonstrate.
“Hold on, Brad. Hear me out here.”
It could have been an order but, between friends, it was a reasonable request.
“If the situation is how it seems they are perilously close to having a logistical breakdown. I do not want to do anything to dissuade them from sticking their necks out, understand?”
Bradley did ‘kind of’ understand, but that understanding brought visions of continued retreat, stand, retreat, all the way back to the Rhine.
“The further we move them westwards, the worse it will get for them. Our air power will only grow now. Stateside factories are now fully online. Even Boeing is back to full production despite the sabotage.”
The previous week, a number of Soviet special troops, probably six of them, had blown up part of the Boeing’s Plant 2 facility in Seattle. None of the saboteurs had survived the attack.
“Our training schools are working full-time, and new pilots are coming into play all the time, no loss of standards.”
“We have new units arriving, either from stateside or created in country, adding to our order of battle on a daily basis.”
Eisenhower understood Bradley’s silence.
“Brad, I will make sure you have the resources to conduct a proper fighting withdrawal, but I want that withdrawal, and I want the Soviets to see our weakness, and continue to exploit it.”
Eisenhower nodded at Bedell-Smith.
“This is something we have yet to firm up, but it is a start, General Bradley.”
Bedell-Smith and Bradley tended to be formal in their exchanges.
The document listed units and resources.
It did not list times or dates.
Clearly marked were names of Generals and Armies, his own being top of the pile.
There was no indication of location or direction.
The paper was relatively innocuous.
However, despite that, Bradley knew he was holding a document that, even in its infant stage, represented the planning of a major Allied counter-offensive.
Heading off Bradley’s most obvious questions, Eisenhower paused in the act of lighting his cigarette.
“This has not yet been discussed with our Allies, Brad. I just wanted you to see it, so you would understand better why I need you to keep going at the moment.”
Bradley nodded his understanding.
“I want the commies extended, their supplies exhausted, their men exhausted, and then I’m gonna hit them the hell back to Moscow.”
Eisenhower’s normally calm exterior had cracked ever so slightly.
Bradley felt suddenly enthused by his commander’s confidence.
With controlled humour, he made the obvious enquiry
“Can you tell me where we will undertake this miracle of modern warfare, General?”
Eisenhower flicked his lighter.
“Walt.”
Bedell-Smith produced a map that, so far, had only seen the light of day in his and Eisenhower’s presence.
Unrolling the paper gently, he set it before Bradley, placing a fountain pen to hold down one curled edge, as Eisenhower used the weight of his lighter on the other.
What they were unprepared for was the laughter, uncontrolled, deep, unforced, genuine laughter.
“Hot dog, but you have a sense of history, Sir.”
Eisenhower could not help but smile back.
“It’s going to be on your turf, and will be yours to command.”
“Yessir,” the smile was welded to Bradley’s face.
Rechecking the document, looking at the map, returning to the document, more and more questions formed in Bradley’s mind.
“Some of these assets presently belong to 6th Army Group.”
The notable arrival in Bradley’s order of battle was US Third Army.
“Keep that under your hat for now, Brad. General Devers is due here this evening, and I will discuss it with him then. In any case, he will get a lot of extra bodies to keep him happy.”
The rest of the questions were stowed away. They would keep for now.
Eisenhower stubbed out his cigarette and recovered his lighter, the rolling up of the map drawing a line under their collective thought processes.
The senior man could not resist one final moment of fun.
“Got anyone in mind to lead it, Brad?”
‘So that’s why you are giving me the Third, is it?’
“I have just the man in mind, Ike. He’s been on Jake’s back for some time now, and he hates being hogtied.”
“A fine choice, General Bradley,” Eisenhower rose and led the others back into the main room, where they could look at more current matters, although each man took some time to erase the mental picture of the hogtied man on General Devers’ back.
A certain pistol-toting General George Smith Patton.
As was often the case with Patton, US Third Army was doing all it could to exceed the orders it was given.
It was elements of 4th Armored and 90th Infantry that had kicked the 10th Guards Rifle Corps out of Lindau, on the shores of Lake Constance.
It was not tank country, and the American armour started to suffer casualties at the hands of valiant Red Army soldiers armed with every variant of anti-armour weapon that the infantryman had in his arsenal.
The 4th was withdrawn, leaving the infantry to hold the ground alone.
Meanwhile, the commander of 10th Guards Rifle Corps, stung by his reverse, directed his units to the west, smashing elements of the 90th Infantry out of their positions at Laimnau, and driving them towards Route 333, where another force from 5th Shock smashed into them and threw them back to the outskirts of Tettnang.
US 17th Corps’ commander had earlier responded to a Soviet thrust on Ravensburg, creaming off units, and sending them north to bolster the vital defence. An order was misinterpreted, and the entire force guarding the Argen crossing on Route 7776 headed to the sound of the guns, leaving a hole in the line.
Major General McBride commanding the beleaguered 80th US Infantry Division, a tested and competent officer, realised the error swiftly. He dispatched a small ad hoc infantry force to block the open Route 7776, with orders to hold on the River Argen until the situation was properly assessed. He also contacted the 4th US Armored to get some extra beef in the line.
Nikolai Berzarin, commanding the 5th Shock Army, had been confused.
At first, the orders were to hold position. Then more arrived, encouraging him to expand his position on the shores of Lake Constance.
Even more instructions followed, concerns from above about ammunition stocks, seemingly woven into woolly orders that could be interpreted in many ways.
Seeking clarification, Berzarin had flown to 3rd Red Banner’s Headquarters at Haunstetten and spoken directly with Marshal Rokossovsky.
The trip had been worth it, and Berzarin returned to his own headquarters at Leutkirch im Allgau with clear instructions.