Hitler's Last Days (9 page)

The room lapses into embarrassed silence. Patton has named a date only two days away. These career military officers know to be diplomatic when a man makes a fool of himself. And Patton has clearly crossed that line. Three divisions is not a small, nimble fighting force. It is a slow-moving colossus, spread out over miles of front lines. The idea that one hundred thousand men plus supplies can somehow be uprooted and moved one hundred miles in forty-eight hours is ludicrous. If the men make it but the guns and gasoline don't, all is lost. Attempting such an impossible task in the dead of winter, on narrow and icy roads, borders on the impossible. As they have seen before, Patton's big mouth appears to be his undoing.

Eisenhower has seen this play out one too many times. “Don't be fatuous, George.”

Patton looks to his deputy chief of staff, Colonel Paul Harkins. Nothing is said, but Harkins nods, confirming that Patton is standing on solid ground.

“We can do that,” says Patton, staring straight into Eisenhower's eyes.

Charles Codman, Patton's aide-de-camp, will later write of “a stir, a shuffling of feet, as those present straightened up in their chairs. In some faces, skepticism. But through the room, the current of excitement leaped like a flame.”

Patton seizes the moment. Stepping to the map, he points out German weaknesses. This goes on for an hour. Omar Bradley says very little, realizing that this operation belongs to Patton—and Patton alone.

Finally, as the meeting breaks up, Eisenhower jokes with his old friend. “Funny thing, George, every time I get a new star, I get attacked.”

“Yes,” Patton shoots back. “And every time you get attacked, I bail you out.”

*   *   *

But this time, Patton might be too late. Rapid response is vital to stopping the Nazi penetration. In military terms, the blast hole that has been created in the Allied lines is known as a salient. American newspapers are simply calling it “the bulge.” In America, the Battle of the Bulge has shocked the public. The siege of a particular town in the middle of the bulge, Bastogne, is becoming a symbol of holding out against impossible odds.

SS infantry advance in the Ardennes, December 1944.
[Bridgeman Art Library]

CHAPTER 10

BASTOGNE, BELGIUM

DECEMBER 19, 1944

B
RIGADIER
G
ENERAL
A
NTHONY
M
C
A
ULIFFE IS
racing toward the town of Werbomont, fighting his way through the tides of U.S. soldiers retreating in shock at the death and devastation they have survived. These shattered soldiers are clear evidence that the Germans are hardly defeated. They are aggressively ruthless and have already slaughtered thousands of Americans in just four days.

McAuliffe is leading fresh troops, the 101st Airborne Division, into battle, although they are several miles behind him. He is traveling in a caravan made up of almost four hundred vehicles. Many of the drivers are black Americans, members of the old Red Ball Express. They drive with their headlights blazing, which is usually forbidden in a combat zone but now allows them to travel at a quicker speed. Normally that would be disastrous, as the paratroopers would be butchered from the air, their silhouettes standing out in the snowy fields beside the roads, completely visible to Nazi pilots. But the calculated gamble is paying off. The Luftwaffe is not flying tonight.

American soldiers on the way to relieve their comrades in Bastogne.
[Mary Evans Picture Library]

As he endures the bitter cold in a rock-hard passenger seat, McAuliffe is well aware that the more than eleven thousand paratroopers of the 101st are spoiling for a fight.

They have no choice: They are the last line of American defense. There are no reinforcements. Should the Germans defeat the 101st at Werbomont, there will be no reserves waiting to stop them.

Brigadier General Tony McAuliffe (left).
[Associated Press]

But Brigadier General Tony McAuliffe, West Point class of 1918, never makes it to Werbomont. Nor does the 101st Airborne.

Instead, they are suddenly diverted to a tiny hamlet that is no more than a speck on the Ardennes map. The Germans call the village “road octopus” because seven different highways sprout in seven different directions from its center. They see the key to success in Operation Watch on the Rhine as gaining control of the local roads, which will allow their heavy tanks to travel more quickly. So, the Germans covet this town.

The road octopus is more commonly known as Bastogne.

Until a few days ago, McAuliffe had never heard of it. But now, for better or worse, he is here. As his jeep finally roars into the town center, he finds a miserable scenario. The power and water supply has been cut off. The town square is choked with refugees and carts piled high with their possessions. German shelling has begun to reduce much of Bastogne to rubble.

Yet McAuliffe must defend this horrible little burg at all costs. He sets up his command post in the basement of the Hotel de Commerce, across the street from the train station, and impatiently awaits the arrival of his troops. A quick glance at the situation map boards tacked up along the compound walls show how desperately the Germans want to capture Bastogne: They have committed three divisions and parts of four more. McAuliffe's eleven thousand paratroopers, and an additional armored division numbering three thousand seventy-five soldiers and tanks, are on the verge of being surrounded by a force of fifty-five thousand German fighters and tanks. Once the Germans close the noose, there will be no way for the Americans to escape.

Lieutenant General Troy Middleton, McAuliffe's immediate superior, briefs him before leaving.

“But don't worry,” Middleton emphasizes. “Help is on the way from Patton.”

With that, Middleton hurries to his staff car and quickly drives out of town, knowing the Germans are just two miles away.

CHAPTER 11

BASTOGNE, BELGIUM

DECEMBER 22, 1944

M
C
A
ULIFFE IS EXHAUSTED.
H
E BARELY
slept last night because the German air force bombed Bastogne, with one blast almost destroying his command post in the basement of the hotel. Just before noon he steals away to a small, quiet room, zips himself into his sleeping bag, and naps. His staff knows to wake him if anything of importance occurs.

Meanwhile, in the meadows and forests ringing Bastogne, the men of the 101st have actually turned being surrounded into a tactically positive situation. They keep their perimeter tight, facing outward, waiting for the German attack.

About noon on December 22, 1944, it is quiet enough for some of the men of the 327th Glider Regiment to actually stand outside their foxholes on the Kessler family farm south of Bastogne, making small talk.

A most odd sight then presents itself: Marching toward them are four German soldiers, carrying a white flag as large as a bedsheet. They walk into the American lines fearlessly, even strolling past a bazooka team on the outer perimeter without hesitation. The men of F Company shoulder their M-1 carbines, but the Germans keep coming. “This doesn't make sense,” says one American, wondering why the Germans appear to be surrendering.

Three American soldiers walk cautiously up the road to greet the Germans. They soon stand face-to-face with two officers and two enlisted men. The officers wear polished black boots and long, warm overcoats. One of them, the short, stocky lieutenant, carries a briefcase.

The Americans never take their fingers off the triggers of their M-1 rifles, unsure if this is a trick.

It is not.

In fact, it is a gesture on the part of German General Heinrich L
ü
ttwitz, commander of the forces surrounding Bastogne, that is both gallant and arrogant. He thinks it absurd to slaughter so many brave American soldiers. Instead, L
ü
ttwitz is offering Tony McAuliffe and the 101st a chance to save their own lives by surrendering. War being war, however, should the Americans refuse to throw down their weapons, L
ü
ttwitz will order that Bastogne be leveled and every American soldier annihilated. There will be no prisoners.

An SS patrol in the Ardennes, 1945.
[Mary Evans Picture Library]

Soon enough, news of the note is passed up the chain of command. Within an hour, Tony McAuliffe is being awakened to the news that a German surrender demand is making its way to headquarters.

“Nuts,” he mutters, still half asleep.

“They want to surrender?” McAuliffe asks, taking the note from Lieutenant Colonel Ned Moore, his chief of staff.

“No, sir,” Moore corrects him. “They want
us
to surrender.”

McAuliffe laughs and begins to read.

The letter is dated December 22, 1944.

To the U.S.A. Commander of the encircled town of Bastogne.

The fortune of war is changing. This time the U.S.A. forces in and near Bastogne have been encircled by strong German armored units. More German armored units have crossed the river Ourthe near Ortheuville, have taken Marche and reached St. Hubert by passing through Hompre-Sibret-Tillet. Libramont is in German hands. There is only one possibility to save the encircled U.S.A. troops from total annihilation: that is the honorable surrender of the encircled town. In order to think it over a term of two hours will be granted beginning with the presentation of this note.

If this proposal should be rejected, one German Artillery Corps and six heavy A.A. battalions are ready to annihilate the U.S.A. troops in and near Bastogne. The order for firing will be given immediately after this two hours' term.

All the serious civilian losses caused by this artillery fire would not correspond with the well known American humanity.

The German Commander

McAuliffe looks at his staff. “Well, I don't know what to tell them.”