The Steel Wave (45 page)

Bradley seemed distracted, so Eisenhower stopped talking; it was just nervous energy. Bradley raised his binoculars, then lowered them quickly; there was nothing to see in the smoke.

“I hate to say this,” Bradley said, “but somebody did a half-assed job with intelligence. Every report tells me how difficult the countryside is, and this is the first I knew anything like that. I saw a little of it myself this morning, beyond one of those villages: hedgerows tall as a house and just as thick. Every damned farmhouse and cow pasture is guarded by a wall of dirt and brush, and the enemy knows exactly how to use shelter there. Why the hell didn’t we know about it?”

“We know about it now, and we’ll do what we have to.”

“Ike, the paratroopers are out there in the middle of miles of that stuff. It’s probably why we didn’t hear from Taylor until noon. Ridgway—well, we haven’t heard much of anything from the Eighty-second. They’re holding on to Sainte-Mère-Église, best as we can tell. Collins is pushing his people that way as fast as they can bust through the countryside, but there’s plenty of the other fellow scattered all over hell. Monty was all puffed up about the British paratroopers and what a fine job they did. Can’t fault him for that. He also says Dempsey’s been able to push his infantry seven miles inland near Bayeux. Then he looks at me like he’s asking, What the hell is
your
problem? I wanted to ask him if he knew what the hell a hedgerow was, maybe take him out there myself and show him the damned things.”

Eisenhower kept his eyes on the beach. “Just do your job, Brad. I’ll hear all that from Monty. I agree we’ve got to link up these beachheads. But he had big plans, all those damned maps. I’m wondering how much more he’s been able to accomplish this morning.”

“He won’t tell me any of that, Ike. Unless it’s good.”

“He’ll tell me.”

“Oh, by the way. I did ask him about Caen. He didn’t like the question.”

ON BOARD
APOLLO
, OFF GOLD BEACH
JUNE 7, 1944

“Bloody magnificent day, Ike! I’ll be setting up the command post on shore straightaway! Let the boys know we’re right there with them.”

“You been ashore?”

“Oh, no, not yet. Soon enough, though. Don’t want to distract the boys from the job at hand. Keep them pointed toward Berlin, as it were.”

Eisenhower couldn’t fault Montgomery for his high spirits. The ship rolled slightly, in reaction to a larger cruiser passing by a half mile to one side. Eisenhower grabbed the rail and looked toward Montgomery’s transportation, a British destroyer. Sailors were lining the deck, some with cameras. They’re photographing
me
! Eisenhower realized. Well, no, not just me. Maybe not me at all. They might not even know who I am. He glanced at Montgomery, the ever-present sweater, the black beret. They love this man. All right, good. We need that. Eisenhower thought of Bradley, his barely hidden dislike for Montgomery. Patton feels the same way, doesn’t hide it at all. That’s one reason why Bradley has the job.

Montgomery seemed to notice the cameras now, stood straight, tugged at the sweater, a slight pose. Eisenhower said, “What’s your plan to get through to Caen?”

“Ah? Yes, bloody nose on that one. Jerry surprised us. Didn’t expect to run into the panzers so quickly. We’re bringing up our own armor, and I expect we’ll return the favor. Jerry did
us
a favor, though. Threw his tanks in piecemeal, gave us some fun.” Montgomery looked at Eisenhower now, seemed to test his mood. “Jerry did us another favor as well. By having his available armor positioned on
this
flank, it means that for now he has very little on the
other
flank. That should be of help to your boys, eh? I tried to explain that to General Bradley—well, not in so many words.”

Eisenhower thought of a response but let it pass. Monty was a lot of things, but he was usually right. He saw another ship moving past, a large landing craft—tanks, likely, or heavy armored trucks. He thought of Montgomery’s words. Yep, bring up our own armor.

Montgomery seemed to read him, said, “Soon enough, Ike. We’ll hit him in the soft spot, and keep hitting him until he calls it off. That’s the idea, eh?”

“Any estimate how long it will take you to grab Caen?”

“You know I can’t tell you a date. Bradley doesn’t know when Cherbourg will be in our hands, does he? Not meaning to lecture you, of course, but these things have to be done in their own time. Soon enough. Remember, I’ve handled this chap Rommel before.”

28. ADAMS

W
ith significant manpower and more heavy armament pouring across Utah Beach, the American beachheads were becoming more secure by the hour. Most of the heaviest German resistance was anchored in the east, the British sector, Rommel’s desperate attempt to prevent the city of Caen from falling into Allied hands. Though the fate of the port of Cherbourg was equally important to the Germans, Rommel didn’t have enough power at his command to launch a counterattack that would be effective against the infantry and armor that continued to land at Utah. The hedgerow country was in fact a detriment to both sides, preventing anyone from assembling a massive strike force, and most of the hedgerows were in the American sector, a difficult barrier to Bradley’s goal of cutting across the Cotentin Peninsula. Worse for the Germans, the pockets of American paratroopers tied down much of Rommel’s available strength in scattered fighting, keeping the Germans from amassing the kind of punch they would need to strike back in any meaningful way toward Utah Beach.

As Montgomery had insisted, the two American beaches were finally linked up, and increasing numbers of troops began to come in at Omaha Beach as well. In time the artificial harbors, those strangely named Mulberries, would be in place. Other artificial breakwaters were being created by using scrapped and damaged transport ships, which were sunk offshore in a carefully designed pattern. From these artificial piers, the off-loading of even more men and equipment would proceed at a much faster rate.

Bradley was forced to acquiesce to Montgomery’s more plodding approach. Despite his impatience to get on with the original goals of the Overlord plan, Bradley had to concede that those objectives could only be reached when sufficient power could be brought toward the front lines. Local fighting by the paratroopers around Sainte-Mère-Église had mostly cleared that area of significant German opposition, and American infantry from Utah Beach continued to move toward the flooded Merderet River. Both sides recognized that the river was a formidable obstacle. The various attempts by one side or the other to drive the enemy away had resulted in unacceptable casualties for anyone attacking across the flat open ground. But the paratroopers who hunkered down on the eastern side of both causeways could hear ongoing firefights across the river, evidence that a sizable number of beleaguered paratroopers were still holding out in isolated pockets on the western side of the river. For Adams, and for the officers above him, the sounds of that fighting tore at their frustration, no one certain how many of those troopers had survived.

With Sainte-Mère-Église in American hands and the infantry moving forward from Utah Beach, Ridgway and Gavin were suddenly faced with an annoying reminder of what their original mission had been. The Fourth Infantry Division had made the first landings on Utah and had been assigned the task of driving up the east coast of the Cotentin Peninsula, pushing toward Cherbourg from the right. They had been followed ashore by the Ninetieth Division, whose job it was to press westward, across the Merderet. The Ninetieth would be followed closely by the American Seventy-ninth and Ninth divisions, a force sufficiently powerful to cut across the peninsula at its base and then drive northward to engulf Cherbourg.

The Fourth and the Ninetieth were part of the Seventh Corps, commanded by Lightning Joe Collins, a rugged veteran of campaigns in the Pacific, where he had earned a reputation for pushing his forces into battle with a little more tenacity than some of his subordinates found comfortable. But Collins had the absolute support and confidence of Omar Bradley, and with Utah secured so quickly, Collins had done nothing to harm his own reputation. It was natural for Collins to take the next step, to drive his infantry across the flooded Merderet River as quickly as possible.

At Sainte-Mère-Église, Matthew Ridgway began to feel pressure from behind. Collins was pushing hard, implying that his forces could do what the paratroopers could not. For men who had repeatedly traded hard blows with the Germans across the river, that sort of boast didn’t go down smoothly. Worse, the Ninetieth Division was completely untested in battle, and both Ridgway and Gavin realized that their inexperience could lead to disaster in the field. Though Collins was following the original Overlord plan, to Gavin and Ridgway he was showing a bit too much bluster by assuming his fresh infantry was certain to sweep across the Merderet, and he unwisely gave the paratroopers the impression that they should now stand aside while his infantry cleaned up their mess.

Though pride was a dangerous motivation for launching an attack, there was another problem for Jim Gavin at La Fière. The troops most fit to launch the necessary frontal assault were the newly arrived 325th Glider Infantry, one more part of the Eighty-second Airborne. Though Gavin agreed with Ridgway that there was too much risk in allowing the green Ninetieth Infantry Division to make the assault, Gavin knew that the glider troops had no more experience than Collins’s infantry. With so much pressure coming from behind to resume the drive across the Merderet, Gavin positioned as many of his veteran paratroopers behind the glider men as he could muster. If the glider troops faltered, at least he would have veterans to back them up.

To the south of La Fière, a growing number of mixed forces continued to trickle into the positions at Chef-du-Pont, including more scattered elements of the 101st. The added manpower gave Gavin confidence that the stalemate could be broken, that he finally had the strength to drive across and link up with the troopers on the west side of the river. At the same time, a shallow sunken road was discovered to the north of La Fière, giving the Americans a third avenue across the marshes. To gain as much advantage as possible, Gavin ordered the assaults to begin at dark, but the attacks were uncoordinated and ineffective. Though the paratroopers did push across the river at both places, the Germans were too strongly entrenched and still outnumbered them. By early morning on June 9, the attacks were called off, many of the troopers returning to the east side of the river. Gavin had no choice but to admit failure, and his assessment of several of his inexperienced field commanders had changed for the worse. If the paratroopers were to make a successful push across the Merderet, it would have to be more than just some artful maneuver. Ridgway agreed. The Americans would have to drive hard across the causeways, straight into the German positions. The center of that push would be La Fière.

LA FIÈREBRIDGE
JUNE 9, 1944, 10 A.M.

The assault the night before had lit up the sky with streaks of light, flashes of fire that inspired Adams and then frustrated him. Around him, the men had cheered, but then, with the fight continuing past midnight, the enthusiasm turned to frustration. If there had been success, Adams knew they would have been ordered to advance across the causeway, adding power to those men who had driven the Germans back. But the order never came. Then, as the sleepless troopers continued to wait in their foxholes, frantic officers had come and radios had crackled around Gavin’s command post, reports of horrific cost and no substantial gains. There had been one positive word, however, passed along to Adams from Scofield. The location of at least two groups of Americans had been confirmed, those men mostly from the 508th, who had come down on the west side of the river. It was valuable strength that Gavin hoped to call upon to lend a much-needed hand. Any enthusiasm for that report was dampened by the knowledge that the Germans were just as eager to gather up those stranded paratroopers as Gavin was. Though the stranded men had done what they could to aid the new attack, in the darkness, and with such a staunch defense by the Germans, there could be no rescue. Those men were still out there.

With so little communication, and the rampant energy of rumor, Adams had no idea who might be on the far side of the river. The river itself still held the visible bodies of men and their parachutes, dark smears in the grassy water, tangled parachutes in the brush. It was a constant reminder that a great many men had come down in water as Adams had come down, many of them not lucky enough to survive. But across, beyond the swampy marshes, there were only the sounds of scattered fighting, mortars and machine guns and hints of rifle fire. With each firefight, the Germans were consolidating, bringing more people to the front, still seeking one more way to eliminate those paratroopers cut off on the west side of the river.

Adams stared out that way, across flat grassy marsh. I never thought the five-oh-eight would be worth a damn, he thought. Too fresh, too much talk, and no experience. But there’re some tough bastards over there. I’d like to shake somebody’s hand, if they survive.

To one side, a mortar shell impacted, with no warning. He had grown nearly immune to the shock of the constant surprise, so many shells, the strange security of his one small hole. The officers continued to move about, Gavin as well, and Adams had cringed, thinking, All it takes is one lucky jackass over there, and we lose the best man we’ve got. But Gavin still came forward, holding the binoculars, giving fresh orders, officers scampering close, then back to their men. Adams would watch him, Gavin never flinching. It was too strange. Adams’s thoughts went back to the offices in London: clean uniforms, all those weeks of planning and meetings, maps and arguments, with men who would never do
this,
who would never know what it was like to go about your business with the enemy trying to kill you. Then Gavin would be gone again, and Adams tried to visualize that as well: Gavin somewhere back by the railroad tracks, with staff officers, radios, even General Ridgway. I’ll never be an officer, he thought. I have one job, and it’s the best job in the army. Kill the enemy. To hell with arguments and generals. But not Gavin. God help him. If I don’t survive this, I hope like hell he does.