If there was one general who had been a source of constant headaches for Ike, it was Patton. The problem was that Patton had a knack for making rude comments in speeches, bragging, and otherwise making himself unloved by the rest of the officers’ club. Only Montgomery’s ego was possibly bigger, but at least Montgomery conducted himself like a gentleman.
For the most part, the show that Patton put on resonated with the average soldier. He was like the army’s equivalent of Admiral Halsey, who was always making spirited comments. He meant them too. There was no general with more of a fighting spirit than Patton. But as was typical, Patton often went too far.
Nearly the final nail in Patton’s career coffin had come just a few months before, when he had slapped young soldiers hospitalized for shell shock and called them cowards. The incidents had incensed Eisenhower, and he had briefly sidelined Patton.
Then again, Patton was just the man you needed in a fight. And a fight was what they now had on their hands.
Perhaps Patton’s hour had finally arrived.
Ike sighed. “George, how long will it take you to get your tanks into action against these panzers?”
“I can have them killing Krauts the morning after tomorrow,” he said.
The other generals stared. Pivoting the entire Third Army that Patton commanded seemed like an impossible task. What they didn’t know yet was that Patton had already set the wheels in motion, issuing orders before he had even left for this meeting. He had bet that Ike would be desperate for help and so had planned ahead, unwilling to waste precious hours.
“Don’t be fatuous, George.”
“Nothing of the kind,” Patton said. “Hell, it’s not really the Boche that worry me. I’m more concerned about this snow and fog. That’s the real enemy.”
Quickly, Patton revealed his plan to send his troops and tanks to turn back the Germans. He spoke with such confidence that he seemed to consider the outcome to be a foregone conclusion.
As exasperating as Patton could be, it was a reminder of the man’s talents.
Soon after that the meeting broke up. There were other details to be set into motion, but in the end, Patton’s men would provide a key piece of the plan to fight back against the Germans.
Ike might not have cared much for the name — Battle of the Bulge — but more than anything else, he didn’t want anyone to call it a German victory.
Ike had good reason to be worried.
Germany’s bold Operation Christrose was coming closer to success as the Germans made a move to reach Antwerp and deliver a setback to the Allied advance. The port city of Antwerp remained vital to Allied supply lines. Fortunately for the Allies, the weather that enabled the Germans to attack without fear of retaliation from the air was a double-edged sword.
In addition to the winter weather wreaking havoc with German logistics, the poor roads and staunch resistance by US forces had slowed Hitler’s plans. However, the advance had not been entirely thwarted. There was a narrow window of opportunity before either the skies cleared or the Allies could respond in greater force.
While the prong of the German advance led by Kampfgruppe Friel was running into trouble, it didn’t mean that the Germans had been defeated or turned back everywhere. Case in point was the crossroads town of Bastogne. The German advance couldn’t go around it because there weren’t any roads in the countryside big enough to support the passage of their armor. No, the Germans must go
Reinforcements had arrived in the form of the 101st Airborne. They were putting up a good fight, but they didn’t have any armor of their own. The battle for Bastogne had heated up as the Germans threw everything they had at it. Now US armor and personnel were rushing toward the fight — Cole and the men in the trucks included.
Cole’s eyes roved across the dark stretches of forest they rolled past. All that he could see were trees and more trees across low rolling hills carpeted with snow. It was the sort of landscape that Cole was used to from the mountains back home. However, the deep shadows among the trees gave the forest a sinister feel. Lucky for the convoy, they had not encountered any other Germans since the skirmish in which the Krauts had blown up one of the trucks with a Panzerfaust.
Nonetheless, he knew all too well that danger might lurk around the next curve in the road.
As a reminder of that, over the noise of the truck motor could be heard the occasional chatter of a machine gun in the distant hills and the deep thump of artillery. As the miles passed, the sounds gradually grew louder, indicating that they were headed toward the action.
“You’d think what we did at La Gleize would have been enough,” Vaccaro grumped. “Isn’t it someone else’s turn?”
“Hell now, city boy. You know they’re just sending us because they know we’ll get the job done.”
