Getting into the Headspace of an Allied Supreme Commander on the Eve of Invasion

Reflecting on Eisenhower’s state of mind during the uncertain hours just prior to—and during—the amphibious invasion of Vichy French North Africa.

Lately I’ve been spending a lot of time in the North African campaign of World War II. In my efforts to understand the Allied landings in Morocco and Algeria in November 1942, I’ve been trying to visualize the command environment from which General Eisenhower, the operation’s American Supreme Commander, led the invasion’s task forces on (or, more accurately, beneath) Gibraltar.

Put yourself in his shoes. Having counted down the months, weeks, and days to their first combined amphibious venture, by November 7, 1942 only hours remain as the slow-moving Allied armada nears the North African coastline. As the only place capable of relaying simultaneous messages between North Africa, Washington D.C., and London, an intricate, extensive network of tunnels bored under Gibraltar becomes AFHQ’s temporary home until Eisenhower, his deputy commander-in-chief Mark Clark, and their array of supporting staff officers, orderlies, and administrative personnel can go ashore and establish permanent operational headquarters at Algiers. Until then, Gibraltar’s airfield, staging areas, and supply repositories facilitate the invasion from afar.

Underground, Eisenhower’s surroundings are a hive of activity. Dripping surface water marks the passage of time. The sounds of humming lightbulbs, echoing footsteps, and rattling electric fans fill tense silences. Eager British and American officers hover around signals equipment and radios awaiting any snippet of news in their dim subterranean offices.

News is not forthcoming. The naval radio channels are overloaded between the Task Force headquarters ships and the signal center at Gibraltar. In the air there are feelings of tenseness, but there is also exhilaration; having spent months planning each intricate detail of the invasion, news from the beaches stands to document the first meaningful American combat involvement since Guadalcanal. It is, notably, the first Anglo-American combined amphibious invasion of the war—and the first of many battles through the Mediterranean for American forces abroad.

The invasion planners can do little more than pace, ponder, and wait in unrelenting anticipation for news from the front to arrive. Getting ashore, as difficult as it was, was but the beginning; more challenges await the coalition as its leaders look beyond the beachheads and into the vast wadis and rugged mountains of North Africa awaiting them.

The coming campaign will be a true litmus test for the Allied experiment. Worries abound at AFHQ.

Having already debated, argued, and frustrated each other for over seven hours since his arrival on Gibraltar mere hours earlier, will the intractable French General Henri Giraud submit to Eisenhower’s command authority, enter the theater, and convince his countrymen to join the Allies? Will Vichy French forces ashore listen? How long will it take to rearm, retrain, and reintegrate France’s North African forces? How will British and American soldiers, sailors, and airmen operate alongside one another in battle? How long will it take them to reach Tunisia and expel Rommel’s forces from the continent? Will the Germans strike west and occupy Vichy’s African territories? Why are there no reports from the Task Forces? What will Spain do? Where are the airborne? How are they getting along?

With these and other questions swirling in his head, we know from the historical record that from time to time while waiting for news Eisenhower found time to be alone and reflect. On November 9, 1942—D+1—Ike scribbled a longhand note for his diary entitled “Inconsequential thoughts of a commander during one of the interminable ’waiting periods.” Having already spelled out some of his primary fears in a previous entry, the ensuing source offers a glimpse into the Supreme Allied Commander’s headspace on the eve of an invasion:

”War brings about strange, sometimes ridiculous situations. In my service I’ve often thought or dreamed of commands of various types that I might one day hold—war commands, peace commands, battle commands, administrative commands, etc. One I now could have never, under any conditions, have entered my mind even fleetingly. I have operational command of Gibraltar!! The symbol of the solidarity of the British Empire—the hallmark of safety and security at home—the jealously guarded rock that has played a tremendous part in the trade development of the English race! An American is in charge and I am he. Hundreds of feet within the bowels of the Rock itself I have my [command post]. I simply must have a grandchild or I’ll never have the fun of telling this when I’m fishing, grey-bearded, on the banks of a quiet bayou in the deep south. Again—what soldier ever took the trouble to contemplate the possibility of holding an Allied command. And of all things, an Allied Command of ground, air, and naval forces? Usually we pity the soldier of history that had to work with Allies. But we don’t now, and through months of work we’ve rather successfully integrated the forces and the commands and staffs of British and American contingents—now we have to get together with the North African French!! Just how the French angle will develop only the future can tell, but I am proud of this British-U.S. command—and all U.S. and British services are working together beautifully and harmoniously! That’s something.”¹

Eisenhower certainly appreciates the historical import of the task set before him. I love the humanizing image of his past self imagining his future service, his aspiration that one day he might have a grandson to share his singular experience with, and his bewilderment that he, of all people, a relatively young career soldier from Kansas, now finds himself commanding a fledgling, untested Allied coalition abroad.

It is far too easy to divorce historical actors from the complex emotional, intellectual, and mental environments they inhabited. Knowing what we know about their futures, we tend to narrate their lives as an inexorable series of decisions, dates, and events far-removed from the uncertainties and frustrations they wrestled with along the way. Reading historical sources to account for the contingency of lived historical experience can be a daunting—if not downright impossible task; yet, striving toward that ideal can be incredibly rewarding nevertheless.

In hindsight, we know how Eisenhower’s story turns out. We know that after months of operational setbacks in North Africa, the Allies under Eisenhower’s command manage to capture Tunisia, expel the Axis from the southern Mediterranean, and stage subsequent amphibious invasions in Sicily, Salerno, Anzio, and eventually—perhaps Eisenhower’s greatest wartime achievement—organize and stage a successful invasion of France at Normandy in 1944.

We know that after the war, Eisenhower’s civil service continues. After serving as U.S. Army Chief of Staff, president of Columbia University, and Supreme Commander of NATO, he’d run for President and win by a landslide. Having served two terms at the height of the Cold War, he would then retire from public service and spend his remaining years recounting his extraordinary experiences to his grandchildren—not gray-bearded on the banks of a southern bayou as he once thought—but at the family farm in Gettysburg, Pennsylvania.

And yet, in my own attempts to better understand Eisenhower’s frame of mind during those tense moments, I am reminded that these military leaders were human too.

Amid nervous waiting and the incessant mulling over his (and the invasion’s) fate, even General Eisenhower took a moment to record his amusement of the sheer absurdity of his situation:

“I have operational command of Gibraltar!!…An American is in charge and I am he.”