Let me take a wild guess, never having seen the movie:
The Amazons proceed to kick his rear-end to the curb.
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Let me take a wild guess, never having seen the movie:
The Amazons proceed to kick his rear-end to the curb.
With some help from the Prussians and the rest of the Army, yes.
On that day the Grenadier Guards also got their name.
Hah, so the true purpose of those 'unions' is to make as many available for the 'army' as possible. A fight unto death.
The Spaniards outside the Madrid-pocket will be supplied from Paris?
The Spaniards outside the Madrid-pocket will be supplied from Paris?
The situation in China is interesting, I'm looking forward to seeing how spectacularly the decision to complicitly side with the Shangqing is going to backfire on Japan and the US.
Indeed! The European and Westernised powers are far too used to seeing China merely as an outlet for their goods and a trade destination. Shanqing is a whole different animal...
That pocket in Spain needs to be collapsed soon before France commits fully to that front. Then all that needs to be done is advance/hold the line until the A-Bombs can destroy whatever will the French people have to follow those crazy radicals with some Shock and Awe
Nathan Madien: I'm glad you enjoyed the China bit. My senior thesis paper was on the Taiping, so I have a certain affinity for what this mod basically describes as their spiritual successors. I even quoted Hong Xiuquan a bit.
Enewald: I'm actually not sure where or if they'll be supplied at all. As for the unions, I think that may be going a bit far. They make useful urban combatants at a moment's notice (in the OT they were absolutely integral in thwarting the coup in many regions) and presumably have a vested interest in the preservation of CNT-FAI control.
Zhuge Liang: Well, everyone might have been better off had they done so in the OT...
1945 - Part IX
By the middle of the month of October, the primary goal of the American forces in Spain was the capture of Madrid. For reasons both strategic and symbolic in nature, the Spanish capital had to fall before the rest of the pocket in Old Castile could be reduced and eventually forced to surrender. After two unsuccessful assaults on the city, the Syndicalist defenders had shown that if backed into a corner, they would fight to the bitter end. But the indefatigable spirit of resistance shown by the combined French and Spanish soldiers was being put to greater and greater tests of endurance with each passing day. Collins' successful campaign now left Madrid vulnerable from four avenues of attack. Only the Coruna road lay open for supplies to be sent into the city, and this lifeline was kept open only because Eisenhower wished to offer the Syndicalists a route to escape.
But Madrid was not the United States' only target. Indeed, MacArthur continued to press relentlessly against Bilbao's defenses. By now, the city had been completely surrounded but continued to hold on stubbornly in the face of nearly constant bombardment and assaults. Although San Sebastian had already fallen to the Americans much earlier, any subsequent push to the French border would be impossible until Bilbao was reduced. For his part, General Yague, Bilbao's stalwart defender, did not let the critically desperate situation he and his soldiers were in deter him. Confidence remained high within the Spanish ranks that their Syndicalist compatriots would inevitably smash through the American siege and save the city.
Despite its importance to the Syndicalist war effort, General Guillame had been steadily withdrawing soldiers from Madrid ever since Eisenhower's first attack. The American commander was well-informed of these developments by a combination of spies and aerial reconnaissance. With good reason, Eisenhower felt confident that a new attack on the capital city from the Valencia road, Guadalajara, and west would be enough to finally overwhelm and crush the defenders. On October 18, the attack began, with the Americans committing thirty-six divisions to the effort.
Against the Americans were arrayed only fifteen mixed Syndicalist divisions, many of them still battered from the last assaults. Because Madrid's urban sprawl ends abruptly on its western face, Collin's pincer advanced rapidly through the open terrain, encountering only minor resistance as it entered the Casa de Campo. Beyond that Collins' V. Army could not advance. The Spaniards held their ground and furiously launched counter-attacks from University City on the general's left flank. As before, Eisenhower could gain no momentum in his advance up the Valencia road, and the north-east pincer was encountering the same difficulties it had during the last two assaults. Thus, on the 20th, a flabergasted Eisenhower was forced to call off any further attacks for the immediate future.
Spanish militiamen fighting from University City.
Despite yet another setback for the Americans in their campaign to take Madrid, General Guillame had become convinced that his position was by October 20 untenable. Extraordinary acts of fanatical bravery might do wonders for the rapidly-accelerating propaganda apparatus in Paris, but American tanks and planes could only be resisted for so long in these circumstances. Indeed, many of France's armored divisions and sizable portions of its most modern artillery brigades were among those trapped in central Spain; to lose those would be a heavy blow, one that France's already strained economy would find difficult to recover from. The local Spanish divisions, however, were of far lower quality, consisting mostly of militias and bog-standard infantry that proved ill-equipped to face the more-mechanized American foe.
Consequently, Guillame had decided even before Eisenhower's attack on Madrid that to remain would be a hopeless, even criminal, waste of precious military resources. The following events were to leave bitter contentions and animosities for years to come, and to this day it is still not clear exactly what happened or how it unfolded. Essentially, Guillame devised a strategy to allow his predominantly French forces to break through the American lines and link up with the forces in Catalonia and on the Pyrennes. Unfortunately, this required that the remaining Spanish forces trapped in the pocket sacrifice themselves in a series of vain, suicidal assaults on the American lines; those that survived would, almost assuredly, be forced to surrender not long after. After a series of heated, often violent arguments with members of his command staff, corps commanders, and political commissars, Guillame put his plan into motion on the night of October 18.
Under the cover of darkness, French units, few of them larger than brigade, slipped unnoticed past the American forces in the northeast section of the encirclement. Meanwhile, Spanish divisions had launched themselves en masse at Eisenhower's forces on the Valencia road and around Guadalajara. Eisenhower ordered reinforcements to be pulled from around Siguenza, exacerbating the problems that were allowing the French army to slip away unnoticed. Indeed, the rough triangle formed by Burgos, Logrono, and Siguenza was largely devoid of American forces outside of strategically-important checkpoints and roadways. General DeWitt, largely responsible for that theater, had been assigned inadequate manpower to guard such a large stretch of terrain from both the north and south.
As the Spanish attacks ground to a halt on October 20 and 21, Eisenhower finally became aware of the sudden absence of Guillame's forces and sounded the alarm. But by then, it was too late; most of the French forces had already cut through DeWitt's defensive perimeter and had already crossed back over into friendly territory. The few brigades that were caught in the open fought with singular ferocity and refused to surrender under all but the most impossible of circumstances. Military historians still puzzle to this very day how Guillame was able to enact such a bizarre military maneuver. What is known, however, is that nearly thirty divisions of the French army had been evacuated from the pocket in central Spain. Admittedly, the organizational havoc it had played on the army's cohesion ensured that Guillame's army would not be in fighting shape for at least several weeks, but it nevertheless left most American generals utterly dumbfounded. Patton, commenting to reporters when the news finally reached a stunned America, declared it was 'the most god damned magnificent thing I've ever heard.' General MacArthur lamely argued that 'War inevitably produces the most peculiar events in man's history.'
Eisenhower could at least take solace in the fact eighteen Spanish divisions were still trapped within the American encirclement. Indeed, the departure of the French forces left the defense of Madrid in a hopeless state of affairs. On October 24, just a day after Toledo finally surrendered to V. Army, the final offensive against Madrid began. Outnumbered, enveloped, and now demoralized, the Spanish defenders hastily retreated. Eisenhower kept up the pressure, and soon enough American tanks and halftracks were rolling down the Grand Via. About half of the remaining Spanish forces beaten back from the capital surrendered to the Americans, who continued to advance in pursuit.
As the highest-ranking officer still remaining within the pocket, General Sanjurjo took charge. The Spanish commander intended to make a last stand with all available forces at Valladolid; 'the streets will run red with the blood of the foreign invaders before I will surrender!' went his bold proclamation on October 26. But such defiant words meant little, and looked quite foolish in retrospect. IX. Army, having recently seized Salamanca after briefly laying it to siege, swept across the countryside and cut the Coruna road at several key positions. Those still fleeing from Madrid lacked both the will and the firepower to break through, those caught in the open more routed or surrendered more often than not, and those in Valladolid did not dare to sally forth. Trapped between Bradley's forces in the north, IX. Army from the south, and II. Army from the southeast, Sanjurjo was brought to battle and decisively crushed on October 29.
The Syndicalist pocket in central Spain is finally destroyed, late October 1945.
American good fortune did not end there. On the same day that the final assault on Madrid began, the garrison of Bilbao, reduced to a pitiable state from the constant fighting, bombardment, and lack of supplies, finally surrendered. General Yague had already slipped through the American cordon, much to the outrage of his soldiers. The back-to-back fall of Madrid and Bilbao, the two most conspicuous centers of Spanish resistance to the invading Americans, was a several psychological blow to Syndicalist morale in northern Spain. The survival of Guillame's armies did little to soothe the consciences of hundreds of thousands of Syndicalist soldiers who, inundated with Thorez's propaganda, had been convinced that it had been incumbent upon them to break through the American lines and rescue their trapped comrades. Not only had France's commanders failed to show the necessary aggression, but the brave Spanish armies had essentially been betrayed in order to ensure Guillame's survival.
Thus, as the full armies of the Syndicalist coalition and the United States were amassing across from one another on a battle line that stretched all the way from the Bay of Biscay to the Mediterranean Sea in the final quarter of 1945, the average French soldier and his allies began to waver. How much more of the revolution's ideals had to be sacrificed in order to ensure its survival? Certainly, the stakes could not have been higher. General MacArthur concluded, as he gazed north from the shattered, still-smoldering ruins of Bilbao, 'It will all be decided here. In the next few months, out there in those mountains, we'll find out who's going to win this war.'
Enewald: I'm actually not sure where or if they'll be supplied at all. As for the unions, I think that may be going a bit far. They make useful urban combatants at a moment's notice (in the OT they were absolutely integral in thwarting the coup in many regions) and presumably have a vested interest in the preservation of CNT-FAI control.
Zhuge Liang: Well, everyone might have been better off had they done so in the OT...
-----
1945 - Part IX
By the middle of the month of October, the primary goal of the American forces in Spain was the capture of Madrid. For reasons both strategic and symbolic in nature, the Spanish capital had to fall before the rest of the pocket in Old Castile could be reduced and eventually forced to surrender. After two unsuccessful assaults on the city, the Syndicalist defenders had shown that if backed into a corner, they would fight to the bitter end. But the indefatigable spirit of resistance shown by the combined French and Spanish soldiers was being put to greater and greater tests of endurance with each passing day. Collins' successful campaign now left Madrid vulnerable from four avenues of attack. Only the Coruna road lay open for supplies to be sent into the city, and this lifeline was kept open only because Eisenhower wished to offer the Syndicalists a route to escape.
But Madrid was not the United States' only target. Indeed, MacArthur continued to press relentlessly against Bilbao's defenses. By now, the city had been completely surrounded but continued to hold on stubbornly in the face of nearly constant bombardment and assaults. Although San Sebastian had already fallen to the Americans much earlier, any subsequent push to the French border would be impossible until Bilbao was reduced. For his part, General Yague, Bilbao's stalwart defender, did not let the critically desperate situation he and his soldiers were in deter him. Confidence remained high within the Spanish ranks that their Syndicalist compatriots would inevitably smash through the American siege and save the city.
Despite its importance to the Syndicalist war effort, General Guillame had been steadily withdrawing soldiers from Madrid ever since Eisenhower's first attack. The American commander was well-informed of these developments by a combination of spies and aerial reconnaissance. With good reason, Eisenhower felt confident that a new attack on the capital city from the Valencia road, Guadalajara, and west would be enough to finally overwhelm and crush the defenders. On October 18, the attack began, with the Americans committing thirty-six divisions to the effort.
Against the Americans were arrayed only fifteen mixed Syndicalist divisions, many of them still battered from the last assaults. Because Madrid's urban sprawl ends abruptly on its western face, Collin's pincer advanced rapidly through the open terrain, encountering only minor resistance as it entered the Casa de Campo. Beyond that Collins' V. Army could not advance. The Spaniards held their ground and furiously launched counter-attacks from University City on the general's left flank. As before, Eisenhower could gain no momentum in his advance up the Valencia road, and the north-east pincer was encountering the same difficulties it had during the last two assaults. Thus, on the 20th, a flabergasted Eisenhower was forced to call off any further attacks for the immediate future.
Spanish militiamen fighting from University City.
Despite yet another setback for the Americans in their campaign to take Madrid, General Guillame had become convinced that his position was by October 20 untenable. Extraordinary acts of fanatical bravery might do wonders for the rapidly-accelerating propaganda apparatus in Paris, but American tanks and planes could only be resisted for so long in these circumstances. Indeed, many of France's armored divisions and sizable portions of its most modern artillery brigades were among those trapped in central Spain; to lose those would be a heavy blow, one that France's already strained economy would find difficult to recover from. The local Spanish divisions, however, were of far lower quality, consisting mostly of militias and bog-standard infantry that proved ill-equipped to face the more-mechanized American foe.
Consequently, Guillame had decided even before Eisenhower's attack on Madrid that to remain would be a hopeless, even criminal, waste of precious military resources. The following events were to leave bitter contentions and animosities for years to come, and to this day it is still not clear exactly what happened or how it unfolded. Essentially, Guillame devised a strategy to allow his predominantly French forces to break through the American lines and link up with the forces in Catalonia and on the Pyrennes. Unfortunately, this required that the remaining Spanish forces trapped in the pocket sacrifice themselves in a series of vain, suicidal assaults on the American lines; those that survived would, almost assuredly, be forced to surrender not long after. After a series of heated, often violent arguments with members of his command staff, corps commanders, and political commissars, Guillame put his plan into motion on the night of October 18.
Under the cover of darkness, French units, few of them larger than brigade, slipped unnoticed past the American forces in the northeast section of the encirclement. Meanwhile, Spanish divisions had launched themselves en masse at Eisenhower's forces on the Valencia road and around Guadalajara. Eisenhower ordered reinforcements to be pulled from around Siguenza, exacerbating the problems that were allowing the French army to slip away unnoticed. Indeed, the rough triangle formed by Burgos, Logrono, and Siguenza was largely devoid of American forces outside of strategically-important checkpoints and roadways. General DeWitt, largely responsible for that theater, had been assigned inadequate manpower to guard such a large stretch of terrain from both the north and south.
As the Spanish attacks ground to a halt on October 20 and 21, Eisenhower finally became aware of the sudden absence of Guillame's forces and sounded the alarm. But by then, it was too late; most of the French forces had already cut through DeWitt's defensive perimeter and had already crossed back over into friendly territory. The few brigades that were caught in the open fought with singular ferocity and refused to surrender under all but the most impossible of circumstances. Military historians still puzzle to this very day how Guillame was able to enact such a bizarre military maneuver. What is known, however, is that nearly thirty divisions of the French army had been evacuated from the pocket in central Spain. Admittedly, the organizational havoc it had played on the army's cohesion ensured that Guillame's army would not be in fighting shape for at least several weeks, but it nevertheless left most American generals utterly dumbfounded. Patton, commenting to reporters when the news finally reached a stunned America, declared it was 'the most god damned magnificent thing I've ever heard.' General MacArthur lamely argued that 'War inevitably produces the most peculiar events in man's history.'
Eisenhower could at least take solace in the fact eighteen Spanish divisions were still trapped within the American encirclement. Indeed, the departure of the French forces left the defense of Madrid in a hopeless state of affairs. On October 24, just a day after Toledo finally surrendered to V. Army, the final offensive against Madrid began. Outnumbered, enveloped, and now demoralized, the Spanish defenders hastily retreated. Eisenhower kept up the pressure, and soon enough American tanks and halftracks were rolling down the Grand Via. About half of the remaining Spanish forces beaten back from the capital surrendered to the Americans, who continued to advance in pursuit.
As the highest-ranking officer still remaining within the pocket, General Sanjurjo took charge. The Spanish commander intended to make a last stand with all available forces at Valladolid; 'the streets will run red with the blood of the foreign invaders before I will surrender!' went his bold proclamation on October 26. But such defiant words meant little, and looked quite foolish in retrospect. IX. Army, having recently seized Salamanca after briefly laying it to siege, swept across the countryside and cut the Coruna road at several key positions. Those still fleeing from Madrid lacked both the will and the firepower to break through, those caught in the open more routed or surrendered more often than not, and those in Valladolid did not dare to sally forth. Trapped between Bradley's forces in the north, IX. Army from the south, and II. Army from the southeast, Sanjurjo was brought to battle and decisively crushed on October 29.
The Syndicalist pocket in central Spain is finally destroyed, late October 1945.
American good fortune did not end there. On the same day that the final assault on Madrid began, the garrison of Bilbao, reduced to a pitiable state from the constant fighting, bombardment, and lack of supplies, finally surrendered. General Yague had already slipped through the American cordon, much to the outrage of his soldiers. The back-to-back fall of Madrid and Bilbao, the two most conspicuous centers of Spanish resistance to the invading Americans, was a several psychological blow to Syndicalist morale in northern Spain. The survival of Guillame's armies did little to soothe the consciences of hundreds of thousands of Syndicalist soldiers who, inundated with Thorez's propaganda, had been convinced that it had been incumbent upon them to break through the American lines and rescue their trapped comrades. Not only had France's commanders failed to show the necessary aggression, but the brave Spanish armies had essentially been betrayed in order to ensure Guillame's survival.
Thus, as the full armies of the Syndicalist coalition and the United States were amassing across from one another on a battle line that stretched all the way from the Bay of Biscay to the Mediterranean Sea in the final quarter of 1945, the average French soldier and his allies began to waver. How much more of the revolution's ideals had to be sacrificed in order to ensure its survival? Certainly, the stakes could not have been higher. General MacArthur concluded, as he gazed north from the shattered, still-smoldering ruins of Bilbao, 'It will all be decided here. In the next few months, out there in those mountains, we'll find out who's going to win this war.'
Wait... what? Did the French somehow redeploy their forces out of the pocket or something?
Now it's the time to create a Free Spanish army. You'll get hundreds of thousands of volunteers eager to crush some Frenchies...
Your troops have nothing to be ashamed of, nothing is capable of stopping the rampant cheating of the AI.
It looks like Spain's about to collapse in fairly short order but I expect France to be much tougher to conquer, and it could be argued those 30 divisions were worth the loss of Spain- particularly if they can be placed in the Pyrenees to stop the American advance.
It looks like Spain's about to collapse in fairly short order but I expect France to be much tougher to conquer, and it could be argued those 30 divisions were worth the loss of Spain- particularly if they can be placed in the Pyrenees to stop the American advance.
This sounds like the kind of pressure needed to make the Sorelians and Jacobins begin to question their cooperation.
I suppose my most recent update deserves some clarification. On October 18, 1945, I saved the game. A few in-game days pass, and I suddenly notice that there are quite a few less French divisions inside that pocket. More accurately, all of the French divisions had vanished. Perplexed, I assumed they had simply dissolved due to lack of supplies. Just to make sure, I continued playing a couple more days, stopped, switched over to France, and sure enough, their divisions were in the redeployment pool. France hadn't lost a single one.
I freely admit that my AAR excuse is rather flimsy at best, ridiculous at worst. Unfortunately, there's no way to avoid 30+ French divisions magically escaping from Spain, as inexplicable and gamey though it may be.
I freely admit that my AAR excuse is rather flimsy at best, ridiculous at worst. Unfortunately, there's no way to avoid 30+ French divisions magically escaping from Spain, as inexplicable and gamey though it may be.
I would have forcibly removed, or at least put them back, a few of them. AI shouldn't be allowed to get away with that stuff.
What a strange turn of events! At least it's effectively written into the story, just what the average French soldier needs to start wondering how willing they are to fight for a revolution that's being betrayed at the highest levels. A landing in Italy, with a similar response and end result from the French, might push some of them over the edge. Certainly there are enough disenchanted Spaniards to be used by any American propaganda effort to that effect.
[delurks]
TC Pilot, this is a most excellent AAR ! !
i think that i have read all that i missed ! !
TC Pilot, this is a most excellent AAR ! !
i think that i have read all that i missed ! !
1945 - Part X
After the fall of Bilbao, there was little fighting along the entirety of the front beyond localized skirmishes and artillery duels. Both sides used the lull to the best of their abilities to draw up reinforcements for what most believed would be a decisive confrontation. From his pulpit in Paris, Thorez confidently boasted, 'the forces of capitalist oppression will be smashed against our undefeated armies! A united Europe has assembled to first halt, then drive the invaders back!' For his part, Truman did his best to play down expectations on the homefront. The President was fully aware that, for the first time in the entire war, the Americans would be facing primarily French forces, and in enormous numbers. Battle-hardened, well-equipped, and enjoying favorable defensive terrain, the Syndicalist armies were formidable opponents indeed.
The American redeployment unfolded smoothly and with greater speed than Marshal Duclos, now overall commander of the Pyrenees front, had believed possible. On November 22, less than a month after the last Syndicalist forces had surrendered within the pocket, a massive attack was unleashed on the Syndicalist salient bounded by Pamplona and Huesca in the center of the front. Against General Yague's eleven divisions, MacArthur committed I, V, VII. Armies, and II. and V. Armored Corps. Having only arrived back on the front since his rather shameful escape from Bilbao in October, Yague found himself rapidly overwhelmed. Pamplona fell in short order, and the defenses around Huesca were saved on the 27th only by the timely arrival of reinforcements in the form of thirty-three divisions. Despite his initial blunder, Duclos had responded rapidly and effectively.
The hope had been that, by taking Huesca, the American army could outflank and encircle the Syndicalist forces gathering in Catalonia. Eisenhower quickly ruled out any further attacks on the city was unfeasible for the immediate future. Instead, the American commander almost immediately launched a northward thrust along the Mediterranean coast, while the American forces around Zaragoza threatened the Syndicalist flank. The plan went far better than expected. With only fifteen divisions at his disposal, Marshal Rol-Tanguy was put into a desperate situation. On November 28, Rol-Tanguy urgently requested reinforcements be brought in from Huesca; unfortunately, American tank units had already cut the roads leading through Lleida in the initial waves of the attack. Within a few days, the French were forced to abandon Tarragona, opening Barcelona up for a direct American attack.
But the two offensives had taken a serious toll on the American forces. The Syndicalists had held their ground with characteristic stubbornness, sending casualties on both sides skyrocketing. Furthermore, the back-to-back nature of the offensives had left large numbers of front-line formations disorganized, and their logistical lines heavily strained. For the next few weeks, the Americans were forced to rest and reinforce themselves, allowing the French a much-needed respite to strengthen what had turned out to be a rather unimpressive defensive front.
A debate soon emerged within the American camp about where to strike next. MacArthur argued that Huesca had to be taken as soon as possible; victory there, the general argued, would open up France for a direct attack, and render the Syndicalist position around Barcelona untenable. Bradley, however, urged a continued assault on Catalonia. From there, American armored and mechanized formations could sweep into France without having to slog through the mountains, with the aim of capturing or at least threatening Perpignan. In this, the influence of Patton was obvious, and Eisenhower recognized it immediately. Until Huesca fell, he reasoned, any further advance into Catalonia risked encirclement. On the other side of the front, Duclos remained confident that the city could be held with what forces he had dispatched their. As a sop to morale, General Yague was removed from command and replaced by Field Marshall Rojo. Despite recent misconceptions, Rojo did little to improve the Syndicalist defenses, content as he was with Yague's own efforts to that end.
The American attack began in the pre-dawn hours of December 7. Nearly every American division in Spain, eighty-six in total, were involved in some way with the offensive. But the terrain and weather, which turned from freezing rain to snow in many instances, played against the attackers. Roads quickly turned into quagmires or slippery deathtraps. Meanwhile, Syndicalist artillery, wrecked havoc, showering the advancing Americans with a seemingly endless barrage. Keen to avoid a bloodbath, Eisenhower recognized the attack was going nowhere, and halted the advance on the following day.
The French had good reason to trumpet their success at Huesca, but it was followed shortly thereafter by an event almost as inexplicable as the French breakout in late October. Initial reconnaissance reports in Catalonia indicated most of the forward Syndicalist positions were unmanned. Cautiously, subsequent scouting forays indicated that most of Rol-Tanguy's outer defenses had evaporated. As it turned out, most of those posts had been manned by Spaniards, who, embittered by the 'betrayal of Madrid' and chaffing under French command, deserted and marched to serve Rojo at Huesca.
Not one to let an opportunity slip by, Eisenhower immediately sent I. and III. Armored Corps forward alongside the airborne divisions on December 10, with Chamberlin's motorized VII. Army following close behind. Caught completely off guard, Rol-Tanguy did what he could to organize an effective resistance, but it was already too late. Barcelona fell to the Americans on the 12th, much to the shock and outrage of the local anarchist committees; much to their embarrassment, it was primarily anarchist regiments that had deserted and allowed the Americans to slip in.
Barcelona falls almost without a shot fired.
With Huesca holding firm and Barcelona suddenly in American hands, Eisenhower decided to carry out Bradley's suggestions. Lt. General Devers, commander of I. Armored Corps, was put in charge of this ambitious spearhead. The tank commander initially performed well, crossing the border on the night of the 12th. General Gransdard, commander of the Perpignan garrison of three divisions, did what he could to hold off Devers' advance for as long as possible, but the city fell the following day. Neither Thorez nor Duclos could tolerate such an embarrassing setback, and immediately rushed Gransdard as many reinforcements has he requested. The tables had suddenly turned on the Americans, who were forced to retreat on the 14th back across the border. General Bradley's plan, though incapable of holding ground in the face of such a vigorous counter-attack, had nevertheless thrown the Syndicalist defenders into a state of confusion.
It was this state of confusion MacArthur hoped to exploit with a bold plan to finally crack the defenses around Huesca. Based from Pamplona and San Sebastian, MacArthur hoped to bypass the Syndicalist center, cross the Pyrenees, and attack Pau, thereby threatening to completely encircle Huesca's defenders. Although the offensive would be funneled down a series of narrow mountain passes in unfavorable winter conditions, only a handful of enemy divisions were present in that sector. Eisenhower considered it a risky gamble, but nevertheless authorized it. The attack began in the middle of blizzard-like conditions on December 14, and it quickly became apparent that surprise was not on MacArthur's side. General Revers had placed his forces with superb care, and quickly convinced Eisenhower that continuing the attack was useless. MacArthur objected, convinced that, had he been given 'a free hand,' he could have driven the French out of the mountain passes.
In either case, the next week amounted to little, punctuated only by a series of skillful armored feints by Devers south of Perpignan. The lull allowed the Americans to finally bring reinforcements, in the form of III. Army and the newly minted XI. and XII. Armies up to the front. It was decided that Huesca would be assailed by an all-or-nothing attack. Despite grumbling over the battle for Pau, MacArthur convinced Eisenhower Huesca could be taken in what was most certainly the largest single battle since the Great War. Rojo's stalwart defenders had been reinforced to a grand total of forty-two divisions, but when the American attack finally came on December 23, they were faced with one hundred and four American divisions.
As before, terrain and weather played havoc with the clumsy and unwieldy American attackers; roads became clogged, easy pickings for well-positioned artillery batteries, while American soldiers had to combat both the cold and the well-entrenched Syndicalists. By Christmas Eve, it was apparent that the attack would devolve into a disaster if it continued. Frustrated one time too many, Eisenhower, in consultation with both President Truman and General Marshall, concluded that all offensive operations in Spain would be called off for the immediate future. Despite all the best efforts of the United States' highest-ranking generals, the country was now faced with a stalemate on the Pyrenees and around Huesca. The 'united Europe' had indeed stopped the Americans dead in their tracks, but no French counter-offensive materialized. The soldiers, it seemed, would spend the rest of the winter in their trenches.
A French soldier in Huesca. Most of the city had been reduced to rubble.
After the fall of Bilbao, there was little fighting along the entirety of the front beyond localized skirmishes and artillery duels. Both sides used the lull to the best of their abilities to draw up reinforcements for what most believed would be a decisive confrontation. From his pulpit in Paris, Thorez confidently boasted, 'the forces of capitalist oppression will be smashed against our undefeated armies! A united Europe has assembled to first halt, then drive the invaders back!' For his part, Truman did his best to play down expectations on the homefront. The President was fully aware that, for the first time in the entire war, the Americans would be facing primarily French forces, and in enormous numbers. Battle-hardened, well-equipped, and enjoying favorable defensive terrain, the Syndicalist armies were formidable opponents indeed.
The American redeployment unfolded smoothly and with greater speed than Marshal Duclos, now overall commander of the Pyrenees front, had believed possible. On November 22, less than a month after the last Syndicalist forces had surrendered within the pocket, a massive attack was unleashed on the Syndicalist salient bounded by Pamplona and Huesca in the center of the front. Against General Yague's eleven divisions, MacArthur committed I, V, VII. Armies, and II. and V. Armored Corps. Having only arrived back on the front since his rather shameful escape from Bilbao in October, Yague found himself rapidly overwhelmed. Pamplona fell in short order, and the defenses around Huesca were saved on the 27th only by the timely arrival of reinforcements in the form of thirty-three divisions. Despite his initial blunder, Duclos had responded rapidly and effectively.
The hope had been that, by taking Huesca, the American army could outflank and encircle the Syndicalist forces gathering in Catalonia. Eisenhower quickly ruled out any further attacks on the city was unfeasible for the immediate future. Instead, the American commander almost immediately launched a northward thrust along the Mediterranean coast, while the American forces around Zaragoza threatened the Syndicalist flank. The plan went far better than expected. With only fifteen divisions at his disposal, Marshal Rol-Tanguy was put into a desperate situation. On November 28, Rol-Tanguy urgently requested reinforcements be brought in from Huesca; unfortunately, American tank units had already cut the roads leading through Lleida in the initial waves of the attack. Within a few days, the French were forced to abandon Tarragona, opening Barcelona up for a direct American attack.
But the two offensives had taken a serious toll on the American forces. The Syndicalists had held their ground with characteristic stubbornness, sending casualties on both sides skyrocketing. Furthermore, the back-to-back nature of the offensives had left large numbers of front-line formations disorganized, and their logistical lines heavily strained. For the next few weeks, the Americans were forced to rest and reinforce themselves, allowing the French a much-needed respite to strengthen what had turned out to be a rather unimpressive defensive front.
A debate soon emerged within the American camp about where to strike next. MacArthur argued that Huesca had to be taken as soon as possible; victory there, the general argued, would open up France for a direct attack, and render the Syndicalist position around Barcelona untenable. Bradley, however, urged a continued assault on Catalonia. From there, American armored and mechanized formations could sweep into France without having to slog through the mountains, with the aim of capturing or at least threatening Perpignan. In this, the influence of Patton was obvious, and Eisenhower recognized it immediately. Until Huesca fell, he reasoned, any further advance into Catalonia risked encirclement. On the other side of the front, Duclos remained confident that the city could be held with what forces he had dispatched their. As a sop to morale, General Yague was removed from command and replaced by Field Marshall Rojo. Despite recent misconceptions, Rojo did little to improve the Syndicalist defenses, content as he was with Yague's own efforts to that end.
The American attack began in the pre-dawn hours of December 7. Nearly every American division in Spain, eighty-six in total, were involved in some way with the offensive. But the terrain and weather, which turned from freezing rain to snow in many instances, played against the attackers. Roads quickly turned into quagmires or slippery deathtraps. Meanwhile, Syndicalist artillery, wrecked havoc, showering the advancing Americans with a seemingly endless barrage. Keen to avoid a bloodbath, Eisenhower recognized the attack was going nowhere, and halted the advance on the following day.
The French had good reason to trumpet their success at Huesca, but it was followed shortly thereafter by an event almost as inexplicable as the French breakout in late October. Initial reconnaissance reports in Catalonia indicated most of the forward Syndicalist positions were unmanned. Cautiously, subsequent scouting forays indicated that most of Rol-Tanguy's outer defenses had evaporated. As it turned out, most of those posts had been manned by Spaniards, who, embittered by the 'betrayal of Madrid' and chaffing under French command, deserted and marched to serve Rojo at Huesca.
Not one to let an opportunity slip by, Eisenhower immediately sent I. and III. Armored Corps forward alongside the airborne divisions on December 10, with Chamberlin's motorized VII. Army following close behind. Caught completely off guard, Rol-Tanguy did what he could to organize an effective resistance, but it was already too late. Barcelona fell to the Americans on the 12th, much to the shock and outrage of the local anarchist committees; much to their embarrassment, it was primarily anarchist regiments that had deserted and allowed the Americans to slip in.
Barcelona falls almost without a shot fired.
With Huesca holding firm and Barcelona suddenly in American hands, Eisenhower decided to carry out Bradley's suggestions. Lt. General Devers, commander of I. Armored Corps, was put in charge of this ambitious spearhead. The tank commander initially performed well, crossing the border on the night of the 12th. General Gransdard, commander of the Perpignan garrison of three divisions, did what he could to hold off Devers' advance for as long as possible, but the city fell the following day. Neither Thorez nor Duclos could tolerate such an embarrassing setback, and immediately rushed Gransdard as many reinforcements has he requested. The tables had suddenly turned on the Americans, who were forced to retreat on the 14th back across the border. General Bradley's plan, though incapable of holding ground in the face of such a vigorous counter-attack, had nevertheless thrown the Syndicalist defenders into a state of confusion.
It was this state of confusion MacArthur hoped to exploit with a bold plan to finally crack the defenses around Huesca. Based from Pamplona and San Sebastian, MacArthur hoped to bypass the Syndicalist center, cross the Pyrenees, and attack Pau, thereby threatening to completely encircle Huesca's defenders. Although the offensive would be funneled down a series of narrow mountain passes in unfavorable winter conditions, only a handful of enemy divisions were present in that sector. Eisenhower considered it a risky gamble, but nevertheless authorized it. The attack began in the middle of blizzard-like conditions on December 14, and it quickly became apparent that surprise was not on MacArthur's side. General Revers had placed his forces with superb care, and quickly convinced Eisenhower that continuing the attack was useless. MacArthur objected, convinced that, had he been given 'a free hand,' he could have driven the French out of the mountain passes.
In either case, the next week amounted to little, punctuated only by a series of skillful armored feints by Devers south of Perpignan. The lull allowed the Americans to finally bring reinforcements, in the form of III. Army and the newly minted XI. and XII. Armies up to the front. It was decided that Huesca would be assailed by an all-or-nothing attack. Despite grumbling over the battle for Pau, MacArthur convinced Eisenhower Huesca could be taken in what was most certainly the largest single battle since the Great War. Rojo's stalwart defenders had been reinforced to a grand total of forty-two divisions, but when the American attack finally came on December 23, they were faced with one hundred and four American divisions.
As before, terrain and weather played havoc with the clumsy and unwieldy American attackers; roads became clogged, easy pickings for well-positioned artillery batteries, while American soldiers had to combat both the cold and the well-entrenched Syndicalists. By Christmas Eve, it was apparent that the attack would devolve into a disaster if it continued. Frustrated one time too many, Eisenhower, in consultation with both President Truman and General Marshall, concluded that all offensive operations in Spain would be called off for the immediate future. Despite all the best efforts of the United States' highest-ranking generals, the country was now faced with a stalemate on the Pyrenees and around Huesca. The 'united Europe' had indeed stopped the Americans dead in their tracks, but no French counter-offensive materialized. The soldiers, it seemed, would spend the rest of the winter in their trenches.
A French soldier in Huesca. Most of the city had been reduced to rubble.