England, May 1944.
The large room was dark exept for the bright lights over the large table. On the table was a detailed map of the coast of France. Gathered around the table were a group of high ranking officers with stars and gold braid on dull green uniforms. One man, taller than the rest, stood leaning over the map with both fists on the table. An athletic build told of his past football playing and coaching army teams.
"All right, we have just another week or two to get all the fine details ironed out. I don't want any surprises at the last minute when those boys hit the beaches." The tall well built general said.
"Won't be any problems from the Luftwaffe, we'll have the bases hit the day before, and we're taking out rail yards as we speak. You'll have a clear sky sir." said Air Marshall Leigh Mallory, one of the highest ranking officers in the Royal Air Force.
The general at the table went to circle a point on the map, and his pencil point broke off to his irritation. He looked around for another pencil and saw that one was dull, and the other also had a broken point. An other general looked around for another pencil, but the general in the short jacket that would later be named for him, reached into his pants pocket and took put a small penknife. Opening the main blade, he made quick work of the job of putting a fresh point on the pencil and made the notation on the map where he wanted.
"Planning on taking a few Jerry throats yourself, General" asked one of the staff officers to a round of chuckles from all there.
"If I have to, or maybe my own if this goes wrong." the general replied in a humorous tone.
The late night meeting broke off, to re-assembled at 06;30 in the morning. Only the one tall general and his chief of staff remained standing at the large map. General Dwight Eisenhower stood up and rubbed his eyes and yawned. Dark circles under his eyes spoke of lack of sleep, and the man looked exausted.
"When was the last time you got some rest?" asked the shorter general. With a countenance that has been described as that of a bull dog, and a personality to match, General Walter Bedall Smith was Eisenhower's chief of staff, and some said watchdog and hatchet man. Nicknamed 'Beatle', he was a salty talking right hand man of the father of what was to be later called in history books, Operation Overlord.
"Sleep? What's that? I'm not sure I know anymore." said Eisenhower.
"How long have we known each other Ike?" asked Beatle Smith.
Ike smiled tiredly.
'Oh, maybe since the War College in Washington in '26. "
"Well as your chief of staff, and your advisor, knock off and go get some sleep. You're out on your feet, and you won't do any of those half a million boys any good if you make a wrong choice because you're tired. " said Smith.
Ike sat down at the conference table and picked up the little pen knife with an absent manor while he stared off in the distance. He picked up a dull pencil and whittled a new point on it while he thought.
'I could have done without you reminding me that a half a million guys are going up an enemy beach on my word. Sometimes I manage to forget about that for almost a minute now and then." said Ike.
Ike had finished the pencil point, and gently blew off the bit of dust on the graphite tip.
"You ever think of the huge logistics of this, Beatle?" he asked, " I sharpen a pencil with a little penknife and make a note on a map, and in the morning, that spot in France gets plastered by the air force. I make some more notes, and a certain beach is going to become a killing ground for too many good men trying to follow our plan. If we pull this off, history is going to remember those GI's running up the beach with their M1 rifles, but who's going to think of the guys that drove that Higgins boat right into the beach? Or the guys who were the pilots of the C-47 Dakota's that drop the airborne troops into France? Not all the cogs in the machine are remembered. Like this little penknife, it sharpens the pencils I use to make all our wonderful little notes, and comunications. It's just a small cog in the machine, and most people wouldn't think of it at all. They'll remember the bayonet on those Garrands, but they won't remember the smaller tools that did the work. If we pull this off, it's going to be logistics, and planning, that will do the main work. Those guys going up that beach are the point of the arrow. And God help them. But back home there's a few millon people working from making boots to loading ammunition that those boys on the beach are going to need."
Eisenhower had trailed off, and Beatle Smith knew he was on the verge of exaustion. He also knew he was in the presence of the most gifted logistics genious he'd ever known. Nobody he had ever delt with could keep track of the millions of bits of small facts that was needed to plan an operation like Overlord. He walked over and put a hand on Ike's shoulder.
"Okay, that's it. You're going to go get some sleep if I have to call some armed guards to make you go to bed at bayonet point." General Smith told Ike.
"Okay Beatle, Okay. Just wake me at 0500, there's some things I want to go over in my notes."
Ike looked at the little pen knife in his hand, then gently folded it up and put it back in his pants pocket. General Smith watched him go into his room just off the main conference room and close the door. He stood watching the closed door for a moment, and thought about the logistics of what they were doing. Then he thought of Ike and his little pen knife. He walked to the outside door and closed it softly behind him. He looked at the young GI standing guard with his M1 Garrand on his shoulder.
"Son, if anybody but me tries to wake General Eisenhower before I come back here at 0600, you shoot him! Understand?" said Smith.
"Yes Sir!" replied the sentry smartly.
General Smith took a few steps toward his own quarters then stopped at a sudden thought. He turned to the young sentry.
"On the other hand son, Don't shoot them. Just use your bayonet. It's quieter and won't wake up Ike. Got that?"
"Yes Sir!" said the sentry grinning.
General Walter Bedall Smith walked off, thinking about pen knives, pencils, and logistics, and the biggest invasion the world had ever known.
Dedicted to Psychopomp, and his little Case pen knife.
The large room was dark exept for the bright lights over the large table. On the table was a detailed map of the coast of France. Gathered around the table were a group of high ranking officers with stars and gold braid on dull green uniforms. One man, taller than the rest, stood leaning over the map with both fists on the table. An athletic build told of his past football playing and coaching army teams.
"All right, we have just another week or two to get all the fine details ironed out. I don't want any surprises at the last minute when those boys hit the beaches." The tall well built general said.
"Won't be any problems from the Luftwaffe, we'll have the bases hit the day before, and we're taking out rail yards as we speak. You'll have a clear sky sir." said Air Marshall Leigh Mallory, one of the highest ranking officers in the Royal Air Force.
The general at the table went to circle a point on the map, and his pencil point broke off to his irritation. He looked around for another pencil and saw that one was dull, and the other also had a broken point. An other general looked around for another pencil, but the general in the short jacket that would later be named for him, reached into his pants pocket and took put a small penknife. Opening the main blade, he made quick work of the job of putting a fresh point on the pencil and made the notation on the map where he wanted.
"Planning on taking a few Jerry throats yourself, General" asked one of the staff officers to a round of chuckles from all there.
"If I have to, or maybe my own if this goes wrong." the general replied in a humorous tone.
The late night meeting broke off, to re-assembled at 06;30 in the morning. Only the one tall general and his chief of staff remained standing at the large map. General Dwight Eisenhower stood up and rubbed his eyes and yawned. Dark circles under his eyes spoke of lack of sleep, and the man looked exausted.
"When was the last time you got some rest?" asked the shorter general. With a countenance that has been described as that of a bull dog, and a personality to match, General Walter Bedall Smith was Eisenhower's chief of staff, and some said watchdog and hatchet man. Nicknamed 'Beatle', he was a salty talking right hand man of the father of what was to be later called in history books, Operation Overlord.
"Sleep? What's that? I'm not sure I know anymore." said Eisenhower.
"How long have we known each other Ike?" asked Beatle Smith.
Ike smiled tiredly.
'Oh, maybe since the War College in Washington in '26. "
"Well as your chief of staff, and your advisor, knock off and go get some sleep. You're out on your feet, and you won't do any of those half a million boys any good if you make a wrong choice because you're tired. " said Smith.
Ike sat down at the conference table and picked up the little pen knife with an absent manor while he stared off in the distance. He picked up a dull pencil and whittled a new point on it while he thought.
'I could have done without you reminding me that a half a million guys are going up an enemy beach on my word. Sometimes I manage to forget about that for almost a minute now and then." said Ike.
Ike had finished the pencil point, and gently blew off the bit of dust on the graphite tip.
"You ever think of the huge logistics of this, Beatle?" he asked, " I sharpen a pencil with a little penknife and make a note on a map, and in the morning, that spot in France gets plastered by the air force. I make some more notes, and a certain beach is going to become a killing ground for too many good men trying to follow our plan. If we pull this off, history is going to remember those GI's running up the beach with their M1 rifles, but who's going to think of the guys that drove that Higgins boat right into the beach? Or the guys who were the pilots of the C-47 Dakota's that drop the airborne troops into France? Not all the cogs in the machine are remembered. Like this little penknife, it sharpens the pencils I use to make all our wonderful little notes, and comunications. It's just a small cog in the machine, and most people wouldn't think of it at all. They'll remember the bayonet on those Garrands, but they won't remember the smaller tools that did the work. If we pull this off, it's going to be logistics, and planning, that will do the main work. Those guys going up that beach are the point of the arrow. And God help them. But back home there's a few millon people working from making boots to loading ammunition that those boys on the beach are going to need."
Eisenhower had trailed off, and Beatle Smith knew he was on the verge of exaustion. He also knew he was in the presence of the most gifted logistics genious he'd ever known. Nobody he had ever delt with could keep track of the millions of bits of small facts that was needed to plan an operation like Overlord. He walked over and put a hand on Ike's shoulder.
"Okay, that's it. You're going to go get some sleep if I have to call some armed guards to make you go to bed at bayonet point." General Smith told Ike.
"Okay Beatle, Okay. Just wake me at 0500, there's some things I want to go over in my notes."
Ike looked at the little pen knife in his hand, then gently folded it up and put it back in his pants pocket. General Smith watched him go into his room just off the main conference room and close the door. He stood watching the closed door for a moment, and thought about the logistics of what they were doing. Then he thought of Ike and his little pen knife. He walked to the outside door and closed it softly behind him. He looked at the young GI standing guard with his M1 Garrand on his shoulder.
"Son, if anybody but me tries to wake General Eisenhower before I come back here at 0600, you shoot him! Understand?" said Smith.
"Yes Sir!" replied the sentry smartly.
General Smith took a few steps toward his own quarters then stopped at a sudden thought. He turned to the young sentry.
"On the other hand son, Don't shoot them. Just use your bayonet. It's quieter and won't wake up Ike. Got that?"
"Yes Sir!" said the sentry grinning.
General Walter Bedall Smith walked off, thinking about pen knives, pencils, and logistics, and the biggest invasion the world had ever known.
Dedicted to Psychopomp, and his little Case pen knife.
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