May 1945. The war in Europe was over. The guns had fallen silent. Hitler was dead. The Nazi regime had collapsed. In Berlin and on the banks of the Elbe River, American and Russian soldiers embraced.
They danced. They drank vodka and whiskey together. The world celebrated. But in the midst of this celebration, there was one man who wasn’t smiling: General George S. Patton. While politicians in Washington and London cheered their Soviet allies, Patton watched them with cold, distrustful eyes.
He didn’t see allies. He saw the next enemy. His famous phrase: “We have defeated the wrong enemy.” And nowhere was this tension more visible than at a victory banquet hosted by the Russians. It was a lavish affair.
Generals from both sides were there, with gleaming metal on their chests, tables laden with caviar, bottles of vodka everywhere. The atmosphere was festive until a Russian general stood up. He raised his glass. He looked at Patton and proposed a toast.
It was supposed to be a moment of friendship, a moment of peace. But Patton didn’t drink. Instead, he stood up. He looked the Russian general in the eye and uttered an insult so shocking, so brutal, that the translator was afraid to repeat it.
This is the story of that toast. It’s the story of how Patton predicted the Cold War before anyone else and how his hatred of the Soviets nearly triggered World War II. To understand the insult, we must understand what was happening in 1945.
For four years, the United States and Russia fought on the same side. But they were never friends. They were merely partners of convenience. They shared a common enemy: Nazi Germany.
But as the German army collapsed, the American army, advancing from the west, and the Red Army, advancing from the east, finally met. The meeting point was the Elbe River.
At first glance, it was a joyous reunion, but at its core, it was tense. Patton commanded the Third Army, the most powerful fighting force the world had ever seen.
He had raced across Germany. He wanted to keep going. He wanted to take Berlin. He wanted to take Prague. But General Eisenhower ordered him to stop. Halt. Eisenhower said, “Let the Russians take Berlin. Let the Russians take Prague.”
Patton was furious. He argued with Eisenhower. “Why are we stopping?” he shouted. “We’re handing Europe over to the communists.” Patton saw what the Red Army did. They didn’t just liberate countries. They conquered them. Wherever Soviet tanks went, they stayed.
Poland, Hungary, Czechoslovakia. Patton wrote in his journal: “The Russians are Mongols. They are savages. They have no respect for human life.” He wasn’t just difficult. He was afraid.
He believed that if the American army withdrew, the Russians would continue marching all the way to the Atlantic Ocean. So, when Patton was invited to meet with Russian commanders, he didn’t go to celebrate. He went to survey the enemy. The most famous meeting took place near the town of Lind.
Patton met with Marshal Foder Tobukin. Tobukin was a Hero of the Soviet Union. He commanded the Third Ukrainian Front. The Russians wanted to impress Patton. They organized a massive parade.
Thousands of Soviet soldiers marched. Tanks, artillery, Cossacks on horseback. Patton watched them. His face was unreadable. Later, he told his men what he really thought.
They were the most wretched bunch of sons of bitches he had ever seen. He criticized their uniforms. He criticized their discipline. He called them a mob.
But he also respected their toughness. He knew they were dangerous. He told his officers, “I can beat them, but I have to do it now before they get stronger.” After the parade came lunch.
The Russians loved to drink. Toasts were a fundamental part of their culture. You toast Stalin, you toast Roosevelt, you toast the army, and with each toast, you take a shot of vodka. Patton hated vodka. He preferred whiskey, but he went along with it for a while.
The atmosphere was thick with false politeness. The Russian generals smiled, but their eyes were cold. They knew Patton hated them, and Patton knew they hated him. They were like two wolves circling each other, waiting for the first bite.
Then the moment arrived. It was at a similar meeting, before a high-ranking Russian general. Some sources say it was Zhukov. Others, a high-ranking commander. But the rank didn’t matter.
The message did. The Russian general stood. He raised his glass. The room fell silent. He spoke through an interpreter. He toasted the solidarity of the Allied nations. He looked directly at Patton. He smiled.
He waited for Patton to drink. Everyone was watching George Patton, the Supreme Commander of the Third Army. Eisenhower was watching. The press was watching. Patton stood up.
He didn’t raise his glass. He looked at the Russian general. His face was as hard as stone. He spoke clearly so everyone could hear him. He said, “I won’t drink with you.” The room gasped. The translator froze. To refuse a toast in Russian culture is a grave insult. It’s like slapping a man in the face.
But Patton wasn’t finished. He continued, “I won’t drink with you or any other Russian bastard.” The silence in the room was absolute. You could hear a pin drop. The American officers were terrified. This could cause a diplomatic incident.
This could start a war. The translator looked at Patton. He was pale. He whispered, “General, I can’t tell him that.” Patton bent down. He glared at the translator. “You tell him,” Patton snarled. “Tell him exactly what I said, word for word.” The translator, trembling with fear, turned to face the Russian general.
He translated the insult. General Patton says he won’t drink with you because you’re the son of a… The Americans held their breath. They waited for the Russian general to draw his weapon.
They waited for an explosion. But then something strange happened. The Russian general looked at Patton. He looked at the interpreter. And then he laughed. He wasn’t angry. He laughed. He slammed his hand on the table. He looked at Patton with a strange respect.
He replied, “Tell General Patton I think he’s a son of a bitch too.” Patton listened to the translation. A faint smile touched his lips. The tension was broken. Patton took his glass.
He said, “Very well, now that we’re on the same page, I’ll drink to that.” They toasted one son of a bitch to another. The story of the toast became legendary. The soldiers laughed at it. Did they hear them calling the kami with blood and guts? But for Patton, it was no joke.
It was a warning. In the following weeks, Patton became increasingly explicit. He began telling anyone who would listen, “We have to fight them now.” He proposed a plan.
He wanted to rearm the German soldiers who had surrendered. He wanted to combine the U.S. Third Army with the remnants of the German Vermacht and attack the Red Army. Drive them out of Eastern Europe. Force them to retreat to Moscow. He told his staff, “Sooner or later we’re going to have to fight them.”
Why not do it now, while our army is intact and we can turn them against Russia? He wrote to his wife: “I believe that by taking a firm stand, we can save the world from a tyranny worse than Hitler’s.”
But no one listened. The world was tired of war. The American people wanted their children home. Politicians wanted peace. Eisenhower was appalled by Patton’s suggestions. He thought Patton was crazy. George, stop talking like that.
Eisenhower warned him. The Russians are our allies. Patton shook his head. He told Eisenhower, “Ike, I hate to say it, but if you don’t fight them now, you’ll be fighting them for the next 50 years and you’ll lose a lot more lives.”
Because of his loose tongue and his refusal to be courteous to the Russians, Patton was dangerous. The press turned against him. They called him a warmonger. They said he was mentally unstable. In the end, Eisenhower had no choice.
He relieved Patton of command. He took away the Third Army, the army Patton loved more than life itself. Patton was sent to an office job. Paperwork, he called it. It broke his heart. He felt like a prophet punished for speaking the truth.
He watched as the Iron Curtain fell across Europe just as he had predicted. Poland, Hungary, Czechoslovakia, all absorbed by the Soviet Union. Months later, in December 1945, Patton would die in that mysterious car accident.
To be continued…
