February 2nd, 1945 I have only several minutes to spare writing, as I am much in need of sleep and will be awakened at 2:00 AM to board "The Sacred Cow," the airplane that will transport me from here to Yalta. A seven-hour flight they tell me, much of it over undesirable territory. If any man thinks that I am anticipating this flight, let alone this entire ordeal, with any air of amusement or excitement, then I would inform him that he is much more in need of sleep than I am. Where to begin; must write about my day.We arrived in Malta this morning, after more than a week at sea. Normally something I would enjoy, but the very motive of this voyage keeps me from all and any thoughts of pleasure. Anna wheeled me onto the deck, where I have not been since the beginning of this voyage due to my worsening sinuses. Mr. Churchill had already arrived in Malta, not a surprise, along with Eden and the rest of his military and civilian staff. The men present for the purposes of welcoming me were situated on the deck of The HMS Orion, yet another ocean liner. Churchill is not as enthusiastic about this conference as even Stalin, or I and would much rather take allied matters into his own feeble hands. I deplore this, and can just about guarantee that Stalin feels the same exact way. Enough of the conference, pessimistic though I may be. After the lengthy, uncalled for welcoming ceremony, I was obligated to invite Churchill onto The Quincy for an informal luncheon. We made somewhat of an effort, speaking in rather loose terms, to make small talk, which, in our situation, is quite a difficult thing to do. Neither of us seemed to be able to speak over business matters at the time which, much to my chagrin, forced me to once again invite Churchill onto The Quincy, this time for a private, formal dinner at which matters of importance to the impending conference would be discussed. As I found out at the dinner, Churchill...
