by Jeff Shaara
Model would command all three wings of the assault, and as Model sat across from Hitler, von Rundstedt had seen the vacant chair to his side. That’s for me, he thought. A courtesy perhaps. Jodl is after all, polite. As the others sat, von Rundstedt had hesitated, felt distinctly out of place. This is not my show, he thought. I am here because Jodl probably thought it was good form to invite the man who officially commands this entire sector of the war. He glanced at Model, who nodded toward him, motioned to the chair. All right, I’ll sit down. Good idea anyway. My damn knees hurt.
Hitler seemed impatient to begin, stared down at a map, details von Rundstedt could not see. Hitler began to speak, a low voice, slow words.
“You are here … many of you … because I felt it was time to reveal this most cherished of secrets.” He held up the map. “You may know some details of this, you may have heard that planning was under way for a significant operation. That operation is now to be revealed to you all. We are prepared to make the most brutal strike against our enemies that they have yet experienced. This plan has been fashioned by Field Marshal Model, by his chief subordinates, by myself and my staff. After many weeks of consultations and revisions, this plan is now as perfect as any I have devised.”
It did not escape von Rundstedt that his own name had not been mentioned.
Hitler seemed more enthusiastic now, his eyes stabbing through the room, searching out faces. “You shall all be given maps and orders today. Some of you have been kept unaware, and that was by design. This plan is cloaked in the most efficient veil of secrecy we could maintain. I trust you all, but trust can be careless. The enemy will not know of this plan until the artillery begins and the tanks roll forward.”
Staff officers began to move through the crowd, handing out maps, sealed folders marked with the names of the recipients. Hitler seemed to enjoy the show, waited for the aides to complete their jobs; then Jodl motioned them out of the room.
Hitler said, “Open your orders.”
As the men obeyed, von Rundstedt heard several low gasps, was surprised by that, thought, so, they really didn’t know? That is a good sign, certainly. Surprise here means surprise for the enemy.
Hitler leaned back, said, “The plan shall commence at dawn on the sixteenth. Four days from now. You have been ordered to make preparations for operations about which you knew nothing, and yet your senior commanders have succeeded in placing every one of you into position. You have complied with efficiency. That is a statement of your loyalty.” He stopped, searched behind him, and von Rundstedt saw the familiar face, tall and lean, broad shoulders, blond hair. The man knew his cue, stepped close to Hitler’s back.
Hitler said, “Gentlemen, for those of you who do not know, this is Lieutenant Colonel Otto Skorzeny. The colonel is a hero of the Reich, and one of the most capable and trusted men in our service. I will ask Colonel Skorzeny now to reveal his part of this operation.”
Von Rundstedt knew Skorzeny, primarily by reputation. He was a dashing, handsome man, all muscle, blond hair, and blue eyes, with a brutal love for duty. He was, of course, fiercely loyal to Hitler, but von Rundstedt knew that, to Hitler, Skorzeny represented much more than a loyal soldier. He was the perfect Aryan specimen, something not lost on Joseph Goebbels and the Propaganda Ministry. Much had been made in the papers of Skorzeny’s daring commando operation that had plucked Benito Mussolini away from captivity, during the earliest days of the fall of Italy. Later, Skorzeny had been a driving force behind the fatal blow to the remnants of the plot to assassinate Hitler. Though the nastiest work had been left to Gestapo operatives, hundreds of late-night executions, trial-less imprisonment, it had been Skorzeny’s energy and brutal efficiency that had driven the last nail in that coffin. Skorzeny remained standing behind Hitler, towering above the rest of the men in the room.
“Thank you, my Führer. Within the past few days, elements of a specially chosen force have begun to infiltrate the enemy’s position. With great care, we have chosen men who speak perfect English and have mastered American dialects and slang. We have clothed them in American army uniforms, placed them in American vehicles, and sent them directly at the enemy’s weakest positions. We have named this Operation Griffin. You are familiar with the mythical bird, the head of an eagle, the body of a lion. Such are these men who are already embarking on their critical mission, a mission to spread contradiction and confusion. Some have been ordered to move rapidly to the Meuse River bridges and capture them, establishing strongpoints that will appear to be a normal American operation. Thus, when the Americans are driven back to the river, we will accomplish two objectives. The retreating Americans will be confronted by machine-gun and mortar positions in the line of their retreat, thus adding to their panic, and more important we will secure the bridges themselves so that their engineers cannot destroy them. Thus will your armies have the means to make a rapid crossing of the river, on the way to their own objectives. But there is much more to Operation Griffin. Moving quickly along the networks of roadways in the enemy’s rear, my men will kill American military police, who are now charged with directing the flow of traffic at every significant intersection. In their place, my men will direct that traffic to incorrect destinations. We will sever telephone lines, or use those lines ourselves to place confusing calls to various headquarters and outposts. Operation Griffin will be the seed of the enemy’s destruction, confusing and deceiving him, so that chaos will ensue. No American soldier will know if the vehicle passing through his outpost is genuine or not.”
Hitler seemed delighted, clapped his hands twice, said, “Tell them about the other plan.”
Skorzeny was obviously pleased with himself.
“Thank you, my Führer. We have also trained a squad of men to make their way to Paris, with one specific mission in mind. Anytime you can remove the head from the beast, the beast dies. This special squad will use their skills so that they may draw close to the Allied high command. We shall sever its head. Though they will have the opportunity to eliminate a large number of Allied commanders, their primary target is General Eisenhower.”
Hitler was glowing, seemed to encourage the same response from the others. Von Rundstedt saw surprised stares, mouths open. Hitler said, “Good, yes? Can you imagine how quickly all our efforts will come to full glory should Eisenhower be assassinated?”
Model looked to von Rundstedt with a forced smile. He wants me to cheer, for God’s sake. Von Rundstedt said aloud, “We are grateful for Colonel Skorzeny’s efforts. All of Germany is behind you, Colonel.”
Skorzeny seemed ultimately self-satisfied, made a curt bow. “Thank you, Field Marshal. I serve my Führer.”
Von Rundstedt had said enough, his compliment ignored by Hitler, entirely expected. Thus far, Hitler had not acknowledged his most senior commander at all.
The Führer looked to the map in front of him, his mind already moving beyond Skorzeny’s glowing presentation. He leaned forward, looked to his right, said, “Is the Sixth Panzer Army prepared for the attack, General Dietrich? Have you accepted your role in this most historic of victories?”
Von Rundstedt saw unexpected hesitation. “Not completely, my Führer,” Dietrich said. “An offensive of this magnitude requires training and preparation—”
“You are never satisfied!” Hitler took a drink from the stinking liquid in the glass, curled his face into a hard frown. He looked at Manteuffel, next to him. “And what of you, General? Are both of my panzer commanders hesitating?”
Von Rundstedt knew Manteuffel to be a solid leader, a small straight-backed man beloved by his troops. He had wondered if Manteuffel might be one bright spark that could give this entire plan some credibility.
Manteuffel replied, “We do not yet have sufficient fuel and ammunition, my Führer. My men are prepared to drive hard toward our objective, but I have not been assured that we will have the support required to secure your victory.”
Von Rundstedt worked hard to hide a smile, thought, a man who tells
the truth. He glanced around, knew the others in the room were pretending to be shocked by Manteuffel’s bluntness. He could feel Model shifting in his chair, the prelude to a pronouncement of his own. Of course, Field Marshal Model will blunt the edge of his most capable commander’s indiscretion.
Model stood, a show of authority, arrogance that von Rundstedt knew too well. “My Führer, I have assured both of these men that when the time comes, all will be ready. There will be no hesitation, and this operation will begin precisely according to your timetable.” He focused on the two generals now. “Gentlemen, these are details that have been examined and calculated to the most minute detail. You have known what is expected of you for some weeks now, and you have had ample time to prepare. General Jodl has cooperated with our every request, and even now, support is moving forward. I am certain that there are sufficient allotments of tactical—”
Hitler held up a hand, stifling Model’s presentation. “Sit down, Field Marshal.” He turned toward Manteuffel again. “General, I have responded positively to your every request. The Fifth Panzer Army has received the greatest share of the armored production pouring from our factories. This month alone, we anticipate that production to exceed twenty-five hundred new tanks, most of them Tigers.” He stopped, glanced behind him, Jodl nodding crisply, confirming the number. “Twenty-five hundred new tanks each month, from now on! Is that not sufficient for your army’s needs, General? Or yours, General Dietrich?” Hitler sat back again, annoyed.
Neither man spoke, Model answering for them. “There are no complaints, my Führer. This plan will succeed, and I am confident that we have the commanders here to make that happen.”
Von Rundstedt looked at both Manteuffel and Dietrich, saw their protests wilting. There was nothing else to say. Hitler suddenly began to change. Von Rundstedt saw a hint of a smile on the man’s face, so rare, but he had seen it before. It was Hitler’s way of being fatherly, of easing their burdens by convincing them that their concerns were dealt with, that all was in safe hands.
“Gentlemen, there is history at work here, history that some of you might have forgotten. We are launching strikes through the Ardennes Forest. Do you not recall that this is precisely what we did four years ago? And those of you who are older, like me, you recall that we used the forest once before. In 1918, we achieved magnificent success on the same ground, using the same tactics. Then, we did not have the benefit of speed that we enjoy now. Then, our beloved General Ludendorff did not have the luxury of panzer armies. In both of these campaigns, the enemy was caught unprepared, and was indelicately removed from the battlefield. This time will be no different.” He paused. “You should know that I have been assured by Reichsmarschall Göring that three thousand of the Luftwaffe’s finest aircraft will be made available to support this operation from the air. If that seems to be a somewhat grandiose offer on his part, you may be assured that …” Hitler laughed now, surprising von Rundstedt. “You may be assured that I do not so much believe the fat man anymore when he makes these statements. But I do know that we shall have sufficient air support, artillery support, and supply support. As our thrust shatters the enemy’s resistance, we shall have additional infantry and armored support as well.” Hitler was fiery now, the old energy von Rundstedt had seen before. “The enemy is weak and will be crushed. The British are exhausted beyond hope, and the Americans cannot stand up to our might. In the past, we have been betrayed by the unwilling, the inept, our efforts hampered by men who thought more of their personal ambitions than their loyalty to Germany. But those men are gone, removed from our ranks. You men here share my vision, and it is you who shall give us victory. It is you who carry the soul of the German people upon your backs. This operation will succeed because they believe it will succeed. And so, it will succeed. I am entrusting you to do your jobs. On December sixteenth, the final chapter on the Western Theater will be written, and its conclusion has already been decided. This war will yet be won.”
Hitler was gone, Skorzeny, Jodl, and the rest of his entourage with him. Von Rundstedt still sat at the long table, the two panzer commanders up and moving, slow pacing. To one side of the room, Model scanned a wide map, seemed occupied by his own thoughts, uninterested in any conversation. Yet still, von Rundstedt thought, he remains here, with us.
There were others there as well, a select few, men who did not seem eager to rush back to their commands. Von Rundstedt watched one in particular, Günther Blumentritt, who had once served as von Rundstedt’s chief of staff. Blumentritt commanded his own panzer division now, would be a part of Dietrich’s drive on the northern flank of the great assault. He knew Blumentritt too well, could see deep despair on the man’s face.
“Speak up, Günther. None of us in this room believes in this plan.”
He turned toward Model. “Do we, Field Marshal?”
Model did not look at him, said, “Such talk is treason. You should curb your arrogant disloyalty.”
There was no fire in the statement, but von Rundstedt had lost his patience for Model’s duplicity. He fought to stand, ignored the pains in his legs.
“You will not accuse me of disloyalty! How easy it is to toss out those words, that grotesque insult! You, who are such a man of integrity and honesty. Where are your loyalties? You are to carry out a plan for what purpose? Does the fatherland require such service from you? Is this the best way you can stand up for the good of Germany? Is that not what is important here? Is that not what we all are fighting for?”
Model moved toward him, haughty and dismissive, and Manteuffel was there, the small man putting a hand on Model’s arm. “Calm yourselves. There is no purpose to this. The Führer’s plan is now our plan, and it is up to us to carry it out as best we can.”
Model threw a sneer at von Rundstedt, pointed at Manteuffel. “You see? That is loyalty! That is the spirit of the German soldier. Not some old man who does not yet know when to give in … when to walk away from a duty he is unwilling to perform!”
Manteuffel still held Model’s arm, said, “Enough of this! With all respect, sir, we all know what is unspoken here. He merely says the words. Please, be calm. There is only a short time, and I must return to my tanks. General Dietrich must as well.”
Dietrich spoke, staring away. “Oh yes. I must return so that I may begin this wonderful adventure.” He turned toward Model now. “Would you question my loyalty as well, Field Marshal? My mission, as I understand it, is to drive rapidly through the Ardennes Forest, crushing the enemy who opposes me. In what … two days perhaps … I am to send my armor across the Meuse River using Colonel Skorzeny’s captured bridges, then drive straight through the enemy’s fortifications at Brussels, and finally sweep forward to capture Antwerp. I am not to be concerned with my right flank, since we shall sweep past the British so quickly, they will not have time to react. I am not to be concerned about my rear, since the Führer has assured me that there will be ample reserves following closely behind me. I am not to be concerned about gasoline, because what we do not have, we shall capture from the enemy’s supply dumps. Excuse me, Field Marshal, but do you have a map that shows the locations of the enemy’s supply dumps? Because my tanks have enough gasoline to travel for perhaps a day and a half.”
Dietrich looked down, did not expect a response.
Manteuffel stepped away from Model, leaned against one wall, rubbed a bony hand on his chin. “Jodl has convinced the Führer that we have sufficient gasoline to complete our mission. I saw the paper, Jodl’s calculations. Marvelous numbers. Jodl was most definite that his mathematics is not to be questioned. I tried to explain that computing the gasoline usage on flat roads in ideal conditions is nothing like consumption on a battlefield. I told him that if this plan is to succeed, we require five times more fuel than they are giving us. Jodl laughed at me, said that I should be grateful the Führer has so much faith in my abilities.” He looked at Model now. “None of us is disloyal, Field Marshal. But I know my tanks. And I know what this battlefield wil
l be. The Führer is calling upon history as his guide. The Ardennes Forest has been very good to us, in this war and the last. But in 1940, we drove across those hills in the springtime, across muddy holes filled with French soldiers who did not have the will to fight.”
Dietrich interrupted. “Yes! And now, it is winter! There will be waist-deep snow, and the roads are few and narrow. No matter how many tanks I have, no matter how full their fuel tanks might be, I cannot advance into any battle with an attack more than four tanks wide. There is no place for a massed armor assault! The infantry who is to support us is made up of battle-weary invalids, fighting alongside old men and children. Some are refugees from the east, dressed up in our uniforms. Some of them might even speak German, so I’ve been told. It is make-believe!”
Blumentritt moved closer, said in a soft voice, “We no longer have the training for this sort of operation.”