by Ian Kershaw
Shortly afterwards he noticed a newspaper advertisement for horse-racing in Berlin and remarked to Bormann that Munich should not be disadvantaged against the Reich capital. Racing was again to be permitted in Riem. As the issue rumbled on, various authorities became involved. Lammers and Bormann exchanged letters. His opinion sought yet again, Hitler came up with the intriguing macro-economic reflection that betting absorbed surplus spending power. The Gauleiter continued their complaints. Finally, after six months of wrangling on an issue of such breathtaking triviality, Bormann and Lammers agreed, in accordance with ‘an expression of will of the Führer’, to permit horse-racing and bookmaking in general terms – but to leave the decision in each individual case to the respective Reich Defence Commissar.80 Ultimately, therefore, no decision had been taken, other than to leave matters to the whim of the Party bosses.
Little could demonstrate more clearly the absurdity of the dictatorship’s patterns of rule (or lack of them). Hitler’s power was intact. His imprimatur had been sought on several occasions by all parties concerned. No one else could settle the matter. But nor, except by the ultimate retreat from a decision, could Hitler. His wavering, fluctuating interventions – often evidently following the advice of the last person to have spoken to him – dragged out the affair. But it was scarcely rational in the first place that a head of state and commander of the armed forces should be repeatedly bothered in the middle of a world war by various underlings involved in petty disputes over horse-racing. The problem was, here as in other instances: he had delegated no genuine authority to the ‘Committee of Three’; they in turn had to call upon him at every point; and this was frequently necessary, as in the horse-racing case, because there was no central Reich body to reach sensibly agreed decisions and impose them as government policy. The failed experiment of the ‘Committee of Three’ showed conclusively that, however weak their structures, all forms of collective government were doomed by the need to protect the arbitrary ‘will of the Führer’. But it was increasingly impossible for this ‘will’ to be exercised in ways conducive to the functioning of a modern state, let alone one operating under the crisis conditions of a major war. As a system of government, Hitler’s dictatorship had no future.
II
Matters at home were far from Hitler’s primary concern in the spring and summer of 1943. He was, in fact, almost solely preoccupied with the course of the war. The strain of this had left its mark on him. Guderian, back in favour after a long absence, was struck at their first meeting, on 20 February 1943, by the change in Hitler’s physical appearance since the last time he had seen him, back in mid-December 1941: ‘In the intervening fourteen months he had aged greatly. His manner was less assured than it had been and his speech was hesitant; his left hand trembled.’81
When President Roosevelt, at the end of his meeting to discuss war strategy with Churchill and the Combined Chiefs of Staff at Casablanca in French Morocco between 14 and 24 January 1943, had – to the British Prime Minister’s surprise – announced at a concluding press conference that the Allies would impose ‘unconditional surrender’ on their enemies, it had matched Hitler’s Valhalla mentality entirely82 For him, the demand altered nothing. It merely added further confirmation that his uncompromising stance was right. As he told his Party leaders in early February, he felt liberated as a result from any attempts to persuade him to look for a negotiated peace settlement83 It had become, as he had always asserted it would, a clear matter of victory or destruction. Few, even of his closest followers, as Goebbels admitted, could still inwardly believe in the former. But compromises were ruled out. The road to destruction was opening up ever more plainly. For Hitler, closing off escape routes had distinct advantages. Fear of destruction was a strong motivator.
Some of Hitler’s leading generals, most notably Manstein, had tried to persuade him immediately after Stalingrad that he should, if not give up the command of the army, at least appoint a supremo on the eastern front who had his trust. Manstein was the obvious candidate for the post of ‘Supreme Commander in the East’. But Hitler was having none of it. He knew, he said, no commander whom he could trust to take such a command84 Probably, as Guderian suspected, Manstein was too independent and forthright in his views for Hitler. After the bitter conflicts over the previous months, he preferred the compliancy of a Keitel to the sharply couched counter-arguments of a Manstein85 It meant a further weakening of Germany’s military potential. But Hitler’s instinctive reaction to the disaster at Stalingrad was not to concede anything; he had to wrest back the initiative on the eastern front without delay.
Manstein’s push to retake Kharkhov and reach the Donets by mid-March had been a much-needed success. Over 50,000 Soviet troops had perished86 It had suggested yet again to Hitler that Stalin’s reserves must be drying up87 His confidence boosted, he returned in mid-March from Vinnitsa to the Wolf’s Lair, as Warlimont put it, ‘with the air of a victorious war-lord, clearly considering himself and his leadership primarily responsible for the favourable turn of events in the East which had temporarily ended the withdrawal after Stalingrad.’88 When Goebbels saw him on 19 March, ‘looking extraordinarily fresh and healthy’, he was ‘very happy that he has succeeded in again completely closing the front’.89 Immediately, he wanted to go on the offensive. It was important to strike while the Red Army was still smarting from the reversal at Kharkhov. It was also necessary to send a signal to the German population, deeply embittered by Stalingrad, and to the Reich’s allies, that any doubts in final victory were wholly misplaced.
At this point, the split in military planning between the army’s General Staff, directly responsible for the eastern front, and the operations branch of Wehrmacht High Command (in charge of all other theatres) surfaced once more. The planners in the High Command of the Wehrmacht favoured a defensive ploy on all fronts to allow the gradual build-up and mobilization of resources throughout Europe for a later grand offensive. The Army High Command thought differently. It wanted a limited but early offensive. The danger of the defensive strategy, army leaders argued, was the need to commit extensive German forces to the eastern front as long as the Soviet Union posed a threat, thus weakening the defences, notably in the Mediterranean and in western Europe. Stabilizing the eastern front was, therefore, the first priority. A successful offensive was needed to achieve this. Chief of the Army General Staff Kurt Zeitzler had devised an operation involving the envelopment and destruction of a large number of Soviet divisions on a big salient west of Kursk, an important rail junction some 500 miles south of Moscow. Five Soviet armies were located within the westward bulge in the front, around 120 miles wide and 75 miles deep, left from the winter campaign of 1942–3. If victorious, the operation would gravely weaken the Soviet offensive potential.90
There was no question which strategy would appeal to Hitler. He swiftly supported the army’s plan for a decisive strike on a greatly shortened front – about 150 kilometres compared with 2,000 kilometres in the ‘Barbarossa’ invasion of 1941. The limited scope of the operation reflected the reduction in German ambitions in the east since June 1941. Even so, a tactical victory through destruction of the Soviet bulge centred on Kursk would have been of great importance. It would, in all likelihood, have eliminated the prospect of any further Soviet offensive in 1943, thereby freeing German troops for redeployment in the increasingly threatening Mediterranean theatre. The order for what was to become ‘Operation Citadel’, issued on 13 March, foresaw a pincer attack by part of Manstein’s Army Group from the south and Kluge’s from the north, enveloping the Soviet troops in the bulge.91 In his confirmation order of 15 April, Hitler declared: ‘This attack is of decisive importance. It must be a quick and conclusive success. It must give us the initiative for this spring and summer… Every officer, every soldier must be convinced of the decisive importance of this attack. The victory of Kursk must shine like a beacon to the world.’92 It was to do so. But hardly as Hitler had imagined.
‘Citadel’ was
scheduled to begin in mid-May. But, as in the previous two years, significant delays set in which were damaging to the operation’s success. These were not directly of Hitler’s making. But they did again reveal the serious problems in the military command-structure and process of decision-making. They arose from disputes about timing among the leading generals involved. On 4 May, Hitler met them in Munich to discuss ‘Citadel’.93 Manstein and Kluge wanted to press ahead as soon as possible. This was the only chance of imposing serious losses on the enemy. Otherwise, they argued, it was better to call off the operation altogether. They were seriously worried about losing the advantage of surprise and about the build-up of Soviet forces should there be any postponement. The heavy defeat at Stalingrad and weakness of the southern flank deterred other generals from wishing to undertake a new large-scale offensive so quickly.94 Colonel-General Walter Model – known as an especially tough and capable commander, which had helped make him one of Hitler’s favourites, and detailed to lead the 9th Army’s assault from the north – recommended a delay until reinforcements were available.95 He picked up on the belief of Zeitzler, also high in favour with Hitler, that the heavy Tiger tank, just rolling off the production lines, and the new, lighter, Panther tank would provide Germany with the decisive breakthrough necessary to regaining the initiative.96 Hitler had great hopes of both tanks. He gave Model his backing.
Manstein equivocated. Kluge now came out in favour of Zeitzler’s plan. Guderian, supported by Speer, opposed it, pointing out that the known deficiencies of the Panther could not be ironed out before the offensive, and that, in any case, reserves should be spared for the priority of preparing to repel the inevitable invasion the following year in the west. When, a few days later, Guderian tried to persuade Hitler that an offensive that year in the east was unnecessary, he had the impression that the Führer was non-committal. Perhaps Hitler was indeed getting cold feet about the operation by this time. Or, perhaps, his show of half-heartedness was merely to avoid confrontation with Guderian.97 As the weeks rolled by, with further delays, the deteriorating situation in North Africa gave Hitler cause for worry. Would he need to rush troops to the southern theatre who were tied up in ‘Citadel’?98
At any rate, on 4 May, he postponed ‘Citadel’ until mid-June. It was then further postponed, eventually getting underway only in early July. Even by that date, fewer Tiger and Panther tanks were available than had been envisaged. And the Soviets, tipped off by British intelligence and by a source within the Wehrmacht High Command, had built up their defences and were ready and waiting.99
Meanwhile, the situation in North Africa was giving grounds for the gravest concern. Some of Hitler’s closest military advisers, Jodl among them, had been quietly resigned to the complete loss of North Africa as early as December 1942.100 Hitler himself had hinted at one point that he was contemplating the evacuation of German troops.101 But no action had followed. He was much influenced by the views of the Commander-in-Chief South, Field-Marshal Kesselring, one of nature’s optimists and, like most in high places in the Third Reich, compelled in any case to exude optimism whatever his true sentiments and however bleak the situation was in reality.102 In dealings with Hitler – as with other top Nazi leaders whose mentality was attuned to his – it seldom paid to be a realist. Too easily, realism could be seen as defeatism. Hitler needed optimists to pander to him – yet another form of ‘working towards the Führer’. In the military arena, this reinforced the chances of serious strategic blunders.
In March, buoyed by Manstein’s success at Kharkhov, Hitler had declared that the holding of Tunis would be decisive for the outcome of the war. It was, therefore, a top priority.103 With the refusal to contemplate any withdrawal, the next military disaster beckoned. When Below flew south at the end of the month to view the North African front and report back to Hitler, even Kesselring was unable to hide the fact that Tunis could not be held. Colonel-General Hans-Jürgen von Arnim, who had taken over the North African command from the exhausted and dispirited Rommel, was of the same opinion. Kesselring’s staff were even more pessimistic: they saw no chance of successfully fending off an Allied crossing from Tunis to Sicily once – which they regarded as a certainty – North Africa had fallen. When Below reported back, Hitler said little. It seemed to his Luftwaffe adjutant that he had already written off North Africa and was inwardly preparing himself for the eventual defection of his Italian partners to the enemy.104
In early April, Hitler had spent the best part of four days at the restored baroque palace of Klessheim, near Salzburg, shoring up Mussolini’s battered morale – half urging, half browbeating the Duce to keep up the fight, knowing how weakened he would be through the massive prestige blow soon to descend in North Africa. Worn down by the strain of war and depression, Mussolini, stepping down from his train with assistance, looked a ‘broken old man’ to Hitler.105 The Duce also made a subdued impression on interpreter Dr Paul Schmidt as he pleaded forlornly for a compromise peace in the east in order to bolster defences in the west, ruling out the possibility of defeating the USSR.106 Dismissing such a notion out of hand, Hitler reminded Mussolini of the threat that the fall of Tunis would pose for Fascism in Italy. He left him with the impression ‘that there can be no other salvation for him than to achieve victory with us or to die’.107 He exhorted him to do the utmost to use the Italian navy to provide supplies for the forces there. The remainder of the visit consisted largely of monologues by Hitler – including long digressions about Prussian history – aimed at stiffening Mussolini’s resistance.108 Hitler was subsequently satisfied that this had been achieved.109
The talks with Mussolini amounted to one of a series of meetings with his allies that Hitler conducted during April, while staying at the Berghof. King Boris of Bulgaria, Marshal Antonescu of Romania, Admiral Horthy of Hungary, Prime Minister Vidkun Quisling of Norway, President Tiso of Slovakia, ‘Poglavnik’ (Leader) Ante Pavelic of Croatia, and Prime Minister Pierre Laval from Vichy France all visited the Berghof or Kiessheim by the end of the month.110 In each case, the purpose was to stiffen resolve – partly by cajoling, partly by scarcely veiled threats – and to keep faint-hearts or waverers tied to the Axis cause.
Hitler let Antonescu know that he was aware of tentative approaches made by Romanian ministers to the Allies. He posed, as usual, a stark choice of outright victory or ‘complete destruction’ in a fight to the end for ‘living space’ in the east. Part of Hitler’s implicit argument, increasingly, in attempting to prevent support from seeping away was to play on complicity in the persecution of the Jews. His own paranoia about the responsibility of the Jews for the war and all its evils easily led into the suggestive threat that boats had been burned, there was no way out, and retribution in the event of a lost war would be terrible. The hint of this was implicit in his disapproval of Antonescu’s treatment of the Jews as too mild, declaring that the more radical the measures the better it was when tackling the Jews.111
In his meetings with Horthy at Klessheim on 16–17 April, Hitler was more brusque. Horthy was berated for feelers to the enemy secretly put out by prominent Hungarian sources but tapped by German intelligence. He was told that ‘Germany and its allies were in the same boat on a stormy sea. It was obvious that in this situation anyone wanting to get off would drown immediately.’112 As he had done with Antonescu, though in far harsher terms, Hitler criticized what he saw as an over-mild policy towards the Jews. Horthy had mentioned that, despite tough measures, criminality and the black market were still flourishing in Hungary. Hitler replied that the Jews were to blame. Horthy asked what he was expected to do with the Jews. He had taken away their economic livelihood; he could scarcely have them all killed. Ribbentrop intervened at this point to say that the Jews must be ‘annihilated (vernichtet)’ or locked up in concentration camps. There was no other way. Hitler regaled Horthy with statistics aimed at showing the strength of former Jewish influence in Germany. He compared the ‘German’ city of Nuremberg with the neighbouring ‘Je
wish’ town of Fürth.113 Wherever Jews had been left to themselves, he said, they had produced only misery and dereliction. They were pure parasites. He put forward Poland as a model. There, things had been ‘thoroughly cleaned up’. If Jews did not want to work ‘then they would be shot. If they could not work, then they would have to rot (verkommen).’ As so often, he deployed a favourite bacterial simile. ‘They would have to be treated like tuberculosis bacilli from which a healthy body could become infected. This would not be cruel if it were considered that even innocent creatures, like hares and deer, had to be killed. Why should the beasts that want to bring us Bolshevism be spared?’114