Hans Von Luck - Panzer Commander

by Unknown

  “We've been stationed here for over a year,” he replied. “Our task is to keep the fort manned. I have no other orders.” I went with him into his bare office, where I saw a radio set.

  At a sign from me, it was put out of action by my intelligence officer.

  “Regard your self and your men as prisoners,” I told him. “Pack whatever you need; I shall have to take you with us.” Meantime, all the elements of my little combat group had appeared in the fort and searched it for weapons.I, at once, sent out patrols to the south and the southeast, which reported no contact with the enemy. I radioed to Gause.

  “Foum Tataouine occupied, garrison taken prisoner, radio destroyed, reconnaissance far to the south, no contact with enemy. Am returning to Mareth position with combat group and several vehicles in tow.” We were still a good 50 kilometers from Mareth when it became dark. I decided to stay in the middle of the desert for the night. There was little danger; the British also suspended their movements during the night. The next day, we reached the Mareth lines unmolested, and were withdrawn behind them as reserves for further actions.

  I used the opportunity to be briefed by General Gause.

  “Rommel's idea,” said Gause, "is to use the freshly equipped 21st Panzer Division in collaboration with the newly arrived lotb Panzer Division of Colonel-General von Arnim, along with all available elements of the Afrika Korps, to disrupt American concentrations, prevent an advance against the coast, and thrust as deeply as possible into the American rear.

  “Because of the Americans' complete lack of experience,” said Gause, "Rommel considers this operation to be very promising.

  The Italians are to consolidate the Mareth position and hold it by every means, although a defensive position at and west of Gabes, would have been very much more favorable because of the salt lakes. But Mussolini and the Italian Commando Supremo insisted on the Mareth position. Unfortunately, the collaboration with von Arnim didn't go very well; he likes to be his own boss,“ Gause concluded. ”Thank goodness the heavy rains are still with us, as they make it almost impossible for the RAF to be used.

  "Your battalion will reconnoiter west of Gabes to prevent our elements of the 5th Panzer Army, in the north, from being cut off.

  “Rommel's health is not good but he wants to stick it out with his men and calculates that he still has a chance if his plan is approved.” We took hope again and made ourselves familiar with the terrain, which was so different from the desert. In the Atlas Mountains, we would be concerned with passes and steep mountain tops, in the plain with salt lakes, and, further north, with cultivated land.

  “Rommel has just received a radio message from the Commando Supremo,” Gause went on, "to the effect that, owing to his poor state of health, on reaching the Mareth position, he is to relinquish command of it to the Italian General Messe, who, up to now, The End in North Africa, 1943 141 has been commanding the Italian expeditionary corps in Russia.

  Rommel can determine the date of his relief.

  “Rommel's plan seems to be aimed at two solutions: (1) either we receive, from Sicily, all the necessary materiel in tanks including the superior Tiger), antitank weapons, ammunition, and massive air support, or (2) we, try to thrust deep into the rear of the Americans, occupy the main passes, and hold up the British at the Mareth position, in order, by this means, to evacuate from Tunisia, the mass of battle-tried troops urgently needed in Europe. The second solution, unfortunately, would seem to be the most likely. Hold yourself ready for a thrust against the Americans.” While the Italians settled in to defend the Mareth position, the fully restored 21st Panzer Division moved against the Faid pass on I February 1943, to create a Starting point for the northward attack behind the American lines. The surprised and in"perien cans lost the pass and 1,000 prisoners. ced Amerithen, in the middle of February, my old division set out from the Faid pass bridgehead, to the north, and came upon elements of the 2nd American Armored Division. In hard battles, tank against tank, the bulk of this American division was destroyed and a large number of Grant, Lee, and Sherman tanks left burning on the battlefield. In its pursuit, the 21st Division managed to gain further territory against the remaining American elements, now fighting grimly. The loss of about 150 tanks and 1,600 prisoners forced the Americans to surrender, also, the important town of Gafsa, which gave us our starting point against the north.

  Combat groups of the Africa Army and the 5th Panzer Army, thrust on at once to the southwest, the west, and the north; large quantities of fuel were captured, and the Americans set fire to 30 aircraft on an advanced flying field.

  My panzer reconnaissance battalion moved up, in order to advance north out of the Gafsa area and give the Americans no chance to rest.

  From Gause, I heard that Rommel wanted to strike against T6bessa, hence, far into the enemy's rear. To the Commando Supremo, however, and also to von Arnim, tis wmed too risky; they couldn't, and wouldn't, follow Rommel's plans. So orders were given merely to thrust against El Kef, far too close behind the Anglo-American front.

  During the night of 18/19 February, I was given the task of taking the Kasserine pass in a surprise coup and of holding it

  142 PANZER COMMANDER for the following units. With the motorcycle escorts in front, I moved off before dawn in the hope of catching the Americans unawares. They were on the alert, however, and straddled us with heavy artillery fire, which was directed by observers stationed on the heights on either side of the way through the pass. I couldn't get through. Neither could a rifle regiment that was sent in against the pass.

  All the same, we took a few prisoners, who belonged to the 34th U.S. Division. We were surprised by the first-class equipment of the men, and, most of all, by the “daily ration” that everyone had on him. It was not just the bar of chocolate, the chewing gum, butter, and cigarettes, which, for us, were unaccustomed treats; we were fascinated by the printed slip that was enclosed with each package. On it was written: “You are the best paid and best equipped soldier in the world. We have given you the best weapons in the world. Whether you are also the best fighter is now for you to prove.” As we very soon discovered, the Americans had first-class tanks and antitank guns. Behind the front, large supply dumps could quickly replace any deficiency. The fact that they had no combat experience and were at a disadvantage against our “desert foxes,” could not be held against them.

  In one respect, they seemed to have the edge over their British allies: they were extraordinarily flexible; they adapted immediately to a changed situation and fought with great doggedness. I will never forget the sight of a few Tiger panzers, with their superior 88mm tank gun, knocking out one Sherman after the other, as they tried to advance through a pass to the east, and couldn't understand that they were hopelessly inferior to the Tigers. We admired the courage and 61an with which the Americans executed their attacks, even though we sometimes felt sorry for them at having to pay for their first combat experience with such heavy losses. We discovered later, in Italy, and I personally in the battles in France in 1944, how quickly the Americans were able to evaluate their experience and, through flexible and unconventional conduct of a battle, convert it into results.

  Our thrust to the north, begun so hopefully, came to a standstill, owing to the false start against El Kef on the one hand, and on the other, to inadequate supplies. In addition, after heavy downpours of rain, we made progress only with difficulty and, in the mountain valleys, we were straddled, time and again, by enemy artillery. We had to withdraw to the Kasserine pass, while in the north, the 5th The End in North Africa, 1943 143 Panzer Army started a relief attack, which failed to penetrate the Anglo-American resistance.

  At the end of February, Rommel became commander in chief of “Army Group Africa,” with the residual armies under General Messe in the south and under Colonel-General von Arnim in the north. The front was terribly long and could be manned at only a few points.

  The materiel, especially that of the Americans, was overwhelming. Rommel would
now have liked to give up the south of Tunisia and, with the remains of the Army Group, form a strong bridgehead around the city of Tunis, with the Cape Bon Peninsula, in order to start evacuating from there, at least a part of the battletried Africa Army. The plan was rejected.

  At the beginning of March, I heard from Gause that Rommel intended flying to

  “Fuehrer HQ” in order to save what there was to save. As I happened to be in reserve-my battalion had hardly any armored cars or ammunition left-I went to Rommel's command post, which was not far away.

  “May I speak to Rommel and say good-bye to him?” I asked Gause.

  “Of course, he will be glad to see the commander of his favorite battalion.” Rommel sat in his “Mammoth,” as always, with his campaign maps before him. I hadn't seen him for some weeks and was shocked at how unwell he looked. He was visibly weak, suffering from tropical disease, and completely worn-out. Still, he had that unique sparkle in his eyes.

  "Field Marshal, I have heard that you intend flying to HQ. From the state of things here, I don't think you will be coming back.

  As commander of the battalion, which was once the first to land in North Africa and has been allowed to fight every battle with you, may I, in the name of each individual member of my battalion, say good-bye to you, till we meet again, sometime, somewhere. We'll hold out here for as long as we can, always after the example you have given us." Rommel stood up; he had tears in his eye.

  What must have been going on inside this man, who had always been hard on himself and had identified himself with his men and the theater of war? I had never mentioned these tears to anyone until, long after the war and my captivity, I met his wife, Lucie, and told her of her husband's prophecy and of his tears.

  Rommel's tears, the tears of a great man now cast down, moved me as much as anything I saw in the war.

  Rommel went to a cupboard on the wall and came back with a large photograph, which showed him as a healthy and successful man.

  He signed his likeness with a dedication.

  “Here, Luck, take this in gratitude and appreciation of your brave battalion. Keep well; I hope we shall see each other again at home. God be with you.” He turned around and I left him, deeply moved.

  On 9 March, Rommel flew to Germany.

  Now, everything happened very quickly.

  Colonel-General von Arnim took command of Army Group Africa, supported by General Gause, the experienced general-staff officer in North Africa. While every day anticipating a major offensive by Montgomery against the Mareth position, we grappled with the Americans, who tried to break through from the Atlas Mountains to the coast. We had considerable losses.

  On 23 March, Monty made a move and with a tank corps, bypassing Mareth, swept over the weak Italian positions. The Mareth line had to be given up; the bulk of the artillery could not be brought back. At Gabes, the remains of the Panzer-Army Africa tried, once again, to establish itself. My battalion had to cover the western flank. Our supply sections had already been transferred to the Cape Bon Peninsula.

  Then, at the end of March, an order reached me to report at once, in person, to von Arnim. I had no idea what was wanted of me.

  General Gause received me.

  “Rommel has gotten nowhere with Hitler. We shall neither receive adequate supplies, nor does the Fuehrer want to know anything about a German Dunkirk. Rommel has been sent for treatment and forbidden to return to Africa as planned. Come, the commander in chief is expecting you.” What did von Arnim want from me? I didn't know him nor had I ever heard anything about him. A tall, slim man with sharp features awaited me.

  “Here to report, Colonel-General,” I presented myself.

  “Good to meet you, Luck. I have the pleasure of presenting you in the name of the Duce with the Medaglia dargento, a decoration that corresponds roughly to our Knight's Cross.” He pinned the order to my chest and handed me the certificate.

  The End in North Africa, 1943 145 I was naturally pleased and undoubtedly had my friends of the Nizza Battalion to thank for the decoration. Associated with the order, there was even a small monthly'pension and free first-class travel for two on all Italian railways for life.

  But von Arnim had hardly sent for me because of the order. And then it came. “Luck,- I have decided, in agreement with Rommel and Gause, that you will fly, at once, to Fuehrer HQ to lay before Hitler and explain a detailed plan for the evacuation of as many elements as possible of the Africa Army, For this, you will first fly to Rome and have the plan countersigned by Marshal Kesseiring. You will then fly on to Berlin and report to Colonel-General Guderian (chief of the general staff of the army) and General Schmundt (bead of army personnel), likewise, for countersigning. You then fly to Berchtesgaden, to Fuehrer HQ, and report to Keitel or Jodi, to be given an appointment with Hitler. Wherever you go, you will keep in contact with us through a 1,000 watt radio and a special code. General Seidemann (air chief for Africa, whom I knew well, and his wife ”Seid0frau,“ from Berlin days) will let you have his Heinkel I I 1. Departure as soon as possible.”

  “I am honored by the task, Colonel-General,” I replied, “but how should I, an insignificant frontline soldier, get anywhere with Hitler? Besides, I should like to be with my men in the final phase.”

  “We've thought of all that,” said von Armin. “The army generals are extremely suspect to the Fuehrer; even Rommel is apparently to be left out in the cold. Even after the loss of Stalingrad, Hitler sticks to his 'victory or death, but no retreat.” That means we shall now lose about 130,000 men in North Africa, too, men with the best combat experience and of high morale. Hitler is more likely to listen, if at all, to an 'insignificant' major straight from the front, if you give him a clear idea of the situation and the feeling among the men. You will travel, and appear before him, in your dusty, faded uniform. That can't fail to have an effect. The plan you are taking was worked out some time ago and provides for the proportional evacuation of the most important officers, frontline soldiers, and technicians. General Gause will discus the details with you. I wish you, and us, complete success; report daily by radio." With a shake of the hand, I was dismissed.

  Gause filled out the mission.

  “You won't be returning to your battalion, but will go to the supply base in the Cape Bon Peninsula. There, I'll send you a Fieseler Stork, which will take you to the airfield the day after tomorrow, early enough for you to set off before dawn.”

  “Kesselring, Guderian, and Schmundt have been informed of your coming. I don't know whether you will be allowed to come back to Africa, but try. Speed is of the ce; every day lost makes evacuation more difficult. All the best, Luck.” Gause handed me the “plan” in a large envelope and I was dismissed.

  I had to stop and take a deep breath; this mission was altogether too unexpected and momentous. After all the years of frontline service, here was a task that went far beyond the level of a battalion commander.

  It was not all that far to our supply base and I arrived there shortly before dark. The astonishment was suitably great when I had to tell my people that I would be flying to Germany on a I.specima mission.“ I at once notified Captain Bernhardt by radio. ”I think I may be back in a week. Keep your courage up and see that as many men as possible get back to the Cape Bon Peninsula. Give my greetings to everyone." Next day, I packed the essentials; my main baggage, including the picture of Rommel, I left behind in my command car.

  In the afternoon, the Fieseler landed at our base. Its young pilot told me I had to be on the airfield at about 5:30 in the morning, so that the Heinkel could cross the Mediterranean before Spitfires made the airspace unsafe. Then, several officers appeared from the Nizza Battalion, which had been almost wiped out and had only one diminutive patrol fit for service that was still in action. They brought along a few bottles of Chianti and handed me letters and packets for their families in Italy, which I was to take with me. In the evening, we all squatted together under the palms. No sound of battle was to be heard; everythin
g appeared so peaceful and unreal.

  It was later than I would have wished; the pilot of the Fieseler had to wake me up-we were behind schedule. One last wave from the machine and we set off as dawn was breaking. The Heinkel was standing ready with engines running; the Fieseler taxied up to the entrance hatch. The pilot, apparently a very experienced sergeant, called out to me from the cockpit: “Hurry, Major, hurry, we're late, the Spitfires will soon be there.” I had to lie flat in the nose cone and as front gunner, man the 20mm cannon; there was no other way of transporting me.

  “Are you familiar with the cannon, Major?” the pilot asked over the intercom.

  The End in North Africa, 1943 147 “Listen, we had this gun in our scout cars when you were still wetting your pants,” I replied.

  “Okay, try it out, please, as soon as we're over the sea,: we shall be flying very low,” came the pilot's voice.

  The day was dawning in the east as we lifted off with engines roaring. After a few minutes, we were over the sea, about 30 to 50 feet, I guessed, above the ufiruffied surface of the water.

  So I put in a magazine, fed it through, and pressed the trigger: nothing! I fed through again, again nothing.

  “What kind of a stupid gun is this,” I shouted to the pilot.

  I tried again and again, and finally half dismantled the cannon.

  I fed through again, again nothing. The pilot was getting anxious.

  “We need your gun in case British fighters attack from the front. Please keep trying, it's already light outside.” I was now fully occupied with the bloody gun and saw nothing, where or how high we were flying, or whether British fighters might appear out of the blue. Suddenly, the pilot drew the machine up.

  “We're getting near Sicily,” his voice came through, “soon be out of danger.” I hardly heard him; I was too busy with the cannon. And suddenly, it worked: a long burst of fire ripped through the skies.

  “Hurray!” I cried, “it's working.”