Field Marshal: The Life and Death of Erwin Rommel

by Butler, Daniel Allen

  In the afternoon, because of a high fever, I began to babble the silliest nonsense, and this convinced me that I was no longer capable of exercising command. In the evening I turned the command over to Captain Gossler and . . . after dark I walked down the ridge road across Mount Cosna, back to the group command post, a quarter of a mile southwest of Headquarters Knoll.23

  On September 1 the Alpenkorps was sent to Carinthia, in southern Austria, where it spent six weeks resting and refitting—and preparing to lead an offensive against the Italians. Rommel, meantime, was able to spend part of this time in Danzig with Lucie, recovering from his wound and exhaustion.

  Like the Romanians, the Italians had entered the war on the side of the Allies motivated by pure, unadulterated self-interest. After abandoning her Triple Alliance partners, Germany and Austria-Hungary, in August 1914 (with some good reason, admittedly), the Italian government had been offered what was, in its most basic terms, a huge bribe by the Allies in early 1915. In secret clauses of the Treaty of London signed on April 26, Italy was promised the Austrian county of Tyrol and most of the Austrian coast along the Adriatic Sea in exchange for a declaration of war against Austria-Hungary, which was readily forthcoming on May 23, 1915. The Allies’ plan was to compel the Austrians to withdraw a sizeable portion of their troop strength from operations against the Russians and the Serbs in order to defend against an Italian offensive into the Tyrol.

  The result was nothing like the French and British had planned. Eleven battles were fought more or less along the line of the Isonzo River (known imaginatively as the First through Eleventh Battles of the Isonzo), which for decades had been the traditional border between the Dual Monarchy and the Kingdom of Italy. Scraps of territory changed hands, hundreds of thousands of soldiers were killed, wounded, or went missing, but the line of battle had barely moved after more than two years of fighting. Like some macabre caricature of the Western Front, trenches and dugouts were carved out, but rather than being dug out of the mud, chalk or clay of Flanders and France, these fieldworks were hacked out of ice and snow. (Some bodies are still being found, almost a century later, frozen in mountain glaciers where soldiers on both sides fought and died in below-freezing conditions.) By the autumn of 1917, however, Austria-Hungary’s ability to sustain her war effort had begun flagging, while the morale of the Italian Army, suffering from inadequate supplies, inferior weapons, and a regimen of near-brutal discipline, was close to collapse. The German General Staff, which in practical terms meant Generalfeldmarschall Paul von Hindenburg and his Quartermaster General, Erich Ludendorff, concluded that with the assistance of German troops on the Italian Front, the Central Powers could mount one last offensive, one sufficient to knock Italy completely out of the war and relieve the pressure on the Austrians.

  To accomplish this, however, von Hindenburg and Ludendorff had no intention of repeating the failed tactical formula of the Western Front—artillery bombardments days or weeks in length, followed by close-serried ranks of soldiers marching in lockstep across no man’s land, where they would be met by massive barbwire entanglements and a hailstorm of machine-gun fire, the advance halting every time an enemy strongpoint was encountered and not resuming until each one was overcome. Instead, a new tactical doctrine, known as “infiltration tactics,” would be employed. Infiltration tactics were not so far different from those the Württemburgische Gebirgsbataillon had been using for over a year, and which Oberleutnant Erwin Rommel had been refining in action. The fundamental elements of these tactics were a short, sharp, but extraordinarily heavy artillery bombardment along a relatively narrow front, followed immediately by an assault by specialized infantry units, called “storm troopers” by the Allies, but better defined by their German nomenclature: Stosstruppen—shock troopers. These soldiers, often operating in semi-independent units as small as individual companies, would probe the enemy defenses, finding and flowing around strongpoints and heavily defended positions, bypassing them—they would be overcome by succeeding waves of conventional infantry after the Stosstruppen had cut them off from their support. The storm troopers would continue to move forward, always probing for the weak spot, driving as deep as possible into the enemy’s rear areas, disrupting communications, reinforcements, and supplies.

  Seven German divisions, 750 guns and mortars, and over 100 aircraft were withdrawn from the Western and Eastern Fronts and sent to reinforce the Austrians; chlorine and phosgene gas would be employed for the first time on the Italian front. Four German and Austrian armies, all told 350,000 strong, were about to square off against three Italian armies that between them mustered just over 400,000 soldiers. The Fourteenth Army, a mixed bag of 18 German and Austrian mountain divisions, was the largest of the four, and would spearhead the attack; the Alpenkorps would be the point of that spear. The offensive began on October 24, 1916; the Italians would call it the Twelfth Battle of the Isonzo, the rest of the world would know it as the Battle of Caporetto.

  The Mountain Battalion deployed just east of the town of Tolmino, which was, along with the small city of Caporetto, Fourteenth Army’s immediate objective. Conceptually, the plan formulated by von Hindenburg and Ludendorff was the assault on Mount Cosna writ very large. The massive, rocky heights along the Isonzo River between Caporetto and Tolmino were the keystone of the entire Italian defensive line; once past those heights, in particular Monte Matajur, Monte Kuk, and the Kolovrat ridge the Fourteenth Army could sweep down onto the broad plain of the Veneto and the Tagliamento valley, and straight on to its ultimate objective: Venice.

  At 2:00 A.M. on October 24, a thousand German and Austrian guns, firing as fast as they could be reloaded and re-registered, erupted in a four-hour bombardment of the Italian defenses along the Isonzo. In a pouring rain the infantry moved out just after 6:00 A.M., the Württemburgische Gebirgsbataillon following just behind the initial assault wave, then, once the river crossing was accomplished, passing through them to take on the role of the advance guard for the Alpenkorps. Rommel’s abteilung, once again composed of three rifle companies and a machine-gun company, took the point. The ground was reminiscent of Mount Costa, steeply sloped, heavily wooded, with visibility rarely more than a few yards in any direction. The detachment first encountered Italian troops when the lead section all but walked into an enemy strongpoint and the Italians opened fire. This was the second of the three Italian defensive lines; Rommel saw immediately that, with its heavy barbwire obstacles and deep trenches, even a halfhearted defense by the Italians would make direct assault akin to suicide. While pondering his next move, Rommel noted a steep-sided gully (he called it a “camouflaged path”) running off to his left just below the Italian line. What happened next was pure Rommel.

  The well-camouflaged path along the wood’s edge gave me an idea. This path probably constituted the means of communication with the forward Italian line. . . . The path was winding and the camouflage on the south side gave such good concealment toward the up-slope and in the direction of the Italian positions that it would be difficult to identify friend or foe using it. Without enemy interference we could move over the path and be in the enemy positions inside of thirty seconds. If we moved rapidly then we might capture the hostile garrison without firing a shot. I singled out Lance Corporal Kiefner . . . gave him eight men, and told him to move up the path . . . with a minimum of shooting and hand grenade throwing. . . . [L]ong, anxious minutes passed and we heard nothing but the steady rain on the trees. Then steps approached, and a soldier reported in a low voice: “The Kiefner scout squad has captured a hostile dugout and taken seventeen Italians and a machine gun. The garrison suspects nothing.”

  Thereupon I led the whole Rommel detachment . . . up the path and into the hostile position. . . . Assault teams noiselessly widened the breach until we had fifty yards on either side of the path. Several dozen Italians, who had sought shelter in their dugouts from the streaming rain, were thus captured by the skillful mountain troops. Thanks to the heavy cover the enemy farther up th
e slope did not perceive the movement of the six companies.24

  Rommel and his men continued to move forward, by this time well in advance of the timetable set by the original operational plan. There was a very real hazard in this as German and Austrian artillery was still intermittently falling around them, the presumption being that there wouldn’t yet be any friendly forces in that area, and the shelling would serve to keep the Italians’ heads down until the German infantry arrived. Fortunately, Rommel’s abteilung suffered only a single casualty to friendly fire; of the Italians, there was little to be seen, aside from a handful of small patrols and outposts that were handily overcome. The advance up the slope was tough going, especially for the machine gunners, whose loads averaged around 90 pounds each, but by mid-afternoon Rommel’s band of mountain warriors had moved up another thousand yards and made contact with the 3rd Battalion of the Bavarian Life Guards, who had been moving up on the Mountain Battalion’s left flank. By this time the rain had stopped and the overcast was breaking up; Rommel and his men could clearly see ahead of them the Kolovrat ridge, dominated by Hill 1114, which marked the position of the Italians’ main line of resistance. The ridge was the next day’s objective, and from every indication they could see, the enemy was alert and well prepared. It was not an encouraging sight.

  That evening, Rommel was called to the 3rd Life Guards Battalion command post, where he met

  Major Count von Bothmer, the Life Guards commander, who had just arrived on the scene. . . . I reported the disposition of my six mountain companies and he then demanded that my units be attached to his command. I took the liberty of remarking that I took my orders from Major Sprösser, who, as far as I knew, was senior to the commander of the Life Guards, and that I expected Major Sprösser to arrive at my command post at any moment. Count von Bothmer replied by forbidding me to move any part of my detachment to the west or against Hill 1114, saying that this was work for the Life Guards only. Then, as a sop to us, he allowed that the units of the Württemberg Mountain Battalion would be permitted to occupy and secure Hill 1114 after the Life Guards had captured the position on October 25; or we could follow the Guards Regiment in the second line behind their thrust to the west. I told him that I would inform my commander of his actions. Then I was dismissed.25

  The encounter with Major von Bothner left Rommel “none too happy,” as he put it, although it’s unclear whether his anger was the consequence of being ordered to “hold the horses” for the Bavarians in the morrow’s attack, or von Bothner’s arrogance and aristocratic condescension. Given how dismissive—and even contemptuous—Rommel would be of aristocratic officers later in his career, and how much, even now, he thrived on combat, it could have equally been either—or both. In any event, when Major Sprösser arrived early the next morning, Rommel immediately presented him with a plan he had concocted overnight that would both thwart Major von Bothner and put the Gebirgsbataillon right in the thick of the fight.

  Rommel proposed that the battalion separate itself from the Bavarians by moving a half-mile west, and from there conduct its own assault on the Kolovrat ridge. Sprösser gave a conditional approval to the plan—Rommel would be given the 2nd and 3rd Rifle Companies and the 1st Machine-Gun Company to undertake his maneuver, with further support promised if he were initially successful. It’s fairly clear from reading “between the lines,” as it were, of Rommel’s account of this incident that while Sprösser had no interest in an open confrontation with Major von Bothner over the Bavarian’s presumption, he was less than pleased at having another, junior officer, issuing orders to his battalion, hence his willingness to endorse Rommel’s plan, however conditionally. Even with those conditions, the young oberleutnant now had what he wanted. It was October 25, 1917: what followed would be, without a doubt, the most amazing single day in the whole of Erwin Rommel’s remarkable life.26

  Rommel and his three companies moved out at first light, traversing the slope to the right so that they could come at the Italians from an unexpected direction. Using the skill he’d acquired in Romania at using dead ground to conceal movement, Rommel brought his detachment to a point less than 200 yards from the top of the ridge. Below and to his left, a fire-fight broke out between the Bavarians, who were moving up to their own assault line, and the Italian defenders atop Hill 1114. It proved to be a welcome diversion: a five-man patrol led by a junior lieutenant went forward to inspect the Italian wire obstacles and came back with not only the information Rommel required, but with a handful of prisoners as well. The Italians directly above Rommel and his men seemed little concerned by the small-arms fire off to their left and instead were content to remain in their dugouts. Hearing this, Rommel ordered the rest of his three companies to follow the same route the patrol had taken to the Italian trenches. Moving along a saddle that ran into the Korlovrat ridge proper, the entire detachment was inside the enemy defenses within minutes, and cheerfully set about taking prisoners, several hundred of them by Rommel’s count.

  The 5,400-foot peak of Monte Matajur, to the west, was the objective, and Rommel began pressing in that direction as hard and as fast as he could, exploiting the surprise of his unexpected appearance in the Italian trenches to overrun and disarm as many of the enemy troops as possible, enlarging his foothold on the ridge in anticipation of the promised support from Major Sprösser. Suddenly, the entire detachment came under heavy rifle and machine-gun fire as Italians in a support trench, along with troops farther up the ridgeline, opened up on Rommel and his men—enemy infantry could be seen massing for a counterattack a hundred yards ahead—and Rommel’s 2nd Company, sent forward to keep up the pressure on the Italians, was in danger of being overrun. Time was limited—and so were options.

  Outnumbered and outgunned—again—Rommel quickly realized that there were no good defensive solutions to his dilemma, so he did what came most naturally to him—he attacked. Once more he used his particular talent for evaluating terrain to good advantage, noting a patch of dead ground on the slope approaching the Italian trenches, where the Italians would be unable to see or fire on his troops. While his two machine guns directed a steady suppressive fire on the Italians in the lateral trench, and trusting 2nd Company to be able to hold off its attackers long enough for him to get 3rd Company into position, Rommel moved his men into that dead ground, and waited for the Italians to make another rush toward 2nd Company.

  I gave the attack signal to the 3rd Rifle and the 1st Machine-Gun Companies. While the first heavy machine gun opened up a steady fire on the enemy from its concealed position on the right, where it was soon joined by the second, the mountain troops on the left stormed the enemy flank and rear with savage resolution. Loud shouts resounded. The surprise blow on the flank and rear hit home. The Italians halted their attack against the 2nd Company and tried to turn and face the 3nd Company. But the 2nd Company came out of its trench and assailed the right. Attacked on two sides and pressed into a narrow space, the enemy laid down his arms. . . . An entire battalion with 12 officers and over 500 men surrendered in the saddle three hundred yards northeast of Hill 1192. This increased our prisoner bag on the Kolovrat position to 1,500.27

  By 9:15 A.M., just over three hours after leaving the Mountain Battalion’s lines, his detachment was in possession of a half-mile segment of the Kolovrat ridge. From there, however, Rommel could see Italian troops forming up to his left and right, preparing to attack his three companies.

  What Rommel did next went beyond bold into the brash, and possibly slightly crazy. But again his eye for terrain showed him something unusual: the support road that ran behind the Italian defenses on the ridgeline was mostly dead ground. The engineers who had blasted and excavated the road saw no reason, since it was on the side of the ridge opposite the enemy, to ensure that there were clear fields of fire onto it from the defenses above. Now Rommel saw the road as an opportunity, and was faced with a decision: should he go up or down? Up meant clearing out the Italian defenders all the way to Hill 1114, a not-at-all-
impossible proposition, for those defenders were currently quite thoroughly distracted, being heavily engaged against the 18th Bavarian Life Guards. Apparently the Italians were giving the Bavarians all they could handle, as the Guards had so far made no progress whatsoever toward the summit of Hill 1114. Down meant into valley on the far side of the ridge, into the village of Luico, where a large number of Italian soldiers could be seen milling about and the trucks of a recently arrived supply convoy sat waiting to be unloaded. Up meant achieving the day’s objective, the capture of Monte Kuk; down meant blocking the retreat of the entire defending force holding the Kolovrat ridge. Rommel headed down.

  Brushing aside a few scattered groups of enemy soldiers, Rommel and 150 or so men from 3rd Company outpaced the rest of the abteilung and burst into the center of the village, scattering startled Italians in every direction. Standing in the crossroads at the center of Luico, Rommel realized that he was effectively 2 miles behind the Italian main line of defense, and the Italians up on the ridge had no idea he was there! In the supply trucks he and his men found bread, fruit, eggs, and wine, which the hot, thirsty, and tired Württembergers happily “liberated.” Then, pulling back out of the village into what Rommel felt was a more secure position astride the road leading down from the ridge, he had his men set up an all-round defense, knowing that an Italian riposte in some form was inevitable, but from which direction was anyone’s guess.