The tide was certainly turning. Now that the stupid little corporal had declared war on the Americans, it was just a matter of time. What a dangerous little idiot! Dragging the biggest industrial nation into the war in order to pander to the yellow men – who then refused to attack Stalin! Priceless! Absolutely priceless! What a clown! Lehmann allowed himself a smile but wrenched himself back to the matter in hand. “This damned heavy tank? So, what does Moscow expect this time?”
Drawn up in parade order, von Schroif listened to the over-familiar strains of the marches and waltzes played by the Waffen SS military band. He waited impatiently for a sign of the Führer. As first thirty minutes then an hour passed, the bandsmen appeared to be nearing exhaustion when suddenly there was a flurry of activity and a cloud of staff officers emerged from the unprepossessing collection of huts which comprised the “Wolf’s Lair”. In their midst was the familiar figure of Adolf Hitler.
Hitler wasted no time in approaching the spot where the three machines were drawn up, with their crews proudly standing to attention. The band played on as Hitler was introduced to the army crew of the Panzer IV. Like von Schroif and his team, the men from Army Group North had obviously performed valiantly and each was awarded an Iron Cross. The Führer exchanged some words with the crew then moved on to the team tasked with putting the Porsche machine through its paces.
It had been the week from hell for the crew from the Gross Deutschland Division. The Porsche machine had exhibited all of the signs of a seriously flawed design, not least because of the obvious problems arising from the turret being set forward, at the front of the superstructure. Turning corners was a real problem, as the combined length of the barrel and the tank made it impossible to navigate in tight spaces.
Bobby Junge had spotted that flaw straight away. Von Schroif wondered why one tank driver was instantly able to spot what hundreds of Germany’s finest engineers apparently couldn’t. As von Schroif continued his musings, once again there was a brief presentation of medals, and then Hitler moved on to von Schroif’s crew.
Hitler smiled when he was introduced to von Schroif and turned to Reichminister Albert Speer, standing at the forefront of the dignitaries and top brass.
“This is SS-Haupsturmführer von Schroif. He’s the one I’ve been telling you about... the hero of Rostov.” Turning to von Schroif, Hitler continued speaking. “A Berchtesgadener, if my memory serves me right? My neighbour across the valley from the Berghof... Maximilianstrasse, isn’t it?”
Completely taken aback by the ability of Hitler to recall tiny details, von Schroif found himself at a loss for words.
“That is correct, mein Führer... May I offer you my fondest Birthday greetings.”
Hitler’s piercing blue eyes were now fixed earnestly upon him.
“Thank you, Hauptsturmführer, but the significance of today means nothing to me. There are far more important matters to deal with. I dedicate this day to you and this fine crew. The news of your exploits outside Rostov was the finest birthday greeting anyone could offer me. I am honoured to find myself in the company of true German heroes. Siegfried himself could not have achieved what you achieved that day – that was a mighty red dragon which you slew! The Empire needs men like you, the true shield of the German people. You represent authentic German virtues, valour and courage. You have the honour of Parsifal and the goodness of Lohengrin. With men like you, Germany has no equal in the world.”
As Hitler spoke, the crew each felt themselves grow in importance. The man was mesmeric. His honeyed words seemed to produce in the listener the conviction that, despite all her enemies, Germany would prevail. The familiar conviction of belief in the final victory flooded back. How could they ever have doubted it, even for a moment?
Barely pausing for breath, the Führer continued.
“There are three types of people who inspire me to keep up my work: German farmers, German workers and German warriors, and you are the finest of the three. On behalf of the grateful German nation, it is my privilege today to bestow upon you a token of our grateful and humble thanks for your sacrifices and your courage.”
Hitler was like a hypnotist and healer combined. As he spoke, the cares of the world were lifted from the shoulders of the listener, to be replaced by the unshakeable belief that everything would get better. Every member of the crew felt the same devotion. They would do anything for this great man and this great people.
As promised by Arnholdt, Hitler stepped forward and presented the Knights Cross to von Schroif. Then, to his delight, he presented Knispel with the Iron Cross First Class. Wendorff and Junge each received the same coveted decoration.
Finally, he came to Wohl and presented him with the Iron Cross Second Class. Wohl seemed to grow in stature. His chest swelled as, with tears in his eyes, he finally achieved some recognition from the world which had been so unkind to him. In that moment, Wohl at last felt as if he belonged somewhere. His days as a Munich street urchin melted away into history.
The day had been memorable, but the most important purpose now resurfaced as von Schroif grappled with the significance of the moment. Here in the balance lay the fate of the machine which could be the key to victory in the East and the fate of not just Germany, but also of the German people and the Führer himself.
The retreat from Rostov to the Mius had been a setback, and it was now in the interest of the whole country that the Wehrmacht regain the initiative. In modern warfare, this was a matter of material just as much as it was manpower. So von Schroif rationalised this new attitude inwardly by deciding that yes, he would take great pride and enjoyment from his meeting the Führer, but only after the trial had been won!
“It’s true”, thought Von Schroif to himself, “the man has an almost encyclopaedic memory.”
“On behalf of my crew, I thank you, mein Führer,” replied von Schroif, temporarily blown from the course he had intended to take.
“I’m sure you will drive well today,” said Hitler, “but I have a feeling that perhaps this time an inferior design might let you down.”
Von Schroif could feel the moment slipping, but he plucked up the courage to reply.
“Mein Führer, in my personal opinion, the Panzer VI we are privileged to drive today has admirable qualities and, if the tests were designed on parameters other than speed over a rally course, which, as commander in chief, you know is but a small part of the operational requirements of a panzer in the field, then I am convinced that the result will be different. I respectfully request that the trial be conducted not just on the basis of manoeuvrability, but also upon the ability of each machine to overrun its opponents. My experience at the front tells me how important this factor is; we almost lost our battle with the enemy outside Rostov as a result of our inability to overrun a small tractor and an anti-tank gun.”
“I am sorry,” interjected a staff officer. “Allow me to introduce myself. I am Oberstleutnant i.G. Borgmann. In case you have forgotten, today is the Führer’s birthday. We just don’t have the time to conduct another trial.”
But the Führer, with a gentle wave of his hand, brushed this consideration aside. “I think, gentlemen, that the welfare of our men on the Eastern Front is of more import than whether my birthday cake remains undisturbed for another hour or two!”
The assembled group burst into sycophantic laughter, all except Oberstleutnant i.G. Borgmann. Von Schroif made a mental note to find out more about this gentleman.
“Regrettably, Hauptsturmführer, time is against us,” said Borgmann, “and there are also the immutable laws of economics. It has been my painful duty to inform the Führer that the designs of Dr Porsche, and also Henschel and Sohn, suffer from engine failures, and I’m sure you don’t need that outside Rostov.”
“We need a better overrun capability,” said von Schroif, stubbornly sticking to his point.
“I have no doubts about that, Hauptsturmführer, but we would require dynamic and conclusive proof that this expensive and untrustworth
y vehicle has that ability. If it doesn’t run, it can’t overrun,” said Borgmann smugly.
There was more laughter, but von Schroif noted that Hitler did not join in. There was the faintest glimmer in his eyes, which von Schroif interpreted as a communication from soldier to soldier.
“But the overrun is an important part of the armoury,” ventured von Schroif.
Borgmann was quick to counter von Schroif’s argument. “No buts... we have very limited time, and the parameters have been set and cannot be changed.”
Not surprisingly, with Knispel on the team, the gunnery tests had given the Henschel design the clear lead, but today was to be a speed trial, and mechanical reliability was what was required. They had been taken through the four kilometre course, with a number of nasty twists and bends.
As they climbed back inside the Möbelpackwagen for what could be the last time, the first thing, as always, that struck all of them was the space compared to the cramped interior of the Mark IV; it was a veritable cathedral, it was wonderful! It was amazing even with 100 Acht-acht rounds aboard!
Bobby Junge sat down in his seat and ran his hand along the various controls, levers and switches. It was heart-breaking to have come so close, but even Bobby Junge with his rally driving skills could not perform miracles. They could possibly beat the Porsche, but they could never hope to beat the Krupp. The Mark IV had been given a slight handicap and would not start until both Mark VI prototypes had covered 500 metres, but it was certain to finish the course first.
Junge was now back in rally mode. As soon as the signal was given they started off. The two heavy tank prototypes seemed to have the measure of each other, but then the Porsche model began to pull away.
“What’s wrong, Junge?” asked von Schroif.
“I can only get her up to twenty-five, sir, and she’s starting to heat up.”
Von Schroif and Michael grimaced as they watched the Porsche prototype edge ahead.
“She’s doing nearly thirty,” added Bobby.
The test was only a short four kilometre speed test, two kilometres out and two kilometres back, and it looked like it was soon to be all over. The Henschel machine was destined to be still-born, and with it, the whole of the Mark VI project.
However, as they started to reach the turn, von Schroif could see the deficiency in the other tank; it lumbered and slowed when it had to make the turn. The Henschel on the other hand completed the turn in what seemed like half the time and space and actually came out ahead! So this is what Arnholdt meant! The regenerative steering final drive gearbox, that’s what gave it its manoeuvrability!
“Well done, Bobby Junge!” cheered Michael Knispel, who for once was really along for the ride, but he seemed to have spoken too soon as the Porsche came out of its turn and started to catch them and finally overtook them. The one thing the Porsche did have was an amazing turn of speed.
“Junge, give her everything, we’re on the final straight!”
The Mark IV had not yet made up enough ground and it suddenly looked as if they might do it.
“Right, Junge”, said von Schroif, “let’s show the world what she can do!”
“There’s nothing left and she’s getting hotter. If I don’t slow her down, the engine is going to melt!”
Junge’s words came like a dagger to the heart, but from his experience at the front, von Schroif knew to trust Junge’s judgement. There was no point in countermanding him, so he came to the only decision he could.
They came towards the brow of the final hill, watching the Mark IV as it gradually pulled level. They reached the brow neck and neck with the Porsche and were about to charge down the final slope together when there came an almighty bang and the Porsche stopped dead in its tracks, a cloud of smoke issuing from the engine deck.
“Slow her down, Junge,” ordered von Schroif.
“It’s worse than that, sir. We’re going to have to stop now, or no one will be able to drive this bus again.”
With a heavy heart, von Schroif gave the order. With only 350 metres downhill to the finishing line, the Henschel came to a halt, perched on the brow of the steep hill.
Von Schroif could see the Mark IV pull past the finish line, then turn broadside on before the victorious crew members piled out and went to meet the dignitaries. The nodding of heads and smiles told their own story; they signalled general agreement among the chiefs of staff and dignitaries. The consensus was that they would move ahead with the Mark IV. He hung his head when he saw the disappointment on Kurt Arnold’s face. He felt that he had let him down.
As the Mark IV crew reached the dignitaries, a ripple of applause reached the dispirited men sitting despondently inside the Henschel. Behind them there was even greater disappointment for the Porsche crew, who were now fighting a small fire in the engine compartment. The crew sat dejectedly in their places, listening to the sound of the rapidly cooling engine.
Eventually Bobby Junge broke the long silence. “That wasn’t a fair fight. There’s much more to this machine than running around a damn rally track.”
“Damn right!” said Michael Knispel. “With this bus we could have overrun every anti-tank gun in Russia... Now what?”
“I assume its back to tin cans again. At least we’ll have the new Kampfwagenkanone,” said Wohl, glumly accepting the result.
“Yes, indeed, but that’s no consolation,” thought Von Schroif. “The Acht-acht is what is really needed.” It just wasn’t a fair fight, and that irked him.
Knispel was now warming to his theme. “If only we could have had an overrun test... the very mass of this beast is a real weapon. Junge could crush T-34s and save Reichminister Speer the ammunition,” said Knispel in obvious frustration.
Suddenly, a very dark thought dawned on von Schroif. “Knispel, you’re right.”
“Thank you, Hauptsturmführer, but, right or not, we have to give up now.”
“We’re not giving up that easily,” said von Schroif. There is still one part of the test to go...”
“What do you mean, sir?” asked Junge.
“Prepare for overrun attack!”
As the Mark IV crew lined up for photographs with the Führer and his entourage, and the flash bulbs popped, a Propaganda Kompanie crew appeared and a film camera turned over as they began to interview the successful crew.
Von Schroif could hear a fresh round of applause for the victors and it felt like a knife cutting into him once more. He took a deep breath. Hitler was not only the chancellor, but head of the German armed forces. What he was about to do was the biggest risk of his career and the supreme commander may well have a different opinion. This was going to be an unspoken dialogue between two military men about what was best for the German soldier.
“Is the engine cool enough, Junge?” asked von Schroif.
“Just about,” replied Bobby. “It’s downhill. We are not going to be running now, we are going skiing!”
“Can we do it, Wendorff?” barked von Schroif.
“What can you get her up to, Junge?” asked Wendorff.
“On this slope, probably forty kilometres per hour...”
“So what do you think, Wendorff?” asked von Schroif impatiently.
“Well, the math is simple. Forty multiplied by sixty tonnes... yes, that should do it.”
“Alright, I order we do it... If we fail, it’s a punishment battalion. This could go spectacularly wrong. Anyone who is not needed for the demonstration must now dismount and leave with his honour intact.”
There was no movement.
“Knispel, Wendorff, Wohl... I order you to dismount.”
Nobody moved.
“That’s an order,” said von Schroif solemnly.
Still nobody moved.
Finally, Wendorff spoke. “There seems to be a problem with the intercom, sir. We can’t hear you.”
“As you wish, gentlemen... Start her up, Junge.”
The noise of the Maybach engine being revved up halted the conversation in the
Führer’s entourage. All eyes turned towards the heavy panzer perched at the top of the hill. Suddenly it lurched forward and began to pick up more and more speed as Bobby Junge expertly ran through the gears. The group watched in puzzled silence as the heavy panzer sped towards the Mark IV. Gasps of consternation were emitted as the realisation dawned that there was about to be a collision. The Henschel was now speeding down the slope. Inside the speeding tank, all eyes were on the Mark IV, which they were fast approaching.
“What are we doing?”
“Fifty-five,” said Wohl. “Hold tight, here we go!”
As sixty tons of steel crashed into the lighter machine, the box structure of the main hull immediately gave way and collapsed inwards. The turret was forced from its mounting ring and the far side hull was forced outwards, leaving the Mark IV a flattened heap of junk.
Alerted by the sound of the crash, the assembled staff officers turned as one, but no one spoke. They simply could not believe what they were witnessing. They watched open-mouthed in stunned silence as the Henschel machine reversed over the wreckage, crushing the turret, then turned towards them before rolling swiftly forward and finally drawing up in front of the Führer. As the heavy tank drew to a halt, von Schroif jumped down from his hatch and saluted the Führer.
“Birthday greetings, mein Führer... overrun test completed.”
Suddenly the cameras and the Propaganda Kompanie movie crew were focused on von Schroif and his crew.
“It was certainly conclusive! Germany needs men of action,” replied the Führer. “With this combination – you, your men, and this fine new tank – I think we may have something for the untermensch to think about. But husband this new weapon carefully. It may have many opponents, but it will have a few brothers.”
“We will, mein Führer,” replied von Schroif.
“We will have to find a soldier’s name for this beast... do you have one in mind?”
“Yes, my Führer”.
Tiger Command! Page 7