Himmler was well aware how desperate their situation was. The war on the Eastern and Western fronts and in Italy was not going well. Drastic action needed to be taken to ensure the absolute loyalty of all those who defended the frontiers of the Reich and this was a heaven-sent opportunity to do so. From now on the Army would bow to the will of the Nazi Party. He also remembered his secret bio-weapons project. The V rockets had not proved to be the war winning weapons that Hitler had dreamed they would be - at least, not so far. But if his biological agents could be mounted inside them, then perhaps that might swing the balance in favour of Germany…
Between Cintheaux and St Aignan de Cramesnil, Normandy 1225 8/8/1944
Hofheinz stared out at the view in front of him, slowly scanning the horizon. From where he sat in the turret of his Tiger he could clearly see the terrain spread out, as flat as a pancake in all directions. Over to his left, no more than a few hundred meters away, lay the Falaise to Caen highway, shielded by some trees. Up ahead in the distance he could see a few small buildings on the other side of the highway, the village of Gaumesnil. The dusty road ran straight as an arrow almost due north. To his right the gently rolling open farmland stretched out into the hazy distance, villages basking in the glorious sunshine of a late summer’s day, cornfields ripe with grain. In the foreground several buildings clustered around a small farm that indicated where the tiny hamlet of Robertmesnil lay. It all looked so peaceful, a beautiful setting for a landscape by one of those French impressionists - he could never remember which one. But equally he knew that appearances could be very deceptive, especially with regard to hidden danger. To his north, that was where trouble lay. That was where the enemy positions were thought to be, but nobody was completely sure. There were some reports of Canadian armour beyond the road, over to the west, but he could see nothing from where his Tiger sat. The orchards and copses that surrounded the strung- out villages of Cramesnil and St Aignan de Cramesnil looked peaceful enough, devoid of any signs of the enemy, even after a careful, thorough examination of the area using his high- powered binoculars. If the reports were correct the area was only loosely held by Scottish infantry, with possibly a few tanks in support - nothing that would cause too much trouble for the Tigers of the 101st Schwere Panzer Abteilung, and their 12th SS Panzer comrades.
The unwelcome news they’d received during the night was that the British and Canadians had broken through the front line defences, roughly eight kilometers north of where his unit lay in reserve. They had decided to attack under the cover of darkness a most daring and unexpected event, something that the cautious and conservative British general Montgomery was not noted for doing. Despite the inherent difficulties of attacking in darkness it seemed to have worked brilliantly. The British had smashed southwards through the 89th Infantry Division’s defences, leaving most of its sub-units in tatters. Not only had the division been overwhelmed by a powerful armoured attack, but it had also been devastated by a cataclysmic artillery barrage and heavy aerial bombardment. As a result the 89th had virtually ceased to exist as a fighting formation, with some of its survivors streaming to the rear in complete disarray. The unexpected nighttime attack had caused a panic in the German defences that blocked the route to Falaise, and beyond that, Paris.
The 101st, and with it what was left of the 12th SS Panzer Division, were positioned directly behind the 89th’s front lines in case of just such an event. But all that had changed with the American attack further to the west. Two weeks ago Bradley’s troops had burst their way through 7th Army’s positions and driven southwest to reach the coast at Avranches. This was a critical development, threatening not just the whole of Brittany but also a sweeping encirclement towards Le Mans and into the rear of both German armies fighting in Normandy. If the front lines were not restored and the Americans stopped then it would mean the end of the defence of France and quite possibly the war itself. There would be nothing left between here and the western border of the Reich to stop the Allied advance. This was the reason why both units had received orders late yesterday evening to move west, in preparation for an attack to retake Avranches and cut off the Americans.
But Montgomery’s overnight attack had taken everyone by surprise and threatened a catastrophic breakthrough of its own, away from the main threat in the west. Fifth Panzer Army had acted fast. The 101st and 12th SS were hastily turned around and forced to make a laborious and dangerous journey back to their previous positions. Other units further west would have to stop the Americans. Everyone hated travelling at night, but it was the only safe way. Sleep could wait for another time. Daylight movement along roads was a certain invitation to be hammered by the enemy air forces. The Luftwaffe, despite all of Goering’s promises, was still nowhere to be seen.
It had taken them the remaining hours of the night and most of the morning to turn around and retrace their route back to where they had been based yesterday. Luckily the early morning haze had masked their movement and kept the enemy fighter- bombers away. Even so, several Tigers had overheated their engines and broken down. Most of those had to be dragged off to the battalion repair workshops, hidden in the woods just north of Potigny. The remainder, including his own Tiger, had just reached the forward positions of Sturmbannführer Waldmüller’s 25th SS Panzergrenadier regiment, the advance guard of the 12th SS Panzer. The rest of the division was probably another half hour or more behind them, struggling north along cross-country routes and heavily camouflaged to avoid enemy air detection. The eight Tigers that were immediately available were now partly concealed behind a tall thick hedge, at best a temporary cover. As far as anyone knew there were very few, if any, friendly troops to their front. Nothing substantial was ahead of them except the enemy.
A heavy droning noise made him look up. Towards the north he could see an enemy fighter-bomber approaching, circling as it spied out the land. After a few minutes of this, it began to drop coloured flares close by. Suddenly his headphones crackled. It was the boyish voice of Michael Wittmann.
‘Listen in, everybody. I’ve just been speaking to Oberführer Meyer.’ Hofheinz’s ears pricked up. Christ! It must be really serious with Meyer up at the front line. The irrepressible commander of the 12th SS was a highly decorated veteran who never shirked danger and who could always be found in the midst of a crisis, wherever it was located. He had an uncanny nose for trouble and could detect it no matter where it was.
‘We’re not going to wait for the rest of 12th SS to catch up - we’re going to attack now,’ Wittmann continued. ‘I take it that everybody has just seen the flares dropped by that enemy plane? Oberführer Meyer assures me that in a few minutes this area is going to subjected to heavy bombing. This is a standard Allied tactic which he’s seen many times before. In his words, we need to get off our arses, move out of the bomb zone and attack now!’ If they stayed where they were they could easily become targets for the bombers. Even a heavy tank like the Tiger could not withstand that sort of punishment.
‘Dollinger will lead the way in right echelon formation, with Iriohn second and Kisters third. Höflinger, you take the Caen-Falaise road, and keep von Westernhagen on your left. The two of you will cover us from that direction. I’ll be in the command Tiger just inside the line of advance. Heurich and Hofheinz will act as a reserve and bring up the rear.’ He hesitated for a moment, and then continued. ‘Everybody clear on our formation?’
He was answered by a series of clicks over the external circuit.
‘Good….Keep an eye out on those woods over to our right. I’m betting that there might be some enemy dug in over there. Let’s go. Panzers, march!’
The rumble of tank engines grew louder as they prepared to move off. Clouds of dust suddenly appeared, partially blocking the view forwards, as the treads ground their way over the dry terrain. Hofheinz shielded his eyes and waited for the seven Tigers in front of him to manoeuvre their way and smash through the cover of the tall hedge that shielded them from enemy eyes.
He was
a little concerned about the command situation. Wittmann had only recently been nominated as a troop commander of the 101 st, and while he was a brilliant and highly decorated officer with well over a hundred ‘kills’ in armoured warfare to his credit, he was still somewhat inexperienced in commanding larger formations. Hofheinz also knew that Wittmann was using Tiger number 007, a command tank, which carried more radio equipment and less ammunition, something that Wittmann disliked. The orders were decisive enough, but Hofheinz thought he could detect a hint of nervousness in his commander’s voice, as if his leader was not quite entirely sure of what he should do in the current situation. His tactics might work in the broad expanses of Russia but this was Normandy, with plenty of close cover that could hide hostile anti-tank batteries and enemy tanks easily enough. Maybe it was the loneliness of command, but for some ill-defined reason Hofheinz could not help but feel a little uneasy about Wittmann’s decision to advance so boldly into the unknown. Where was their infantry support?
The lead Tigers were now further away, advancing on a course alongside the main road. Heurich was over to his right. After a half a minute or so he gave the order to advance. Wiese, the driver, gunned the engine into life and the heavy tank ground forward with a jerk. As the Tigers left the cover of the hedgerow they had been sheltering behind an artillery barrage started to impact on the cornfields up ahead of them, up around the villages of Cramesnil and St Aignan. Almost by coincidence heavy guns to his rear began to open up, pounding the same area. The thunder of heavy explosions rent the air, mixed with the whistle and scream of shells as they arched over their advance. Smoke and dust rose in dense clouds, mixed with the burning corn. Hofheinz shrank lower into his commander’s seat. He was safe enough inside his tank, but the same could not be said any scattered Panzergrenadiers lying up there, hidden in the wavy corn. Poor bastards. He hoped for their own sakes that they had dug in deeply enough.
As the Tiger moved forward Hofheinz spotted the two senior officers, Meyer and Waldmüller, hiding in a ditch near the side of the main road. Ignoring the danger Meyer stood up and waved cheerily as the Tigers passed by, a big grin on his face. Hofheinz found it impossible to make out the words of encouragement Meyer was shouting above the noise of the explosions, but he did not need to be a lip-reader to understand the sentiment behind the expression - hit them fast and hit them hard, and don’t piss about! Meyer was the very personification of the old adage: positive action, today, not tomorrow or some other time. Hofheinz fervently hoped that the enemy was unaware of what was about to smash into them.
The woods and orchards to his right slowly drew closer. They had gone no more than three hundred meters when Wittmann gave the order to button up, and engage some tanks he had spotted on the other side of the road. Hofheinz could not see what they were shooting at from where his tank sat at the rear of the formation, but he estimated the distance to be well over a thousand meters. A few explosions later and billows of smoke started to rise, but from where he was sitting he could not make out the targets. Probably enemy Sherman tanks. They’re no match for us at long range. The lead Tigers set off again. Soon Wittmann was back on the command circuit. He reminded them to keep an eye out to the right, where he suspected the most danger would come from. No sooner had he said that when Wiese came through on the internal circuit.
‘Sorry sir, but the motor’s overheating again. We’ve got to stop and let her cool down - otherwise all you’ll have is a fused block of metal instead of an engine.’
Hofheinz swore to himself, and slid lower down into the turret. He could smell burning. The ventilators were struggling to keep the air breathable inside the tank. He could just make out the temperature dial on the driver’s bulkhead- the needle was deep into the red zone.
‘All right, driver, stop the tank, but keep the engine ticking over. Let her cool down for a few minutes. Peters, help me get the engine covers up at the back- it might help.’ Duly he reported in on the command circuit, and Wittmann clicked back in return. The 101st company commander was far too busy observing the battlefield in front of him to bother with a verbal reply.
Hofheinz and his gunner quickly exited the turret hatches and began to work on the back of the tank. As they started to raise the heavy steel covers up, the throbbing beat of aircraft engines grew louder and louder, distracting him from his task. Soon he could make out the massed formations flying directly his way, their silver fuselages flickering and glinting in the sunlight. The aerial armada flew straight on, directly over their positions and onwards, further towards the rear. A few bursts of black smoke burst among the formations, but the anti-aircraft fire was not enough to disturb or deflect the menace of their approach. Almost immediately clusters of tiny dots became visible beneath them, as a multitude of bombs sped earthwards. With a tremendous roar the ground shook as the bomb carpets opened up, dwarfing the effects of the artillery barrage. The view to the far south soon became almost completely obscured by massive pillars of smoke and spurts of flame. Dust rose in huge clouds. The sky turned black. Even from where he stood it was a terrifyingly impressive spectacle, awesome in its destructive power.
‘Thank God we’re not trying to live through that lot.’ He breathed a sigh of relief, glancing over at Peters. The gunner was open-mouthed and wide-eyed in fear and awe as he gazed at the distant explosions. Hofheinz chuckled grimly. ‘The only good news is that I think they’ve missed. If they were trying to smash our little grenadier friends from the 12th then they were at least a kilometer too far to the south.’
Peters slowly nodded, still in the grip of what he had just witnessed. Hofheinz had to nudge him to get his eyes off the view south and get him back on the job. As soon as they finished they jumped back into the tank and waited for the engine to begin cooling down to a manageable level. Hofheinz sat up in the turret and watched as the remaining six Tigers moved further and further away. Some of them had stopped again, briefly to engage a few more targets, but as before he could not make out the results. A quick glance at his watch told him it was 1240.
Suddenly he noticed a flash from his right, over from the orchards near St Aignan. Shortly afterwards there was another flash, and then several more. Up ahead the Tiger nearest to the woods began to burn. As soon as the others noticed this their turrets began to turn to the right and open fire.
It was impossible to tell the results of the return fire, but more and more flashes appeared along the dark margins of the trees. There were also rapid flashes to the front, from the village of Cramesnil. Soon a second Tiger, probably Kisters’, began to burn. Dollinger’s vehicle began to turn around in circles in the confusion of the melee. Hofheinz guessed it was either running gear damage or a smashed commander’s periscope. Then suddenly, further off to the left from across the highway, more flashes lit up the afternoon as hidden guns fired on the Tigers from an unexpected direction. It was a trap! He grabbed his headset and clicked on the command circuit, desperate to try and get them out of there. ‘This is Hofheinz. Get back! Fall back now! Enemy guns are firing on both sides of the road and directly to your front. You’re heading straight into a lethal crossfire. Pull back! Pull back!’
It was too late. Wittmann’s Tiger suddenly seemed to lurch to the left, and the turret jerked around to lie at an odd angle on the hull. Another explosion and Höflinger’s tank sat burning on the Caen highway. The last two Tigers, those belonging to Heurich and von Westernhagen, had by this time turned about and were retreating back towards his position, their guns pointing directly over the stern of each tank and firing as they moved away from the ambush.
He sat there in shock, tears of rage and frustration in his eyes. Five precious Tigers destroyed in less than ten minutes. The heart of his unit had just been ripped out, and lay bleeding and blackened amongst the burning corn. Another explosion rent the air, momentarily distracting him. Out of the corner of his eye he spotted the turret from where Wittmann’s Tiger lay smouldering. It span lazily through the air and landed with a heavy thud alongs
ide the smoking hull.
The surviving Tigers were drawing closer. It was time to retreat. He clicked on the internal circuit. “Wiese, get us in gear. We’re pulling back. Don’t tell me about the engine,’ he spoke quietly, through gritted teeth. ‘Just try and coax her back a few hundred meters back to where we were before.’
The Tiger’s engine started up with a groan. Hofheinz looked north back at where the five burning tanks lay, his vision blurred and misted over. The image would forever be printed indelibly on his mind. He doubted there would be many survivors - almost certainly none from Wittmann’s tank, and the others would probably be much the same. As the tank began to move, he suddenly thought of Max Simon. Where was he now? It would grieve him deeply to know that so many troopers and NCO’s he knew so well had found death in such an abrupt and brutal fashion. Yes, it was a fate all panzer men knew could happen. If any tank could be regarded as being indestructible, then it was the Tiger…But even so, the rapidity still shocked him to the core.
The Fall of the Father Land Page 4