**The entry in Barsewisch’s diary for 29th August is revealing in its reflection of the ‘nothing we can do about the command situation now’ view expressed by Guderian in his letter of 18th August mentioned above. While the entry for 15/16 September says ‘Alone with Guderian on one of his serious themes – Clausewitz, Moltke and Schlieffen, appointments at OKH and in the General Staff – so that everything about us seemed to stand still for an hour’.
*It is, perhaps, noteworthy if only coincidental that a high proportion of Guderian’s supporters were sent to North Africa about this time. Bayerlein had gone, Stauffenberg went in October, Nehring and Liebenstein in 1942.
9 The Road to Lötzen
Gradually the world and, last of all, Germany became aware of the wholesale dismissal of the military leaders who so recently had won such terrific victories. Among the thirty who went only Brauchitsch’s removal was given much publicity, and that in order to boost the Führer’s reputation as the new C-in-C. Guderian’s sacking, announced almost at once to his own Second Panzer Army by an Order of the Day and repeated with distress by successive lower formation commanders, was withheld from the public, so that by the time more people came to hear indirectly that one of their heroes was no longer in office, fresh champions had been elevated by the propagandists. One of these was Erwin Rommel whose riposte in Cyrenaica in January 1942, after a serious set-back at the hands of the British at the end of 1941, did much to distract attention from those things which had gone wrong in the Russian theatre of war.
Guderian cared little about the loss of personal publicity. When a journalist began research for a potted biography, he had written words of caution to Gretel, in September 1941, asking her to withhold intimate material: ‘I would not under any circumstances like becoming involved with propaganda à la Rommel’. But when one has become accustomed to working at full throttle and living expensively upon nerves and physique in conditions of high tension and discomfort over a period of years, a sudden relaxation along with inactivity can be as physically damaging as if full stress was maintained. In Guderian’s case a heart condition appeared in March and got worse the following autumn. Simultaneously strains of another sort were substituted for those of battle and persuasion which had buffeted him most. Alongside a nagging patriotic concern over the waning state of Germany’s fortunes, grew knowledge of a new peril, the realisation that he was being watched by several kinds of inquisitive people – by the agents of Nazidom, on the one hand, as they investigated his reactions to punishment; by historians who searched for information of an academic kind; and later by the emissaries of a resistance movement who probed his willingness to join their conspiracy. Furthermore Gretel caused him worry when she was confined to bed for several months in the spring with malignant blood-poisoning. In this state of anxiety Guderian half-heartedly hunted for repose in the sun, for a small house near Lake Constance. There seemed little else to do since, in September 1942, he was told that Hitler looked unfavourably on a suggestion by Rommel that he was the best man to take command of Panzer Army Afrika. But since there was no intention of employing him again Hitler, by recompense, offered him land in the Warthegau, once part of Prussia, and retaken from the Poles by conquest in 1939. This was put forward as a national donation to one who, when the Russian campaign seemed all but won on 17th July 1941, had been honoured with the rare Oak Leaves to the Knight’s Cross. He accepted and in October 1942 took possession of 2,500 acres of good farmland at Deipenhof. Post-war accusations as to Guderian’s cupidity led him to justify the deal in Panzer Leader on the grounds that, since his home in Berlin had been bombed, he had nowhere else to go. His son is more explicit in denying any suggestion of profit but frankly stating that the return of the family to the homeland and the policy to strengthen the German population in the Warthegau were problems of which the family was conscious.
It is instructive to observe the fervour with which he approached the traditional role of a land-owning Junker. Partly, it seems, he wished to occupy, and thus relax, an active mind, but additionally the change in occupation was welcome for the opportunity it gave of indulging in family life. With the barest rudimentary knowledge and little enough preparation, apart from study in books, he began stock holding and breeding, throwing in the same wholehearted enthusiasm that he had given to soldiering – projecting his objectives far into the distance and planning with meticulous thoroughness. His letters of instruction to Gretel abound with administrative directions. Sheep and cattle were to be the staple of Deipenhof’s economy. The presentation of a prize bull (named Panzergrenadier) by the farmers of Schleswig-Holstein got him off to a good start. He learned the basic rules and, as usual, was filled with optimism. It is endemic that soldiers, the world over, tend to harbour a sublime belief in the value of a military career for teaching good husbandry. Though the statistics of bankruptcy show grimly against them, there are always retired Servicemen ready to try their luck. Whether or not Guderian would have prospered where others had failed neither time nor events would allow. The war intruded.
He never quite gave up hope of a recall to command – hope, after all, was the last thing he ever abandoned. In September, in the course of final negotiations about Deipenhof, he called wistfully on Bodewin Keitel. But once more Gretel s kinsman told him that the chances of re-employment were poor, worse than ever. Bodewin might be the brother of Wilhelm, but his influence counted far less than before and within a matter of a few days he was to be replaced by Schmundt. As Germany’s fortunes slipped into decline, power fell into the hands of men who were hostile to the old order. The revolutions of 1919 and 1933 were at last bearing full but sour fruit. By this time, moreover, it was well known that, within the inner circles of Government, the slightest false move in opposition by an Army officer could lead, at the very least, to instant dismissal. Jodl had experienced a narrow escape in September 1942 and, after a painful rebuff by Hitler, had confided to Warlimont that ‘… one should never try to point out to a dictator where he was wrong since this will shake his confidence …’ And Warlimont himself had been temporarily relieved of duty by Wilhelm Keitel in November 1942 for an intervention in support of a Duty Officer, a Major who had withstood Hitler in an effort to defend Rommel’s integrity: ‘… only by the skin of his teeth’ did that major ‘escape being shot within ten minutes’, writes Warlimont.
Henceforward the slightest direct resistance to Hitler by an Army officer was fraught with dire retribution. Therefore common sense stood on the side of those who, like Guderian, chose mainly indirect methods of opposition, seizing rare propitious moments for direct confrontation. What use was there, they could argue, in needless self-sacrifice when, by currently playing softly, they might later find an opportunity to influence affairs by subterfuge? Gretel’s advice ‘The Fatherland will need you later on, the moment has not come’ held as good in 1942 as it did in 1919.
An overriding fear among the generals was the growth of Himmler’s SS. The original Waffen SS units had sprouted into a large private army composed of divisions which soon would compose corps and eventually armies. Even Göring’s Luftwaffe, though it faced eclipse in the air because its technology was falling behind that of its opponents, continued to benefit from immense prestige. The SS and Luftwaffe, rich in the favour granted to Nazi-orientated organisations, absorbed the best of the manpower and had first pick of industrial resources. Only towards the end of 1941, when the catastrophe prophesied by von Schell was imminent, was the Army given equal production priority with the Luftwaffe.
The eventual defeat of Russian and British offensives in the winter of 1941/42 revived German hopes, of course, and led to further deep German penetrations the following summer which carried them to Stalingrad, into the Caucasus and to within a few miles of the Suez Canal at El Alamein. But none of these achievements brought a conclusion – quite the opposite. A universal halt in the autumn was rapidly followed by reverses in winter. First the British blow at El Alamein, conjoint with Allied landings in n
orth-west Africa, threw the logistically impoverished Axis forces back into Tunisia. Then a Russian counter offensive led swiftly to the isolation of the Stalingrad garrison and the eventual evacuation of the Caucasus. These catastrophes, accompanied by minor Hitlerian repressions, such as those mentioned above, and by his perpetual vacillations, threw a heavy strain upon the Staff. Life for Haider became unbearable and it was a relief to almost everybody when he was sacked on 25th September and replaced by the very junior Generalleutnant Kurt Zeitzler. Zeitzler was reputed to be sympathetic to Hitler and undeniably possessed a virtue much prized by the Führer – supreme optimism. Almost at once he gave to Hitler what all new Chiefs of Staff felt bound to do – a concession by the Army. In his case it was the promulgation of the Hitlerian qualifications for a staff officer:
‘I require the following from every Staff Officer: he must believe in the Führer and in his method of command. He must on every occasion radiate this confidence to his subordinates and those around him’. Nobody challenged it.
Also in the manner of his predecessors Zeitzler rapidly came into collision with his Führer over both operational and administrative policy. Hitler decided personally to influence key Army postings and took direct charge of Bodewin Keitel’s Personnel Office. But although Bodewin was no longer able to help Guderian, this was not cripplingly disadvantageous. Guderian remained on good terms with the powerful Schmundt, whom he rated a genteel and sound officer, and continued to enjoy useful relationships with influential members of the Waffen SS and Luftwaffe. In 1942 Sepp Dietrich, an old landsknecht and Freikorps man, had gone out of his way to tell Hitler that Guderian had been unjustly treated in December 1941 and, early in 1942, had publicly demonstrated feelings of respect for his old commander. Guderian reciprocated. Dietrich, to him, was the personification of the men whom, in 1919, he had regarded as ‘the real fighters’ and ‘Germany’s last hope’. He cared not at all if this contributed to his reputation as a Nazi sympathiser.
So Guderian had friends as well as enemies at court, though it is doubtful if the enemies were anything like as all-powerful as sometimes, without stating names, he implies in Panzer Leader. Inevitably there were those with vested interests who resisted him: he was uncomfortable company among traditionalists and the memory of his single-minded assault on Cavalry, Infantry and Artillery sensibilities besides his rudeness to those, such as the members of the Training Department, who had obstructed him, were never forgiven. Officers whose susceptibilities had suffered and who, at last, had seen what they took to be his back, were not in the least bit anxious for his return. Besides, the gunners, quite sincerely, believed they had at last discovered a way to recover their old predominance. Not only had they equipped themselves with a kind of tank – the armoured assault guns – but they were in possession of a new type of low-velocity anti-tank shell, that worked on the hollow charge principle, which, they told Hitler, might make the tank obsolete overnight. They overlooked, somewhat, the problem of hitting pin-points with low velocity projectiles – but Hitler was enthused and that was what mattered.
Tank production and development reacted as much to the seesawing of Hitler’s whims and uneducated assessments as did strategy and tactics. Like a great many politicians he was content to leave well alone until something obviously had gone wrong. Crash-remedial action was then demanded to solve the crisis. Foresight was at a premium. That the appearance of the Russian T 34 tank in July 1941 had hardly registered its danger is recorded above. Not until these machines appeared in large numbers, three months’ later, was serious notice taken of Guderian’s initial warning and a concentrated effort made, in November 1941, at Guderian’s desperate insistence, to hasten the current, lethargic pro-gamme of re-equipment. He had pressed for more powerful tanks and, in addition, for self-propelled anti-tank guns – Panzerjägers. This brought astonishing retort in a letter from OKH, T only regret that the demand was not made six years ago. We should now be in a different position’. This, as Liebenstein wrote, was received by Guderian as a personal insult: ‘There is no other officer who has fought harder than he for better tanks. His demand for 40mm armour was refused years ago and the same can be said over armament – 50mm guns were demanded before 1934’.
The rebuff before Moscow galvanised Hitler in all manner of ways, tank development being but one of them. Being Führer he now demanded instant miracles – increased production and a new, much more powerful tank to defeat the T 34. In January 1942 he was presented with the design of a tank that, it was hoped, would outmatch T 34’s successor – a new medium tank, known as VK 3000, a machine which eventually would weigh 45 tons and, with its long 75mm L 70 gun, be called ‘Panther’. In addition the heavy tank, based upon Guderian’s prewar conception of a ‘Break-through Tank’ and projected in 1939, was hastened into production: this would be ‘Tiger’, weigh 56 tons, and be armed with the 88mm L 56 gun. But long before these heavily armoured tanks could be put into production (a few Tigers were ready by the autumn of 1942, the first Panthers in the spring of 1943) something had to be done to restore the tank balance in 1942. This, in fact, was quite easily achieved by increasing the armour – in 1943 80 mm was barely sufficient on the original Pz Ills and IVs – and re-arming them, respectively, with a long 50mm (L 60) and a long 75mm (L 46) gun. In addition the number of self-propelled guns - Panzerjägers, Sturmgeschütz and artillery – were to be increased to give closer armoured assistance to the infantry and to stiffen anti-tank defence. These machines were based on existing chassis – both obsolete and new.
This vast programme – the sort which had been rejected as impracticable in the summer of 1940 – incurred enormous outlay since increases in the production of existing tanks progressed alongside the development of new machines with radical specification. But introducing new models meant disrupting and then stopping present production. In December 1942, as the panzer divisions came under intolerable pressure in Russia and the Allied effort built up to unprecedented heights in what was, predominantly, a tank war in North Africa, Pz III was taken out of production. At first Hitler followed the advice tendered to him by the officers who represented tank interests at the higher levels of command and by the leading industrialists. They laid down the philosophy that tank design should be based, in order of priority, on armament, speed and armour. This in no way contradicted Guderian’s beliefs, even though he worried that many of the army officers involved ‘did not have a clear conception from their own experience of the development of modern panzer forces’. Unfortunately neither these officers nor the industrialists were complete masters (or mastered) within their own house. On 8th February 1942 Dr Todt had been killed in a crash and his place as Minister for Armaments taken by Hitler’s favourite – the architect Albert Speer. Speer was a remarkable man and a superb organiser, but he knew nothing about tanks or any other sort of weaponry. He had to lean on experts, and the experts had vested interests. For example, industrialists vied with each other to favour their pet concepts and designs. In a competitive trial between two tank types anything might happen: it was quite customary for materials of ridiculously high quality to be used in a test vehicle, well knowing that the production machine could not be similarly supplied. And if a maverick designer of the verve and ambition of, to quote the supreme example, Dr Porsche, did not get his way in committee or by trial he was perfectly capable of making a direct approach to Hitler, whose susceptibilities to the gigantically dramatic were familiar.
In consequence, throughout 1942 and despite the agreed order of priorities laid down in January, Hitler indulged in the habitual game of digression. Some off-hand mention of a new threat or idea would stimulate fresh fears. The product might be discussions about a host of counter-projects, some sound, many fanciful and useless, with the danger that bad things could be initiated. Yet by the skin of its teeth and the dedicated efforts of the commonsense few, the central programme was maintained and improved. Battleworthy tanks began to reach the troops at the front. Even so, in October 1942,
total production of Pz IVs was only 100. Appalling wastage in an overstrained and badly organised industrial base was compounded by a multitude of different permutations of self-propelled gun. An extraordinary number of variations, along with redoubled armour thicknesses, were tried in efforts to defeat every sort of enemy attack. Work went ahead on a tank weighing well over 100 tons and there was talk of a truly bizarre monster weighing 1,000 tons. While Speer successfully carried out a rapid and amazingly effective reorganisation of industry, he was quite unable to control its products because nobody could curb Hitler’s military intuition at its most fantastic. A moment was to arise in February 1943 when the panzer divisions in Russia, recoiling before the storm of the Russian offensive, could muster, on average, a mere 27 tanks each. And yet by common consent, and despite the gunners’ fond expectations, the tank obstinately provided the key to survival in mobile warfare fought over vast frontages.
Guderian writes in Panzer Leader that ‘… the few men of insight in Hitler’s military entourage began to look around for someone who might be capable, even at this late hour, of staving off the chaos that threatened us all. My prewar writings were placed on Hitler’s desk and they managed to persuade him to read them. It was then proposed to him that he send for me. Finally they succeeded in overcoming Hitler’s distrust of my person to the extent that he agreed to listen to me at least once.’ A slight mystery surrounds the names of the officers concerned but all, in fact, is made clear by an entry on 28th February 1943 in the official diary of the Chief of the HPA – by now Schmundt who had taken over from Bodewin Keitel:
‘Chief HPA has for some time recommended Generaloberst Guderian to the Führer giving as reason that he is one of his most faithful followers in the General Staff. During long discussions on 25th and 26th February … the Führer has convinced himself that he could trust Generaloberst Guderian with this responsible post.’ General Engel also helped, but it was Schmundt, quite obviously, who carried on where von Below had failed in 1941. Guderian is right, therefore, to give the impression that it was difficult to persuade Hitler to take him back – the Führer’s deep-seated mistrust of anybody who had once challenged him was never completely dispelled. Yet Hitler was capable of a semblance of forgiveness if it suited him: Rundstedt who had been retired by him in 1938 at the time of the Fritsch crisis, had been brought back in 1939 – and Rundstedt had been forgiven in 1942 for his temerity in 1941. Moreover Hitler now felt in need of something more potent than advice. His confidence had been shaken by the failure of the operations under his personal direction. His intuition had proven fallible. He needed independent executives. On the Eastern Front he all at once gave Manstein unusual freedom of action to stem the advancing Russian armies in the Ukraine. On 20th February Manstein hurled them back upon Kharkov when their fuel ran out.
Guderian: Panzer General Page 25