That same afternoon, Guderian, having stated to Schmundt the terms for his reinstatement in an appointment of his own design – to be called Inspector General of Armoured Troops – had an interview with the Führer. Guderian perceived Hitler’s mood of uncertainty and reports him as saying ‘Since 1941 our ways have parted: there were numerous misunderstandings at that time which I much regret. I need you.’ It is possible that, in a troubled moment, this most insincere of politicians, for once, spoke the truth. It would be equally likely that he won his way back into Guderian’s trust in the innate knowledge that a man he had previously failed to convince could be persuaded to help only by a display of warm humility and abnegation.
As the product of this meeting and a round of talks with key personalities, Guderian drafted a charter for Hitler’s signature embodying the authority which had been denied in 1938. In the opening paragraph Hitler was made to state that the Inspector General ‘… is responsible to me for the future development of armoured troops along the lines that will make that arm of the Service into a decisive weapon for winning the war. The Inspector General is immediately subordinate to me, has the status of a Commander-in-Chief of an Army, and is the Senior Officer of the Panzer Command.’ Guderian’s responsibilities, as drafted, were to include organisation and training not only over Army units but also, where appropriate, those of the Luftwaffe and Waffen SS. Close collaboration with Albert Speer was called for in the technical development of weapons, along with the creation of new formations and tactical doctrine. He was given direct command, too, over all Replacement Units of mobile troops including the home-based schools. Finally he was authorised to issue regulations. In effect he had at last achieved the aim of making a self-sufficient combat force within the Wehrmacht, endowing it with much of the military status already enjoyed by the SS and the Luftwaffe and even, as one day would prove, a small measure of political power.
Guderian’s charter looks remarkably similar to a document which had been drafted by his opposite number – Percy Hobart – in England in the autumn of 1940 when the state of Britain’s Army and armoured forces was as parlous in the wake of Dunkirk as was Germany’s in the aftermath of Stalingrad. Hobart had suggested to Winston Churchill the creation of a Commander of the Royal Armoured Corps with status equal to that of an Army Councillor and powers almost identical to those attained by Guderian. Winston Churchill’s most senior generals – Generals Dill and Brooke (both of them gunners) opposed the idea. But the Prime Minister was not prepared to override them in the same way as Hitler, though he was later to express regret at not having done so. In Britain a system similar to that which had evolved in Germany in 1938 was the result. There was also a difference in approach between Hobart and Guderian. Whereas Hobart did not feel himself fitted (for reasons of abrasive personalities) to the supreme task, Guderian never for one moment doubted that he alone was the man for the job, regardless of the opposition. Commenting on his charter after the war he wrote: ‘Disadvantageous results from this organisation are unknown to the author.’
Not everybody would have agreed with that profession of faith. The artillerists grumbled and managed to snatch the anti-tank units from Guderian’s clutches – to his unspeakable rage – but for the most part the fighting soldiers heaved a sigh of relief that Guderian was reinstated. So too did Speer who at last found himself teamed with a man with sole responsibility whose sense of urgency and system braced him in standing firmly by rational ideas and commitments. Very soon the fighting soldiers, those who mattered so much, would know that ‘Schnelle Heinz was back’ and with him the hope that the changes they had asked for would be implemented. He took post on 1st March. In a document, prepared for the Americans shortly after the war, he described the methods and organisation employed. Training and organisation were each controlled by a General Staff officer and each branch of the Panzer Command was represented by war-experienced officers, most of whom were not fit for active duty because of serious injuries … The duty of these specialists was the development of their branch and the issue of regulations written by special commissions composed of officers with fresh experience at the front. These commissions worked under the supervision of the agency for regulations at the Panzer Command School.’
By his insistence upon employing war-experienced officers, Guderian practised what he had been preaching regularly to the OKW and OKH whose senior staff officers, he maintained, were hopelessly out of touch with reality since they were innocent of active service since 1918. For his Chief of Staff Guderian selected Oberst Wolfgang Thomale, ‘an ardent tank man’ and a staff officer of immense capability. Their partnership was complete – far more, perhaps, than is generally realised. The sub-division of their duties was precise. Upon his appointment Guderian said, with a grin, ‘One of us must travel and the other run the office. I will travel!’ It is fairly obvious that Guderian regarded his appointment as of wider scope than anybody else intended. Speaking to the Americans after 1945 he said that he ‘… considered it his mission to obtain personal insight into the character of his superiors and co-workers and to make immediate proposals based on his own experience with the troops as circumstances required. Therefore the staff was billetted in the vicinity of the Führer’s headquarters and that of the Chief of the General Staff in order that he might remain in constant touch with the command of the Wehrmacht and the Army.’ At the same time Thomale set up an office in the Bendlerstrasse in Berlin, and began one of the most intensive spells of activity any chief of staff could experience, working with enthusiasm for a man he describes as ‘Germany’s best and most responsible general’.
These are not the achievements of a man who was unduly crippled by ill-health, although this factor, in connection with Guderian, has to be examined. Ill-health, frequently incurred through fatigue and a rugged determination to remain in office regardless of the consequences, has diminished the performance of many senior officers, and statesmen too for that matter. It will do so again. Hugh L’Etang, in his study The Pathology of Leadership, cites Guderian’s heart condition as a weakness, remarking, in general terms, that ‘Fatigue tends to be the fate of the ambitious, the conscientious or the idealistic. It is rarely experienced by the astute, the lazy or the clever … who may go to considerable trouble to avoid the condition’. The reader is at liberty to categorise the mildly hypochondriac Guderian, but there is little evidence to suggest that a heart condition, real as it was, detracted from his performance. When he occasionally collapsed it was usually after some marathon performance in conference when he had excelled himself. Possibly he reached this state as the result of burning himself out over the previous decade and perhaps this heightened the violence of his choler. But the production of choler in the presentation of his policy of ‘absolute frankness’ had by now become part of an act. His elder son, who was very close to his father, does not believe that the heart condition had much effect and believes, too, that his father merely performed as he would have done whatever his health. Incidentally, Guderian did not eventually die of a heart complaint.
In less than a week of feverish work a policy for tank construction and the reconstruction of the panzer forces had been hammered out for presentation to Hitler. Rationalisation was its keynote. Bizarre projects were set aside and an extraordinary scheme to stop production of the Pz IV as well as the Pz III, before the Panther and Tiger were either in full production or proven, was rescinded. In essence it proposed revised establishments for the panzer divisions, to take account of the new equipment that was coming into service, and attempted to prevent the formation of Luftwaffe and Waffen SS panzer divisions. Whereas Army panzer divisions, in theory, were to possess only 190 tanks (of which most were Pz IVs), those of the SS would be well above 200. Yet eventually all sorts of variations were implemented since the combination of war and Nazi anarchy defied a uniform system.
Without reservation Guderian supported the introduction of the long 75 and the 88mm guns. Almost any sort of increased armament was welcom
e to him, including the provision of 20mm and 75mm guns on armoured personnel carriers – the outcome of talks with the troops at the front. The most controversy surrounded assault artillery (Sturmgeschütz). Now that Guderian himself was convinced of the need for these machines, he wished only that their design should be regularised so that tank production would not suffer (rightly he appreciated that the tank with its rotating turret was a far more potent all-purpose weapon system than a vehicle with a gun that had only limited traverse), and that the whole lot should come under him. To all intents and purposes he had his way over design but the matter of command led to difficulty.
The presentation of Guderian’s plan took place before Hitler and a large gathering of interested people on 9th March – clean contrary to Guderian’s hope that he would be able to push it through a select group and thus avoid a prolonged debate with hostile, vested interests. Bureaucracy and sectionalism won after four hours of dialectic battle. At the end he collapsed and in the outcome lost control of the assault guns and failed in the attempt to veto the Waffen SS and Luftwaffe panzer divisions – his main aim being consolidation of the old and tried Army divisions instead of a proliferation of new, inexperienced ones. (It is of interest to observe Guderian’s reaction to this defeat in the pages of Panzer Leader, for while he rails at the gunners and Schmundt, he defers mild criticism of the SS and Luftwaffe who also frustrated him. In fact, he gives the impression at this point in the book that they fell into line: only later does he mention an unavailing attempt to save his point with both Himmler and the Luftwaffe Chief of Staff).
So, once more, he had to make do with second best, and then begin a long round of visits to training establishments, factories, experimental stations and, of course, the units at the front. From these numerous and all-embracing contacts, plus the flow of information accumulated by his staff, he assembled a clear picture of Germany’s failing position and the irrational methods that were being employed to counteract it. Most of all he came to understand as never before, even in the closing days of 1941, the utterly pernicious effect of Hitler and his close entourage. Though not at once admitting it, there is little doubt that, with this profounder understanding, came a delayed realisation of the reasons for much else that had gone wrong in the past. At last he could appreciate the difficulties suffered by Brauchitsch, Haider, Rundstedt, Bock, Kleist and the rest – he might even have spared passing sympathy to Kluge. But whereas Guderian made peace with most of his past opponents, unhappily he was never able to bridge the gap with Haider and Kluge. After the war, when he and Haider were in American custody, an attempt (on Guderian’s initiative) to bring a reconciliation failed because of Haider’s refusal. Death prevented a reconciliation with Kluge, though it is doubtful if an understanding was ever possible. In May 1943, in an atmosphere of latent hostility, they met for the first time since their clash of December 1941. Guderian, with bluff indifference, told Kluge – ‘my special friend’, as he once called him! -how deeply he felt about his dismissal and that he had never been given satisfaction despite the subsequent clarification of the situation as it had really been. Kluge interpreted the word ‘satisfaction’ in its strictest Prussian relation to ‘honour’ and wrote asking Hitler for permission to challenge Guderian to a duel, with Hitler to act as his second. Hitler told them, by implication, to stop behaving like children and settle their quarrel – and instructed Guderian to apologise.
Guderian’s tendency to overtrust some people, contrasting sharply with his implacable enmity with anybody found seriously wanting, was a sharp cornerstone of his character – and, in one instance in particular, has a distinct bearing upon history. As a member of the unemployed in 1942, he was tentatively sounded by the resistance conspirators asking if he would join them. General der Infanterie Friedrich Olbricht was all at once very attentive and tried to enmesh him in the plot though, at the time, Guderian could not understand why since their previous association had been distant. Schlabrendorff in his 1946 book correctly indicates that approaches were made by Dr Carl Goerdeler, von Tresckow, and General der Artillerie Friedrich von Rabenau, though Wheeler-Bennett, who leans quite heavily upon Schlabrendorff in The Nemesis of Power, is mistaken when he states that Guderian made ‘… no mention of these earlier approaches’. In Panzer Leader the contacts with Goerdeler and Tresckow are described in some detail, and that with Rabenau implied. The substance of the meetings with Goerdeler are the subject of a post-war affidavit sworn by Guderian. However, if Guderian is correct when he says that Goerdeler asserted, in April 1943, that the assassination of Hitler was not contemplated, this was an important contradiction by the conspirators. According to Schlabrendorff an abortive attempt had already been made in March, one in which he had been deeply involved – and of which he was, by 1946, the only surviving witness.
More repellant than anything else to Guderian was the disclosure by Goerdeler that the controller of the conspiracy was none other than Beck – an officer whose Christian character Guderian did not impugn but whose procrastination and incapacity for taking quick decisions seemed at variance with the requirements of a risky coup d’état. Goerdeler, described as having the ability to talk people of all kinds over, failed to charm several hard-headed, serving senior officers such as Manstein, including Guderian. But a few very senior, disenchanted officers who had been harshly treated, did join the conspiracy in 1943, while Kluge hopped on and off the fence. Astonishingly General Fellgiebel is not mentioned although he was a leading plotter and enthusiastically engaged in planning what, in due course, became known as the crucial Battle of the Telephone and Telegraph Exchanges; whereby his Signal Corps officers and men were tasked to seize control of the main communications centres which, for a few vital hours, would filter and incapacitate messages passing to and from the Wolfschanze. Guderian’s position is made perfectly clear:
‘The weaknesses and mistakes of the National-Socialist system and the personal errors that Hitler made were by then plain to see – even to me: attempts must be made to remedy them. In view of the dangerous situation as a result of the Stalingrad catastrophe and of the demand made [by the Allies] for unconditional surrender … a way would have to be found that did not lead to a disaster for the country and the people … I came to the conclusion that Dr Goerdeler’s plan would be harmful … and was, furthermore, incapable of being put into practice; I therefore declined to take part in it. Like the rest of the Army, I also felt myself bound by the oath of allegiance …’
Even so Guderian claims that, at Goerdeler’s request, he undertook to sound various generals at the front. Eventually he was compelled to report no support, but adds that he gave Goerdeler his word not to divulge their conversations, and maintains that he kept it until 1947 when he saw the matter mentioned in Schlabrendorff s book. Schlabrendorff, in 1946, stated that Rabenau had felt the need to threaten Guderian with disclosure of his involvement in the plot in order to prevent a leakage – though he did not repeat this allegation in the 1951 edition or in the 1965 book. Gretel told her elder son that Rabenau threatened Guderian’s life. In any case it shows how little the conspirators understood Guderian if they imagined he could be silenced in that way – or that it was necessary to threaten once he had given his word.
None of those generals who were contacted, and who refused to commit themselves, divulged the threat to Hitler. This was hardly surprising in the aftermath of Stalingrad, for by then the writing was plainly on the wall – even to optimists like Guderian. Each in his own way was trying to find a solution to a desperate situation – but the vast majority preferred constitutional and non-violent methods. And, being disciplined soldiers, they reasoned that their part was to create the conditions of military stability from which the politicians could negotiate in strength. It is unlikely that a single senior officer, apart from sycophants like Keitel, would have wept many tears if Hitler had been deposed – legally or illegally – and it is an essential aspect of Guderian’s story that he was among those who tried to bring that
about by a gradual process of limitation through reduction of the Führer’s responsibilities. He is no more to be criticised for his failures than the conspirators are for theirs; the latter’s ineptitude in implementing plans had, until then, been pusillanimous. While they plotted, Guderian was compiling new and irrefutable evidence of the need for changes in methods and among the actual leadership – and coming to realise the almost wholly insuperable problem of bringing this about. Yet a desperate moment might come, even for him, when almost any release from perfidy would seem blessed.
Tapping the loyalties of field commanders cannot have absorbed very much of Guderian’s time as he toured Europe in his endeavours to find quick solutions to a thousand problems, many of which had awaited an answer far too long. Everywhere he encountered an atmosphere of omnipresent crisis. Though a measure of stability had been achieved on the Russian front, the failure of the Russian logistical system, as much as German prowess, had brought it about, and the steady refurbishing of armoured forces was constantly inhibited by prodigal waste. The formations at the front were too weak and had been only parsimoniously refitted with new tanks. Those tanks in service were hampered by lack of spares because, as Speer writes: ‘Hitler insisted upon giving priority to new production which could have been reduced by 20 per cent if we had made provisions for proper repairs’. As it was field workshops stripped everything from tanks which broke down with the result that, when that tank’s carcass arrived back in Germany for reworking, practically nothing of value remained and a total and costly rebuild was inevitable.
Guderian: Panzer General Page 26