Normandy '44

by James Holland

  This was expecting a lot, particularly since the division still had to be on permanent standby to be moved elsewhere, which Kraiss and his staff assumed would be the Eastern Front. This in turn meant they could keep on hand only what they could easily transport should the division be suddenly redeployed. However, because the area they were covering was far greater than it had been, it meant a lot of time, manpower and fuel were being wasted in never-ending trips to the supply depots of the LXXXIV. Korps, to which they were attached.

  Clearly, the standby alert should have been taken off the division; that it wasn’t was typical of the mess in which the German Army now found itself. Quite simply, the Germans no longer had enough of anything with which they could realistically turn around the fortunes of the war. They didn’t have enough food, fuel, ammunition, guns, armour, men, medical supplies or anything needed to fight a rapidly modernizing war. They knew the Allies would attempt a cross-Channel invasion, although where, when and in what manner remained the subject of fevered debate. The Atlantic Wall, protecting Fortress Europe, was thousands of miles long: Germany had been building coastal gun positions, bunkers and defences all the way from the Arctic Circle in northern Norway to the southern Atlantic coast of France. It was no wonder Normandy and Brittany had looked a bit light on defences; there was only so much manpower, steel and concrete.

  Supply shortages were one thing, but there was no doubt that Germany was making life even harder for its put-upon commanders by the convoluted and muddle-headed command structures that had blighted the army ever since Hitler had taken direct command back in December 1941. The Führer remained utterly convinced of his own military genius, but a key feature of his leadership, first of the German people, then for the past two and a half years of the army, was his iron control. Naturally lazy, he none the less had a gift for absorbing detail and, while he left much of the day-to-day running of the Reich to others, he would, conversely, often stick his nose into the kind of minutiae of military operations that simply should not have concerned him. He also liked to operate through a policy of divide and rule, creating parallel command structures that tended to pit subordinates against one another, while also making predictions and command decisions that defied military logic but from which he could rarely, if ever, be dissuaded.

  The German Army of the early years of the war had achieved its successes largely because it had created a way of operating in which both speed of manoeuvre and striking with immense concentrated, coordinated force were the key components. Tied in with this had been the freedom of commanders on the spot to make swift decisions without recourse to higher authorities. That had all gone as Germany’s armed forces found themselves horrendously stretched and with almost all major decisions now requiring consultation with the Führer. The Oberkommando der Wehrmacht – OKW, the combined General Staff of the Armed Forces – was merely his mouthpiece and neither Feldmarschall Wilhelm Keitel, the head of the OKW, nor General Alfred Jodl, the chief of staff, was willing to play any role other than lackey to Hitler’s megalomania. To say that the Führer himself was a handicap to Germany’s war aspirations was, on so many levels, a massive understatement.

  Battling the endless supply challenges, as well as a particularly counter-productive command chain, was Feldmarschall Erwin Rommel, now fifty-two and, as of 15 January 1944, the commander of Heeresgruppe B – Army Group B. Rommel’s war had so far been one of extraordinary highs but, like many of the Wehrmacht’s senior commanders, of lows as well. He had rampaged across France in 1940 as a panzer division commander, and had then been feted by Hitler and become a pin-up back home for his dash and flair in North Africa. Awards and promotions had followed in swift succession, so that by the summer of 1942 he was the Wehrmacht’s youngest field marshal – despite not commanding enough men for such a rank, nor having achieved enough to warrant such an accolade.

  Then things began to go wrong, as British generalship improved along with their supply situation and dramatically more effective Allied air power. At Alamein in Egypt, Rommel was twice defeated, the second time decisively enough to send his Panzerarmee Afrika all the way back across Egypt and Libya into Tunisia. There he made one last striking attack in February 1943, forcing the bewildered and still-green US forces back down the Kasserine Pass. But Rommel pushed too far, just as he had done before Alamein, over-extending his supply lines and running out of steam as American and British opposition stiffened. Ill and disillusioned, he left Africa in early March 1943, never to return.

  By the autumn, recovered but increasingly convinced the war was now lost, he had been put in charge of German forces in northern Italy. However, whereas in North Africa Rommel’s cut and dash had overshadowed Feldmarschall Albert Kesselring, the German theatre commander, it was Kesselring who now outdid Rommel, throwing up a vigorous and determined defence against the Anglo-US invasion of southern Italy in September 1943 and causing Hitler to overturn early plans to retreat well to the north of Rome. Suddenly, Rommel’s role there had become redundant. It had been a shattering blow for him, flinging him into depression. He was, however, about to be thrown a lifeline.

  Overall military commander of the West was Feldmarschall Gerd von Rundstedt, who had entered the German Army eight months before Rommel was born and was the Wehrmacht’s oldest active field marshal while Rommel was its youngest. He had commanded the main strike force of Army Group A during the invasion of France and another army group for BARBAROSSA, the invasion of the Soviet Union. Since then he had been sacked then reinstated as commander of Oberbefehl – High Command – West. In October 1943 he had submitted a report on the state of the Atlantic Wall, making it clear it was far from fit for purpose – a report that had jolted Hitler and the OKW into action, because, as they were well aware, at some point in the not-too-distant future the Allies would launch an invasion of the Continent.

  General Jodl at the OKW suggested to Hitler that he appoint the humiliated Rommel to carry out an inspection tour of the Atlantic Wall. Reinvigorated, Rommel began at the start of December, heading first to Denmark and then south towards the Pas de Calais, where the Channel was at its narrowest and the defences strongest. His renewed energy and swift grip of the situation encouraged von Rundstedt to suggest making Rommel commander of the Channel coastal areas, where logic suggested the invasion was most likely to come. Von Rundstedt, ageing, patrician and disillusioned, was not prepared to rock the boat. He remained superficially loyal to Hitler, but was happy to hand over military command to Rommel; he might have been commander of OB West, but, as he quipped bitterly, in reality he only commanded the guards outside his Paris headquarters.

  So, on 15 January 1944, Rommel had become commander of Heeresgruppe B, charged with defending northern France and the Low Countries and throwing any Allied invasion back into the sea. The task, he had known, was a stiff one. The defences of the Atlantic Wall and the state of the forces under his command were far worse than had been suggested by von Rundstedt; Rommel had been horrified. Since then, he had been tireless: more defences had to be built, training intensified, red tape cut, more supplies diverted. He toured the front constantly, encouraging his subordinates, urging his men, and laying out his vision for the defence of the Continent. In between, he pleaded, cajoled, bartered and bullied staff officers, bean-counters and his superiors. It was why the 352. Infanterie-Division found themselves holding a lengthy strip of the coast while also preparing defences in depth and carrying out training as the mixed bag of veterans tried desperately to turn their raw young recruits and eastern ‘volunteers’ into a half-decent infantry division capable of blunting any Allied attack from across the sea. It was a tall order, but there was no alternative. Not if disaster was to be averted.

  In the second week of March, Rommel had moved his headquarters south to the small town of La Roche-Guyon on the banks of a big loop in the River Seine. Rommel’s was a large command, geographically, and La Roche-Guyon was about as well placed as he could reasonably hope for – tucked away from prying enem
y aircraft, but only 45 miles west of Paris and the headquarters of von Rundstedt as well as those of General Carl-Heinrich von Stülpnagel, both the military commander of occupied France and also the head of the Reichssicherheitshauptamt, RSHA, the SS security forces in the country. To the north, Calais was 160 miles away, while Caen was around 100 and Rennes, the main city of Brittany, about 180. Rommel rather eschewed luxury, but even so, in basing himself in the elegant renaissance chateau that stood beneath the ruined medieval castle, he was hardly slumming it. He was enchanted by the lovely, elegant library and large drawing room with its terrace beyond and views across the Seine. Even better, tunnels linking the renaissance and nineteenth-century chateau to the old castle above made ideal and easily expanded bunkers and a communication hub.

  Here, Rommel kept a tight team. Generalleutnant Hans Speidel was his new chief of staff, having arrived in April from the Eastern Front at Rommel’s request; his former CoS, Generalleutnant Alfred Gause, had served under Rommel in North Africa and the two were old friends, but Gause had upset Lucie, Rommel’s wife, and she had demanded he go. Speidel and Rommel were both from Swabia, in south-west Germany, which stood them apart from the Prussian aristocratic elite that dominated the army high command. They had served together briefly during the last war and Speidel had an outstanding reputation as a highly intelligent and efficient staff officer – indeed, back in the twenties he had earned a PhD in political and military history.

  There were a few other trusted colleagues, such as 36-year-old Oberst Hans-Georg von Tempelhoff, Rommel’s chief operations officer, who had an English wife. The bushy-browed Generalleutnant Wilhelm Meise, his chief engineer, was playing an increasingly vital role in the construction of coastal defences; Hauptmann Hellmuth Lang was his aide-de-camp, another Swabian and a Knight’s Cross-winning panzer commander; while a fourth member of his inner circle was yet another from Swabia, Vizeadmiral Friedrich Ruge, his naval advisor. ‘In our circle we spoke quite frankly and openly,’ noted Ruge, ‘since we trusted each other implicitly.3 The trust was never misused.’ And while there was no doubting who was the boss, Rommel was not a man to dominate the dinner conversation and was always interested in what others had to say. ‘He had a good sense of humour,’ noted Ruge, ‘even when he was the butt of the joke.’4

  Ruge was forty-seven, a career naval officer, jovial and good company, and until joining Rommel’s staff in Italy he had been in charge of naval coastal defences in France. The two got on well, and in evenings back at La Roche-Guyon they would often go for walks in the grounds and the woods beyond, where Rommel would talk quite candidly about his thoughts, plans and the future. Certainly, Rommel increasingly thought Normandy was a likely place for the invasion; his hunch told him it would come either side of the Seine estuary, even though in March OB West and the OKW had accepted the Pas de Calais as the most probable location.

  As a senior commander, Rommel was unusual in having never fought on the Eastern Front, but he had experience of battling both the British and the Americans and understood how debilitating their air power could be; combatting overwhelming enemy air forces was something with which veterans of the Eastern Front had far less experience. ‘Our friends from the East cannot imagine what they’re in for here,’ he told his old friend from North Africa, Generalleutnant Fritz Bayerlein, now commanding the Panzer-Lehr-Division.5 ‘It’s not a matter of fanatical hordes to be driven forward in masses against our line, with no regard for casualties and little recourse to tactical craft; here we are facing an enemy who applies all his native intelligence to the use of his many technical resources … Dash and doggedness alone no longer make a soldier, Bayerlein.’

  His mission to repel an Allied invasion had unquestionably given him renewed self-confidence and he was tackling the challenge with a sense of grim determination, despite the shortages and supply issues being exacerbated by never-ending Allied air attacks. ‘I have to be satisfied with what little I’ve got,’ he told Hauptmann Lang, ‘and try and defeat the enemy with only the most modest means.6 And defeated they must be, if Bolshevism is not to triumph over us.’ The fear of a westward spread of communism was very real to many Germans and was certainly one of the reasons they continued to fight. ‘Even then,’ Rommel added, ‘when we have defeated Britain and the United States, the war with Russia won’t be over because she has enormous resources of men and raw materials. Perhaps then a united Europe will come forward to fight this enemy.’ This, then, was Rommel’s motivation. Despite the reverses, despite the defeats, and despite the chronic shortages and the overwhelming material advantage of both the Allies and the Soviet Union, in May 1944 he still believed that the battle was worth fighting and that there was some hope.

  Rommel was certain that if the Allies were allowed to make a landing and create a firm foothold, all would be lost. The key, then, was to fight them at the coast, at the crust. The infantry and the coastal fortifications would be the first line of defence and would, with the help of minefields, booby traps and the thousand fighter aircraft that the Luftwaffe had promised, hold the Allies at bay. Then would come the coordinated counter-attack by the mobile armoured divisions now in France. These were the best equipped, only fully armed and generally best trained available in the West; crucially, for the most part they were also the most motivated. These units were bursting with half-tracks, assault guns, Panzer Mk IVs, as well as Panthers and even Tigers – monsters both with their heavy armour and powerful high-velocity guns. The full force of these divisions – ten in all in the West – would, Rommel believed, be enough to push the enemy back. This would buy Germany vital time, because clearly there could then be no second Allied invasion attempt for a long while after.

  There was, however, a snag with this theory. Because of Allied air power, moving these mobile divisions swiftly into a massed counter-attack – and Rommel was talking about within a day or two – would mean holding all of them very close to the coast where the invasion was likely to happen. This was a huge gamble, because for all the soothsaying from Hitler’s headquarters, no one was really certain where the invasion would land. For Rommel, this was an all-or-nothing gamble that simply had to be taken. A punt, yes, but, frankly, not a bad one. He had a point, and the old Hitler of 1940 – then the gambler to beat all gamblers – might have agreed. But this was 1944 and Hitler was no longer the same man.

  Had Rommel been able to convince von Rundstedt, things might have been different, but the old field marshal had never had much cut and dash and, in any case, these days preferred to hedge his bets. So too did General Leo Freiherr Geyr von Schweppenburg, who, shortly after Rommel had been given Heeresgruppe B, had been appointed commander of Panzergruppe West with the brief to train up and coordinate the actions of the panzer divisions. Geyr – as he tended to be known – was a highly cultured and decorated panzer commander. He had been military attaché in London in the 1930s, spoke fluent English, had repeatedly proved himself on the Eastern Front and was a protégé of Generaloberst Heinz Guderian, in many ways the father of Blitzkrieg and now commander of Germany’s armoured troops. That Geyr was a highly able panzer general was not in doubt, but for all his knowledge of the British he had never yet fought against them and unquestionably was underestimating the effect of Allied air power. As far as he was concerned, the panzer divisions could be held further back and still quickly brought together in a swift and successful counter-attack.

  These differences of opinion had surfaced early and, no matter how much they discussed the matter, neither Rommel nor Geyr – or von Rundstedt for that matter – was prepared to shift their stance. Rommel demanded that Geyr and his panzer divisions should be subordinated to him and their deployment be his decision. Geyr, busily training his panzers against air attack and on night exercises, was convinced this tactic was a mistake; he was against being put under Rommel’s command and had the influential Guderian to support him.

  Back in March, Rommel had believed the debate had finally been resolved by Hitler himself. Having
summoned Rommel on the 19th to the Berghof, his mountain home near Berchtesgaden in Bavaria, the Führer had first expounded his belief that Normandy and Brittany were the most likely invasion locations and then, the following day, and confidentially during a one-to-one, had agreed to consider giving Rommel full control of the panzers. Rommel, who had openly boasted to the Führer that the Allies would be kicked straight back into the sea on the first day, had believed this was as good as a promise. However, in the days and weeks that followed, there was still no formal order from Hitler putting the vital panzer divisions under his command. Rommel continued to lobby hard. ‘Provided we succeed in bringing our mechanised divisions into action in the very first hours,’ he told Jodl on 23 April, ‘then I’m convinced that the enemy assault on our coast will be defeated on the very first day.’7

  But still no confirmation had come and so Rommel had simply gone over the head of von Rundstedt and Geyr and ordered 2. Panzer-Division towards the coast at Abbeville. Furious, on 28 April Geyr arrived at La Roche-Guyon, followed shortly by Guderian. ‘Subject:’ noted Ruge in his diary, ‘fundamental questions of tactical employment, especially the use of the panzer divisions.’8 Whatever the disagreements, however, Ruge enjoyed the subsequent dinner, when Guderian, especially, appeared to be on lively form and there was no sign of the tactical disagreement that had dogged invasion preparations since January. ‘It was to be hoped,’ wrote Ruge later that evening, ‘that the commitment of the panzer units would soon be decided in Rommel’s favour.’9

  Such hopes were swiftly dashed, however. On Thursday, 8 May, Hitler finally presented OB West with a horrible fudge. Rommel was to have tactical command of 2. Panzer, 116. Panzer and 21. Panzer, this last the only mobile division already in Normandy. A new grouping, Army Group G, was to be formed in the south of France and would be allocated 2. SS-Panzer and the newly formed 9. and 11. Panzer. Geyr kept hold of four: the 1. and 12. SS-Panzer-Divisions of I. SS-Panzerkorps, as well as Panzer-Lehr and the 17. SS-Panzergrenadier-Division. No one, not even Rommel with his allocated three divisions, was authorized to move them into a concentrated counter-attack without the direct say-so of Hitler himself. In an ill-considered stroke, this meant kissing goodbye to any rapid concentration of force or flexibility of command. With this order, Hitler, once so ready to throw caution to the wind and back the dash of the gambler, had nullified both. Having repeatedly told his audiences that Brittany and Normandy were where the Allies would most likely land, he was no longer willing to back his hunch or, with it, Rommel. To all intents and purposes, the ten mobile divisions – the only possible key to repelling the Allies, for all the mines and hastily built defences – were to remain flung to the four winds.