Panzer Commander Part 25

Come to Berlin as soon as you can. You will see how I live and work, and get to know my friends and colleagues." As I took Dagmar to the train I knew it was all over. In spite of the shock, I was glad we had not married. Many of my friends were facing the wreckage of broken marriages, which had not stood the strain of the five years of separation.

After a few days my friend Boos phoned from Hamburg.

"Come and see us. I've been thinking about what you should, do.,, In Hamburg I told Boos of the situation in which Dagmar and I found ourselves.

"Luck, I know Dagmar well. She was often here during her time at the radio. The two of you have grown apart. No one is to blame. But there's nothing to be done about it. Dagmar is sure to be suffer-. ing just as much as you and looking for a fresh start. But you won't find it together." I went to Berlin all the same. Her apartment was enchanting, very Bohemian. "My" room was a museum: on the walls were pictures of our time together in Paris, everywhere there were things we had bought together. Her friends, almost all journalists and TV people, came and went. Everything was hectic, professional, and to some extent superficial. "Nice to see you. Dagmar has told us about you. Was it bad?" No real interest. When Dagmar took me to one of the many parties I stood around and felt I did not belong.

Dagmar had to go to the studio early in the morning and she came home late in the evening. Boos was right: we were worlds apart.

On the third day I decided to leave.

"Dagmar, let's remain friends. We can't take up again where we left off five years ago in quite different circ.u.mstances. Your apartment, 'my' room, everything seems like a commemoration, it recalls the past, but it's no longer alive." So we parted.

In this too 5 January 1950 drew a line under my previous life.

It really was "Day Zero." I only saw Dagmar once more, a few years later. Suddenly there she was at my door.

"There's a man outside who wants to marry me. I like him. Will you have a look at him, talk to him? If you think he's suitable for me, I'll marry him. If not, I won't." I had to laugh. The end of a romance born in the war was taking on an. element of tragicomedy.

I thought the man was a decent sort: a successful businessman with a house in Ronco on Lake Maggiore, and a Porsche.

"I think he's all right, Dagmar. I hope you'll be happy with him." Two years later I saw an item in a newspaper: Tragically, the well-known TV journalist, Daginar S., has been killed in a car accident.

NIGHT RECEPTIONIST Back in Hamburg I was sitting with Boos.

"My wife and I have been wondering what you ought to do as a start, until the discrimination against former officers has died down and you can find something suitable.

"You would hardly want to begin your new life as a traveling salesman, the only job for which you would need no training.

But with your knowledge of human nature and your languages you ought to be of interest to one of the international hotels in Hamburg. Why don't you try them?" The idea appealed to me and I applied to one of the largest hotels.

"Madame," as the proprietress was respectfully known, listened to me with close attention.

"You can make a start with me. The post of night receptionist has just become vacant. With your name and your languages you are just the sort of person I'm looking for. Perhaps I can launch you on a career as hotelier." Beaming with joy I told Boos and thanked him for his advice.

Until I had found a room in Hamburg, I would be able to stay with him.

"Good evening, Mr Y. Your room has been reserved for usual. We hope you will have a pleasant stay in Hamburg." I stood behind the reception desk of the hotel, half of which was still requisitioned by the British occupation forces.

It was almost midnight on that cold day in February 1950. After A New Start 327 38 years, Day Zero had begun for me. As I write these lines a further 38 years have elapsed. The second period of my life has been no less interesting than the first, merely less dangerous.

At its center stands my "African adventure," with many pleasant, but also unpleasant experiences.

I had to get used to civilian life. When the last guests had arrived and the night prowlers were back, the quiet, silent hours began. The night porter was a decent, older colleague who had Survived the war in Hamburg and told me about the air raids the shelters, and the hunt for extra food. He asked me, very warily, how it had been at the front and in captivity. My replies were brief, I wanted to put that time behind me.

I had to get used to the new rhythm: while most people were asleep, I was standing at the reception desk. When they went to work, I tried to sleep, before going to work again. Every night I looked at the guest list to see if I could find an old friend among the hotel's patrons.

Then came a little episode that was to change my whole att.i.tude for the future.

Early one morning a guest from Finland was leaving. He had to pay his bill with me. As I wished him a good journey, he pushed a ten-mark note across the counter.

"That's for you. Thank you for the excellent service." I was staggered. Never in my life had I received a tip. The situation was very painful.

"That's not necessary, thank you very much. I hope you have felt at home here." And I gave him back his money.

The Finn looked at me in disbelief, shook his head, and picked up the money. He had hardly left the hotel when the night porter rushed over to me.

"Are you mad? We live off the tips. Why do you think we're so badly paid? Every hotel management knows we get tips." Then, a bit more calmly, "I can understand you well enough. It's not easy for you to adapt. But you must. Every job has its rules." An important lesson for me: it was now essential to think commercially. From then on I accepted tips, without a guilty conscience. Before long they doubled my pay.

I took increasing pleasure in talking to the guests, who came from all over the world. Back from a stroll in the town or along the Reeperbahn, they were often in the mood for a chat.

I had still not come across any of my former friends; my little address book was in the hands of the Russians.

Then, standing before me suddenly was Jiirgen Graf Rittberg, orderly officer in our reconnaissance battalion and severely wounded in France in 1940. He had married into an old family in Diisseldorf which owned an automobile dealership. He offered me a job with his father-in-law as a salesman, but I declined politely. We saw each other frequently in the years that followed, until Jiirgen was killed in a car accident.

I still dreamed of a job abroad; the urge to travel would not let me go.

Meanwhile I was in touch also with Hally Momm, the showjumper and a fellow prisoner. He came to Hamburg every year for the horse show. Then Helmut Liebeskind, my adjutant since the invasion on 6 June 1944, turned up. Our delight was immense; we hadn't seen each other since we had been captured in April 1945.

Over a gla.s.s of wine he told me he had been approached by the Bundeswehr, just then in the process of being organized, to join it as a general-staff officer.

"What would you advise? Should I give up my good job?"

"That's something you'll have to decide for yourself, Liebeskind," I replied. "You are still young and could have a great career, even if you were not as well paid as at present." His idealism won. A few years ago he retired as a lieutenantgeneral, after a distinguished career with many foreign postings.

Finally, a meeting came about for which I had always hoped: indirectly, through a number of people, I was brought in touch with the proprietor of an export firm which for generations had had close contacts with j.a.pan, China, and Hong Kong.

"I intend to set up a new firm in Angola, West Africa, where compet.i.tion as yet is not very strong. To do so I shall be going to Africa for a year and I'm looking for someone to represent me here. You have been recommended to me. Does the idea appeal to you?"

"It certainly does," I replied, "but I'm no businessman.,, "The mechanics can be learned. Good management and reliability are innate. And that's what I need in a colleague who can run my newly founded firm while I'm away. My staff would show you the ropes. So, what about it?" I agreed on the spur of the moment, especially since I was given the prospect of taking my turn in going to Angola for a year or two.

A New Start 329 "Madwne" quite understood my decision when I handed in my notice for the hotel job.

At evening cla.s.ses in commercial law, bookkeeping, and Portuguese, I made myself familiar with the new subject matter; my young colleagues were a great help to me.

With my new boss I visited all our customers in Germany and elsewhere in Europe, and after a few months, I took him to the cargo boat that was to start him on his long journey to a new country, which later would also become my own second home.

I had found a new vocation, to which I am committed still today.

The past became a memory; I devoted myself wholly and utterly to my new work.

There was, however, one more occasion when I was confronted by my former profession. I was summoned to an anonymous office in Bonn which for the time being was responsible for organizing the new Bundeswehr.

I was asked whether I would be interested in making my experience available by joining up again.

"You are still young, you've served in the Reichswehr and the Wehrmacht, with the tank force, and you've fought in almost all theaters of war. Your experience would be of great value to the future Bundeswehr." My answer came very promptly.

"I have struggled to build a new profession for myself, which I, enjoy and which takes me abroad a lot. To give that up I should have to have some guarantee from you that I would serve either in the tank force or as a military attach6. Can you guarantee that?" The reply was not encouraging. "We might have a place for you in either capacity, but," I was given to understand, "we can give no guarantee. Ranks of colonel and above need approval from the political parties."

"Then I must decline with thanks. I have no wish to find myself back as a parade-ground commander all of a sudden, just because my face doesn't fit somewhere. Without anyguarantee I would not give up my present position. I am grateful to you all the same for having thought of me." Similar decisions were made by many of my friends who had built up good positions for themselves in industry or commerce. For me this was the end of the matter.

BACK INTO THE PAST Then, in the 1960s, when I had just completed my first spell in Angola, I received a call from the British military attach6 in Bonn.

"We have been told by your Ministry of Defense that you took part on the German side in Operation Goodwood, as commander of a combat group of the 21st Panzer Division.

"The Staff College at Camberley would like to invite you to their next 'battlefield tour' in Normandy, to give an account of,your activity during the operation, which for Montgomery was a costly one. Would you be prepared to come, naturally with all expenses paid?" The prospect of seeing Normandy again and the scenes of our heavy defensive fighting appealed to me. I agreed.

The terrain near Caen, east of the Ome, looked just as I remembered it from more than twenty years earlier. It was June, the corn was ripe, the villages had been rebuilt and the farmers were going about their business as they had been doing before D-Day. Caen, completely destroyed, had risen from the ruins, thanks to sensitive architects, more lovely than ever. The French with whom I came into conversation had by no means forgotten what had been done to their tormented land by both sides, but they had forgiven it, and to me, the former sale Boche, they were friendly. "C6tait la guerre, Monsieur; you did your duty, although it was for an evil regime." The CO and the staff officers of the college greeted me as their "fair and courageous opponent" and introduced me to the other guest speakers.

I met General "Pip" Roberts, probably the youngest and most flexible of the British tank commanders. I had known of him from North Africa and was aware that during Operation Goodwood he had been in charge of the leading I Ith Armoured Division, which had had to bear the brunt of the battle and suffer the heaviest losses. Bill Close, one of his tank company commanders; David Stileman, of the grenadiers in his division; and other former partic.i.p.ants in this fierce engagement greeted me like an old friend. I was overwhelmed by the kindness with which I was accepted and by the fairness with which it was acknowledged that Goodwood had been only a hard-won partial success, and that the action by our combat group had amounted to a successful defense, which we owed to our greater war experience and to Rommel's order to defend in great depth.

A New Start 331 With the exception of one or two years when I was living in Africa, I was a regular guest of the Staff College until 1979.

Parallel to "presentation Goodwood" in all those years was a "presentation Overlord," which was concerned with the landing of the 6th Airborne Division, including the capture of the two Orne bridges by a company under Major John Howard. I was interested in this coup de main operation during the night of 5/6 June 19".

On a free day I joined the Overlord team and listened in fascination to the "John Howard story." Afterward I went up to him. I "I am Colonel Hans von Luck, commander of the combat group of the 2 1 st Panzer Division, which was not allowed to attack during the night on which you, however, arrived in Escoville on your mission. I am pleased to make your acquaintance in person."

"Oh, Hans, I am so glad to meet you," he replied. "We must get together. There's so much I should like to know from you." In a little bar of the seaside resort of Cabourg we then sat together that evening with other paratroopers who had descended on my combat area during the night in question. That was the start of my friendship with John Howard, which has lasted to the present day and has grown ever deeper. What madness to fight to the knife and then become good friends!

In 1979 the British Ministry of Defense made the film Goodwood, so that this important battle, and the personal experiences of those who took part in it, would be preserved for posterity. It became a fascinating film: original photographic material from both, sides was accompanied by commentaries from the veterans, and the point of the battle and its outcome were explained by historians.

Since then the Goodwood film has been sold to almost all European general-staff colleges and tank divisions as training material for young officers and NCOS.

A few years later, again on the recommendation of John Howard, I was approached by the Swedish Military College and general staff.

"Would you be prepared to go around Normandy with us and talk to our officers about Operation Goodwood?" I was astonished. Why should a traditionifly neutral country be interested in the history of the Second World ?

"We are well aware," I was told by the sympathetic commandant of the Military College, "that in the event of a military conflict between the great powers no one would respect our neutrality.

We should like to learn, and practice, how we as a numerically country could succeed in preventing a landing on our coasts. Or, if that is not possible, how we could prevent an enemy who has landed from invading our country.

For this purpose Operation Goodwood seems to us a very good example." For about eight years now, always near 6 June, I have been the guest of the friendly Swedes. 1984--THE FORTIETH ANNIVERSARY OF D-DAY The 6th June 1944 came around for the fortieth time. Great remembrance celebrations took place, attended by the British royal family, several crowned heads, the president of the United States, and representatives of all the countries that took part in the invasion on the Allied side.

John Howard's coup de main at the Ome bridges had been most spectacular. It was no wonder that the great TV companies of all countries looked here in particular for people to interview.

It was John Howard again who referred them to me, if they wanted to know something about "the other side of the hill." At the end of 1983 I had already been sought out in Hamburg by Professor Stephen Ambrose, a well-known historian in the U.S., who had been asked to write time for the anniversary. The inter my suspecting that it was being recorded. After going over i I tape, Steve telephoned me. '.Hans, what you have been through is unbelievable, not to men tion your relationship with Rommel and your experiences in Russia. You must write your memoirs.

I'll see to it that they are read everywhere in the world." That was the moment this book was born.

At the invitation of Steve Ambrose I was in Normandy at the end of May 1984, to speak to a group of Americans he had organized about the invasion, Rommel, and the Russians.

"Are you taking part in the celebrations on 6 June? After all, you played a decisive role at the time."

"On no account," I replied. "It's a day of remembrance for the Allies; it's their victory over Hitler Germany. I would have no business to be there." The reaction to reports on German TV, in the press, and in radio broadcasts, in which I told of our action during the night of the invasion, was overwhelming. Letters and telephone calls from members of my former units came flooding in.

A New Start 333 "I heard you on the radio Read your article with the photogmph."

"You were on TV-are you my former commander, Hans von Luck?"

"I didn't know you were still alive. I thought you had disappeared in Russia, and then, all at once, there you were on TV!" All of them asked if they could see me, meet me, or hear from me.

The past had caught up with me.

Thank goodness sufficient time had gone by since the events. I could see things in perspective, without too much emotion. All the same, the meetings, in Hamburg or elsewhere in Germany, showed me that even after so many years a friendship once established, and sufferings endured in common, created a feeling of solidarity that had nothing to do with the war tales of old veterans.

Then Fritz Winand called me from Cologne.

"How marvellous! I saw you on TV. Do you remem. We were together in the camp in the Caucasus, you the Colonel and I the young soldier, both of us suffering the same fate as prisoners, in the mines or on the building sites. Did you know that since 1945 there has been a Camp 518 a.s.sociation, which has kept several hundred former members of the camp in touch, from 1950 onward, in Cologne, Berlin, and Munich? We meet regularly-in Cologne in two weeks. Couldn't you come?" Naturally I had to go. We former prisoners of war had endured more than the battles in Russia, Africa, and France, and we had' mastered our fate together.

Sitting in a room were some forty elderly gentlemen, who sprang to their feet as I came in.

"Our Colonel, von Luck! What a pleasure! To think that you're still alive and with us now!" Many had tears in their eyes, and it was no different with me.

I had to relate what had happened to us in the punishment camp in Kiev. I told of the hunger strike and of the interrogation before my release. Then I wanted to bear what had become of the many people I had known and with whom I had Worked.

Fritz Winand, the enterprising initiator of the meeting, told me that our Camp 518 a.s.sociation was probably the only one of its kind. In 1965, 426 members had met regularly and 375 were still doing so in 1984.

I asked about Jupp Link, our German camp commandant.

"Jupp is living in a farmhouse near Munich. He is severely disabled but mentally as lively as ever. We can give him a call."

"Jupp Link here," came the familiar voice, "who's calling?"

"This is Hans von Luck. Do you remember, Jupp? I am here in Cologne with a lot of our friends from the hard times. It's a great pleasure to be in touch with you again after more than thirty-five years."

"Colonel... Hans von Luck... my G.o.d!" His voice faltered.

"How wonderful to speak to you. Are you well? Do you ever come to Munich? You must pay me a visit. I live very peacefully here in the country."

"Of course, Jupp. I'll come. I'll let you know." I went from table to table. What had become of the plennis who in those days, in their coa.r.s.e denims and padded jackets, had all looked alike? I was interested in the theater and music group, with whom I had spent so many pleasant hours.

At one table I was detained.

"Do you remember us? I'm Glaubrecht, the one-time drummer.

Next to me here is"K6bes' Witthaus and Walter Struve, the arranger for our orchestra and band. Do you remember how you hummed Glenn Miller's"In the Mood' to us note for note, and how we played it at the beginning of every performance?" Helmut Wehrenfennig came to the table. He had written the librettos for our operettas.

"On my return I went to the university and became head of a training college. Besides that I've been writing poems and novels, which have been published by an Austrian publisher."

"What became of the others, Karl-Heinz Engels, for instance, who as actor and director helped to set up the theater group?"

"Engels," I was told, '. was not released until 30 April 1950.

Why so late, he himself has no idea. He remained true to his profession: he became administrative director of the munic.i.p.al theaters in Dortmund and then one of the directors of the Recklinghausen Ruhr Festival. He's been retired since 1985.

"Reinhold"Reini' Bartel, our tenor, studied singing and was engaged by various theaters, including the well-known opera house at Wiesbaden. He subsequently became a.s.sistant professor of singing at Mainz University." Bartel wrote to me somewhat later: "I was so pleased to hear of you. On the radio I once had to sing the song"Ninou, lach' mir einmal zu." I only wish our Jewish doctor, Dr. Fuchsmann, could A New Start 335 have heard it. He once sang the song to me; he was very fond of Jan Kiepura, its interpreter." At the next table sat Drews, our camp cook, the most important person of all.

"I still remember quite clearly how Major Samcharadse told me to give the theater and music group a double helping of gruel. As he explained to me, "For Kultura we do anything."' "I'm Fred Sbosny, the driver of the camp Studebaker. Do you remember how we once drove to Tbilisi together?"