Panzer Commander Part 7

"I'm Lance-Corporal Manthey," a man in a faded uniform introduced himself "Major von Luck, I presume?" His pure, Berlin accent was music in my ears and took me back to my years in Potsdam. "I've come to pick you up. They're expecting you." Beck and I felt like greenhorns in our new, brown, tropical outfits. We stowed our gear. "Thanks for collecting us, Manthey, but what do we want with our thick coats in this heat?"

"You'll need them all right. It's b.l.o.o.d.y cold at night. I'll get you something Italian as uniform; they know what's practical do wn here." The windshield of the jeep was folded flat and covered over to prevent reflections from the sun.

"I'm to take you to Ronnnel first, before we go to division and our battalion." Everyone there spoke only of "Rommel," not of the General, so popular was he with his men; he was one of them.

During the journey, Manthey told us of the battles of the past year, as he had experienced them. He spoke of the "father" of the reconnaissance battalion, Lieutenant-Colonel Freiherr von Wechmar, his popularity, his successes, and of how proud von Wechmar was to have been the first to land on African soil in 1941. "Our battalion is the apple of Rommel's eye," he added proudly. It occurred to me that I wasn't going to find things easy.

We left Dema in an easterly direction. Rommel's HQ must lie somewhere among the olive groves.

"One of us must look out for aircraft. They usually come from behind." Beck took this on.

Suddenly, we turned off the road. No path, no track was to be seen. Tire marks were always removed at once-as camouflage.

Suddenly, we stopped. Rommel's HQ. All the vehicles were well dispersed and camouflaged. In the middle, stood a monster of a truck.

"That's the"Mammoth." We took it from the British and converted it into Rommel's command car." ' I spotted some eight-wheeled scout cars. This was the new, fast, reconnaissance vehicle, which we hadn't had yet in Russia.

I was rather keyed up. After all, I hadn't seen Rommel since the French campaign in 1940. An orderly officer took me to him.

He had a deep suntan covering his sharp features, giving him a 94 PANZER COMMANDER fully healthy look. He was at the peak of his career, clearly enjoying his world-wide reputation. He was in a high mood and clearly glad to see me.

"I am reporting on transfer to the Afrika Korps, Colonel-General," I said.

"Glad you're here," he replied. "I've waited long enough. Un fortunately, I've had to send Wechmar to Germany, he became sick. You are taking over my pet battalion, let it be a credit to you." Then, typically, he came straight to the point, "You've come at just the right moment. I'm preparing a new offensive to forestall the British. Your battalion will play an important part in it. My chief of staff, Gause, will brief you. Then report to your division. How's my old 7th Panzer Division, was it bad in Russia?" I gave him a brief account, and was dismissed. It was the start of a new phase.

General Gause, Rommel's chief of staff, with whom I would have much to do, gave me a summary of the situation. He then added, "Rommel is very disappointed at the indifference of the upper leadership. Hitler and the High Command see North Africa as a 'secondary' theater of war. For the British, however, it is decisive. In addition, he is exasperated by the slack conduct of the sea-war by the Italians. In March, for instance, instead of the requested 60,000 tons of materiel, only 18,000 arrived." In Rommel's view, the chance of victory in Africa had already been missed. Despite heavy losses through our U-boat campaign and despite a 12,000-mile-long sea route, sufficient supplies for the British were getting through to the front.

That didn't sound very encouraging. Nevertheless, Rommel seemed to be set on turning the tables, once again, in his favor. He hoped to take Tobruk by an unexpected thrust and be able to advance far into Egypt, provided he could forestall the British.

I took my leave.

"Manthey, we've got to go to division now (it was the 21st Panzer Division) and then on to the battalion."

"Very well, Major. You seem to be well in with Rommel for him to greet you personally," said Manthey.

I told him a few things about Rommel.

"Well, yes," he said, "it certainly is unusual to bring someone here from Russia. Our commander, von Wechmar, was a great guy.

His son Ruediger has also been with us now for a couple of weeks, as a young lieutenant. That's tradition. You'll be all right, Major." North Africa, 1942: Rommel, the Desert Fox 95 Divisional HQ was well camouflaged under palms and olive trees.

General von Bismarck greeted me in friendly fashion. He had been my commander in East Prussia in 1930, at the start of my military career. Like so many who were serving in the desert, he looked emaciated. The pitiless heat by day, the icy cold at night, the sandstorms, the millions of flies, and the hard battles had left their mark.

"A hearty welcome to you, Luck, we haven't seen each other for twelve years. You're entering upon a fine inheritance. Wechmar and his battalion have done great things and are Rommel's favorite unit. After your service in Russia, you've got some adapting to do. Familiarize yourself with conditions as quickly as you can. We shall probably be opening a decisive offensive before long. Best of luck!" The general-staff officer briefed me on the situation. The task of the 3rd Panzer Reconnaissance Battalion was to reconnoiter in the far south, prevent or report any outflanking move by the enemy, and form the spearhead in any attack.

"The British, meanwhile, have strongly fortified their Gazala position," he continued. "There is a vast minefield with about 500,000 mines stretching from the coast to Bir Hacheim, a water hole south of Tobruk, originally developed by the Italians. Bir Hacheim is held by French troops under General Koenig. Behind this defensive barrier, the British are preparing to go on the offensive as soon as they can bring up enough materiel. And that, apparently, is what Rommel means to forestall.

"So we've got to be extremely vigilant, to ensure that the British don't attack around the south of Bir Hacheim deep in our flank. To look out for that and to prevent it is your job, Luck, among other things." We left the green of Cyrenaica for the south. Manthey knew the track..Normally one traveled in the desert only by compa.s.s, the most important instrument, carried by everyone. Behind us, we raised a huge cloud of dust, which engulfed us whenever we had to brake abruptly.

The desert shimmered. In the far distance" it was often hard to tell whether the shimmering "something" was a vehicle or merely a camel's thorn bush.

Suddenly, visible only a few meters in advance, we came to a wadi, one of the many dried-up watercourses, in which my new battalion was lying, well dispersed.

Captain Everth, who had been leading the battalion, and a few other officers were there to greet me: correctly, but with a certain reserve, as it seemed to me. Von Wechmar, the "old man," would be hard to replace.

We went to the command car, a converted Opel "Blitz" truck. As Everth explained to me, all vehicles were fitted with special oil filters against the dust. Many of the trucks had treadless tires, so that they left no distinctive track in the sand.

Besides the new eightwheeled scout cars, I spotted some tracked motorcycles, 750cc BMWS fitted with two narrow tracks in place of the rear tires. They had been developed especially for the desert.

I asked all the officers to gather together so that I could meet them. Once again, I felt out of place in my new tropical outfit, for all the other officers wore faded uniforms, of which they were very proud, or loose Italian trousers and shirts.

Good old Manthey orpnized something similar for me, too, in the next few days.) "I know your battalion from prewar days, when I was in Potsdam," I began. "There was a healthy rivalry between our two battalions as to which was the better or the more prominent.

But we also took part together in a number of rallies. It is an honor for me to succeed your beloved and seasoned Commander von Wechmar. I have only my experience from the French campaign and from Russia. I have much to learn here and would be grateful for any help you can give me. I should like to go out on reconnaissance with one of your patrols as soon as possible, to familiarize myself with conditions." I greeted each of the men individually with a handshake; the ice appeared to have been broken.

I learned that on the British side we were usually up against the Royal Dragoons, the II th Hussars, and the dreaded Long Range Desert Group led by the legendary Lieutenant-Colonel David Stirling. The British used the better-armored but slower Humber scout car; we the faster, nimbler eight-wheeler. Meanwhile we "understood" each other. The prevailing atmosphere was one of respect and fair play.

I got used to the Fata Morgana, the mirage, which looked so hopefully like a lake, but which on approach dissolved into nothing. I had also to get accustomed to the ferocious sandstorm which the Italians called the "Ghibli." It usually lasted for a day, but sometimes for three. One could see it coming. The sky grew dark, the fine sand penetrated every pore and made any movement, let alone any military operation, impossible.

North Africa, 1942: Rommel, the Desert Fox 97 I learned to travel by compa.s.s and at the onset of darkness to find my way back to the battalion with mutual light signals.

The reconnaissance trips into the desert held a great fascination for me.

In the weeks that followed, things remained fairly quiet.

Individual British patrols put out feelers to the south. But they were intercepted by our own, wide-ranging patrols. In this, our fast eightwheelers were particularly'valuable.

By the beginning of May 1942, I felt myself "integrated." I had visited and gotten to know all the companies and had been out with several patrols. I had grown accustomed to the rhythm of daily life. We used to drink half a liter of fluids in the morning, nothing during the day, then the "second half" in the evening. Supplies came up every few days, usually in convoy, to avoid being intercepted by the British.

One even got used to the cold nights. We didn't take off our tropical coats, and thick, nonregulation scarves, until well into the morning when the heat had slowly worked through them.

This was the thermos principle, which we had learned by observing the Bedouins. But the millio-ns of flies were a real torment. Only when one got deeper into the desert did their number diminish.

The heat during the day gradually became unbearable. Everyone sought out a little patch of shade. Some men really did fry eggs on the overheated armor-plating of the tanks. It was no fairy tale; I have done it myself.

The peak period for the ma.s.sive downpours of rain was over, but when it did rain, the little wadis were filled in minutes with threefoot deep flash floods that carried all before them. I once saw how the truck, with our field kitchen, which had failed to get out of the wadi fast enough, was swept along some hundreds of yards by such a wave.

On our reconnaissance trips, we sometimes came upon a Bedouin family. Only the Bedouins knew where to dig in order to reach the underground, sweet-water lake. In some wadi or other, they would dig out a water hole, guide the water along hastily dug channels, plant their millet, and stay until they could reap the harvest. The corn would be loaded onto camels, the water hole filled in, and a day later, every trace would be gone. The Italians managed to locate a few of these water holes, construct wells and so use them as vital supply points. Bir Hacheim was one such water hole.

I once managed to make contact with a Bedouin family. They seemed to be on the point of departure. The women ran into the 98 PANZER COMMANDER tents at once when we approached. No stranger was permitted to see them. The family sheik came up to us. We indicated that we were Germans.

"We didn't want to disturb you, still less, drive you away. We regret that we are causing you inconvenience here in your ancestral land. Aren't you afraid of the war, of the mines, and so on?" In a gibberish mixture of German, Italian, and a few sc.r.a.ps of Arabic, I tried to make myself understood.

"We always know where you are and move away whenever things get dangerous," replied the sheik. "We have many places where we can find water and cultivate our millet. We are glad to greet you as Germans. We don't like the Italians, who have occupied our country, any more than the British, who are oppressing our brothers in Egypt and the other Arab countries. One day, you will all have disappeared again and the desert will belong to us again. Allah be with you, we like yoto" It was strange that the Bedouins not only venerated Kaiser Wilhelm II and Bismarck (who were thought by many of them to be still alive), but approved of Hitler's campaign against the Jews because of their own antipathy. We avoided all talk with them about the Jewish question.

Suddenly, on 24 May 1942-I had been in Africa now for seven weeks-we were summoned to division. General von Bismarck briefed his commanders.

"Rommel has decided to attack. IME British are receiving fresh supplies every day. One can predict when they, themselves, will start an offensive. Our supplies are coming in too slowly and they are coming through the harbors of Tripoli and Benghazi instead of through Dema. This means that everything has to be brought up along the one coastal road, a distance of up to 2,000 kilometers.

"The British may know about our offensive and when it will start. It seems our reports and radio communications are being intercepted. But they don't know where the main thrust will come." Von Bismarck then gave us combat orders and stressed the fact that, by means of a vast night march, Rommel planned to move the whole of the Afrika Korps around the south of Bir Hacheim and swing it north, so as to cut off Tobruk and thrust eastward to the Egyptian border. A feint attack in the north on the Gazala position was to deceive the British.

My panzer reconnaissance battalion, acting independently on the right wing, was to advance around Bir Hacheim, giving it a North Africa, 1942: Rommel, the Desert Fox 99 wide berth, and block the coastal road east of Tobruk, as well as secure the right flank of the Afrika Korps by means of patrols.

We a.s.sembled during the night of 26/27 May 1942. It was pitchblack. Only the stars of the clear southern sky were to be seen. The exact compa.s.s bearings were known to every vehicle.

These had to be strictly observed, so that the thousands of vehicles traveling through the dark night would not get mixed up.

It was a ghostly scene. Each man could just see the vehicle to his front or side. We drove at reduced speed so as to avoid raising too much dust and thus lose contact with our neighbors.

We pushed on slowly through the night. After a while, we knew we were south of Bir Hacheim, though we couldn't see it.

Far to the north we saw the flashes of the Italian artillery Are. As we heard later, on the Gazala front Rommel had sent captured British tanks and trucks fitted with old aircraft engines across the terrain to simulate a tank attack. The attack on the Gazala position was mounted by Italian divisions under a German general.

The British didn't seem to have spotted us. In the early morning of 27 May my battalion, on the right wing of the 15th panzer division, turned north in the direction of Knightsbridge on the Trigh Capuzzo, a track parallel to the Via Balbia, which we soon reached. We were in the best of spirits; the surprise appeared to have worked. It was only a few kilometers to the Via Balbia, our objective. It looked as though the British in the Gazala position and in Tobruk were going to be encircled.

Toward midday on 27 May I suddenly saw a British tank column approaching from the east. They were new tanks that we had never seen before. (Only later did we discover that the tank in question was the American Grant, a tank superior to our Panzer IV.) Suddenly some of the Grants turned south and opened fire on my advanced units from a range that was too great for our 5cc ant.i.tank guns.

I stopped the advance at once and ordered the setting up of a defensive front to the north. To coordinate the use of our defensive weapons, I left my command tank and ran'to the ant.i.tank guns. Sh.e.l.ls were bursting all around. I suddenly felt a powerful blow to my right leg and fell at once to the ground. A sh.e.l.l had hit an armored car and a piece of shrapnel had cut my upper right thigh. Blood welled out from my trousers. I lost consciousness for some seconds. A scout car came alongside, picked me up, and took me a few hundred yards further back to our doctor. A bad wound. I was angry and in despair. Had my time in North Africa come to an end already?

"You are lucky in your bad luck, Major," said the doctor after his examination. "You've got a hole the size of a fist in your right groin. Another few centimeters and you would have lost your manhood, but no vein or bones or nerves have been hit.

Which is just as well, as I would never have been able to apply a tourniquet on the spot. There's no question, you must go to the nearest field dressing station for treatment." That was easier said than done, for in the meantime the Afrika Korps had obviously encircled the British in the Gazala position, but it had not taken Tobruk. On the contrary, we ourselves were now encircled. To get out of the envelopment from the east was hardly to be thought of. With the help of morphine injections I managed to resume command in my jeep, fr to some extent from pain.

"Captain Everth, in case I can do no more, you will take command. I'm trying to establish radio contact with Rommel, to hear how things stand and what orders are being given." Thank goodness the connection with Rommel went through. The situation was extremely dangerous. At Knightsbridge, southwest of Tobruk, the attack by the Afrika Korps had petered out under fire from the British artillery and the relays of attack by the Royal Air Force. So too had the frontal attack by the Italians in the north.

I managed to set up a defensive front to the east. Luckily for us, the British attack from the east was directed more against the two panzer divisions of the Afrika Korps. The British a.s.sumed that Rommel would try to break out to the east. That was the basis of their dispositions in the days that followed.

Rommel now made one of his rash decisions: He ordered the Afrika Korps to escape from the encirclement, not to the east, but to the west, through the mine fields of the Gazala position. My orders were to guard against a breakthrough by the British from the east and prevent a possible outflanking movement in the south.

For five days I sat in my jeep,-still under morp4ine-until in the morning of I June Rommel succeeded with the help of the army engineers in clearing pa.s.sages through the mine field and in releasing the whole of the Afrika Korps from its encirclement, although many vehicles had to be abandoned for lack of fuel. We were the North Africa, 1942: Rommel, the Desert Fox 101 last to disengage from the enemy and rea.s.semble behind the Italian lines.

My wound did not look good.

"I can no longer take responsibility," said our doctor. "You must now go to Derna as quickly as possible, to our casualty clearing station." I realized that I couldn't go on as I was, but hoped that in Derna they would soon get me fit for duty again. With heavy heart I handed over command to Everth and, close to tears with anger and disappointment, let myself be driven to Derna by good old Manthey and my faithful Beck. An examination by the Germans revealed to my dismay that the wound was not only severe but that during the five days in the jeep, and from the dust of a Ghibli storm, it had become infected.

"You must go to Germany at once, an Italian hospital ship is in harbor. It will take you to Europe tomorrow." That was the doctor's lapidary verdict. Deeply disappointed, I was carried on to the ship the next day. Adieu, Africa, but not for long.

The ship was a large liner, painted white and identified as a hospital ship by a large red cross. I heard later that the ship had been sunk on its way back to Africa, supposedly because it had taken on war materiel. I was put in a little cabin, and there I raged at my fate. The following morning we cast off for Sicily.

As my wound was severe, I was one of the first to be taken to the operating theater, which was run by an Italian surgeon and his team, who, as a nurse told me in a whisper, came from one of the best Italian clinics. The bandages were taken off, the pain grew worse, the more so as I had had no morphine since the day before.

We can't have you becoming addicted," my doctor had said. "The lwl ound is not serious, thank goodness. We'll clean it up a bit first and go on from there." It was then decided to perform a small operation and I was told that the limited anesthetics were needed for very severe cases.

"Clench your teeth, please," I was instructed, short and sharp.

While two sisters held me tight, the doctor, who seemed to me like a butcher, began to cut away at my wound. I cried out like an animal and thought I would -faint with pain. Then I heard a voice.

"Please stop a moment." Beside me stood General von Vaerst, commander of the 15th Panzer Division. "What's up with you, Luck, why are you shouting so?" I explained the situation to him 102 PANZER COMMANDER and asked him to insist on an anesthetic.

At his intervention the doctors agreed, so that the rest of the procedure was bearable.

General von Vaerst told me that he too had been wounded not far from me. General Gause and Colonel Westphal of Rommel's staff had also been hit. The last he heard from Rommel was that the Afrika Korps, after its successful breakthrough to the west, was being marshalled anew to continue the offensive.

After my wound had been treated, I sat with von Vaerst during the short crossing to the mainland. We discussed Rommel's chances of breaking through into Egypt despite inadequate supplies. In Naples I was examined again and p.r.o.nounced fit to travel.

Next morning an Italian hospital train bore me north. Although I couldn't stand, I still enjoyed the journey across the north Italian plain and over the Alps. The sun shone, the countryside looked peaceful, and there was nothing to show that Italy too was at war. Our treatment by the accompanying doctor and nurses was exemplary. After the hardships and battles in the desert, I was overtaken by a pleasant feeling of tranquility.

At the Austrian border we were transferred to a German hospit'al coach, which was coupled to an ordinary train, and we finally ended up in Esslingen, a small industrial town near Stuttgart.

There were now only three of us, including a young reserve officer from my own battalion. The munic.i.p.al infirmary, lying romantically in the hills on the outskirts of the town, had been declared a military hospital. Until we arrived it had contained wounded from the eastern front only.

So far Esslingen had been largely spared by the war, apart from the fact that there too the inhabitants could subsist only by buying food stamps. In addition, there was nothing to be had anymore. It was a good thing I had been able to provide myself with enough coffee and cigarettes before leaving North Africa, for these were more in demand than gold.

I now made every effort to get back on my feet as quickly as possible. After a few weeks I was able to walk on crutches and then, cautiously, with a stick. My mother and sister came to see me from Flensburg. It was an onerous journey right through Germany, since the air raids were continually disrupting rail junctions or causing long delays. My uncle came also, from Stuttgart, and we enjoyed the warm sun on the terrace, with real coffee and subst.i.tute cakes.

North Africa seemed far away. All the same, I was glued to the radio every day to hear news from the theater of war. We had North Africa, 1942: Rommel, the Desert Fox 103 in the hospital just two weeks when the special announcement came that Rommel had taken Tobruk, on 21 June 1942, and that South African General Klopper had surrendered the fortress.

Nearly 30,000 prisoners had been captured and much war materiel had fallen into German hands, including considerable supplies of fuel, which the Germans needed so urgently. This was followed by the announcement that Rommel had immediately turned east and crossed the Egyptian border, on 23 June. Rommel, at the age of fifty, was made a field marshal. He commented to his wife that he wished Hitler had given him another division instead.

We three "Africans" were naturally the c.o.c.ks of the walk. When things looked bad on the Russian front, with the encirclement at Stalingrad beginning to loom, Rommel's exploits in North Africa at last offered people a ray of hope again. Nevertheless they sensed very well that the war would last a long time yet and result in heavy losses. So Hitler and his Propaganda Minister Goebbels didn't fail to put an undue value on Rommel's exploits, even though they treated our theater of war in the desert as of only secondary importance.

After about,three weeks I had recovered sufficiently to be able to move about quite well with my stick. Bad Kissingen, my last garrison before the war, was not all that far away. I was able to persuade the medical superintendent to transfer me there until my recovery was complete. I wanted to recuperate in the neighborhood of my old friends and in the atmosphere of the spa.

So one Sunday morning I was taken by ambulance to a clinic that had been requisitioned for convalescent frontline soldiers.

As it was Sunday, only one nurse was on duty. She put me in a nice room with a view of the park.

"I'll bring you some supper right away. I hope you'll be comfortable with us. The medical superintendent will see you in the morning." With these words she left me to my fate.

There was no telephone in the room. How was I to make contact with my friends? The clinic could not keep me. I found a broomstick and hobbled secretly out of the house to the Huber Bar, only a few hundred yards away.

When I entered the bar in my faded tropical uniforrn-it was still early in the evening and only a few customers were sitting about-Huber looked dumbfounded.

"No, it can't be! Our old friend Luck is here. My G.o.d, where have you sprung from? You've been wounded. Make room for our Major there! Come to the table of honor." Sepp Huber and his wife could hardly regain their composure, they were so delighted.

"Here's my last bottle of whiskey, which I've kept all these years for a special occasion. We'll crack it now." The bar slowly filled and before long I was the center of a large circle and had to give an account of myself. Everything seemed unreal to me. There I sat as in the last year before the war, as though nothing had happened.

Toward midnight Huber closed the bar. Only a few customers were left. Then I suddenly realized with a shock that I didn't have a key to the clinic. What was to be done? "Absence without leave," ,.endangering recovery," etc., pa.s.sed through my mind.

"You can stay with us, Major," said Huber. "As an African veteran you'll have no problems here in Kissingen." Then someone knocked on the door.

"Let me in, please," came a peremptory voice from outside. It was one of the spa doctors whom I used to know well and with whom I had spent many an evening at Huber's.

"I heard you were in Kissingen. Things soon get around here. I came over right away and am very glad to see that you're more or less all right. How long have you been here? What hospital are you in?"

"I'm glad to see you too. Let's drink to that." I gave him the name of my clinic and pointing to my broomstick told him how I had got to Huber's. "But I haven't got a key. That's the problem that's bothering me." My doctor friend slapped his thigh and burst into laughter. "My dear friend, I'm the doctor in charge of the clinic." I must have turned pale, for he went on, "That's all right, I've got my key on me. I'll take you there and tomorrow I'll see if I can get you a key of your own." Things could not have turned out better.

July went by. I was well on the way to recovery. It was thought that I would be pa.s.sed as completely fit for duty by the end of August or the beginning of September.