Countdown to D-Day

by Peter Margaritis

  Rommel’s procession continues up the road towards Cherbourg. At 1 p.m., they stop at La Pernelle, a small town a few kilometers north of St. Vaast. Rommel gives a short speech there. A journalist records his words on tape.

  They continue on to St.-Pierre-Église at the top of the peninsula, some 10km west of Barfleur. It is the strategic crossroads for the area, and through it runs a main rail line from Paris westward to the port of Cherbourg. There they are briefed.

  Then lunch. As they often do, during the meal, the officers pull out a radio and tune in to the BBC, today broadcasting from a station just opposite Calais. Enemy broadcasts are usually a good source of some information, even if it is skewed to the enemy’s viewpoint. And it is usually entertaining. They all relax, sit back, enjoy their meal, and listen to the news broadcast. There are the usual items about rationing, the British Parliament, and the royal family…

  Then a news item comes on that surprises Rommel. The announcer reports the bombing of the Morsalines battery on the coast—the one that he has just been at. Is it a coincidence that the very battery he inspected that morning is in the news broadcast? Should security on his travels be re-evaluated?

  But the announcer’s next comments absolutely shock him. His eyes narrow as the radio voice quips sarcastically, “Well, Herr Rommel, you’ve finally managed to discover your battery at Morsalines—the one you didn’t see on your last inspection trip because it was so well camouflaged!”

  After a short stunned silence, his staff members react by blurting out a few dismayed exclamations as he sits back in surprise and tries to organize his confused train of thought.

  How in the hell does the British news announcer know where he has just been? Perhaps the enemy knows their route. That could very well mean treason. This makes twice now in two days. They had originally planned to go on up to Cherbourg today, but he had decided to change their schedule last night when the evening’s BBC announcement had mentioned that he would be touring the port facilities there on Wednesday. He had figured that by changing their schedule and not going where the British news had reported, he would throw off any possible attacks against his motorcade (either from the air or from partisans), as well as smugly show everyone that British radio was not always right. So he had altered their route. But it turns out after all that the laugh was on him. Now, only a couple hours after he has stopped at Morsalines, his visit is being broadcast by the BBC.

  Perturbed and wary now, they cautiously continue the tour, ending up on the other side of the peninsula, before they start back for St. Lô. Luckily, they make it without incident.

  That evening, he dines again with General Marcks. Reports coming in from his château include an OKW summary. It states that:

  •The invasion will probably occur in mid-May, with the 18th the best pick.

  •The most likely location will be Normandy, not Calais. The second is Brittany. (So much for the popular Straits of Dover presumption.)

  •Heavy air attacks on very small areas are expected to accompany intense, severe naval gunfire support of the landing.

  •The introduction of new weapons is quite possible.

  •Possibly dense airborne landings could occur just before the landing.

  Rommel spends the rest of the evening discussing with his staff and with Marcks today’s events, the summary, and further ideas on new types of minefields and tactics they could employ.

  That night he notes in his daily diary:

  Am proceeding with my visit to the peninsula…

  An Allied landing in this [Morsalines] area seems quite possible inasmuch as the enemy would not fear any menace to its flanks... we cannot count upon the Luftwaffe. (In spite of that the gentlemen of the Luftwaffe sit on their high horses, supercilious as ever.)

  It is indeed an impossible situation that I, as commander-in-chief of an army group, do not know what means the Luftwaffe will put into battle when the decisive moment strikes. After all, as Commander-in-Chief, I should know…

  Today, the Allied air commands begin a concentrated campaign against German coastal radar installations and support sites, attacking between Ostende in the northeast and the Channel Islands off the Cotentin peninsula. Also targeted are radio and other communication centers. Fighter groups begin singling out these special detection networks all over northern Europe. Top priority goes to the large, long-range radar stations, because the Allies figure that they would be the hardest to repair and would take the longest time to put back in operation.

  1Widerstandnest Position #5. A Widerstandnest (“resistance nest”) was an isolated strongpoint of resistance. The coastal division units were usually broken down into numbered pockets of troops (such as W-22, W-16, etc.) that were clumped into small fortified sections along the coast.

  2This includes what will be Utah beach.

  3Rommel of course was right. The battery was hit again the night of May 27, this time by Canadian bombers.

  4Unfortunately for the Germans, moving the guns back would turn out to be a critical mistake, because when the Allies landed at Utah beach, through faulty navigation, they accidentally came ashore at a section of beach some two kilometers southeast of their intended landing zone. Because of these two factors, the Morsalines battery could not effectively shell the beachhead, although they did respond and prompt several warships in the Allied fleet to fire upon the battery. The guns were eventually carted off to Cherbourg to be mounted within the fortress.

  Thursday, May 11

  Today, in a continuing pre-invasion campaign, the Eighth Air Force begins coordinated operations against Luftwaffe airfields, especially those less than 150 miles from the planned invasion beaches. This includes some 40 fighter airfields. Special emphasis will be placed on aircraft maintenance and repair installations. By D-Day, this effort will total some 90 such raids. The Luftwaffe though will suffer little, since most of their aircraft have already been moved inland. When this becomes evident to the Allies later in the month, they will discontinue their attacks.

  In the meantime, the air effort continues against rail centers and marshaling yards. The ones at Chaumont, some 136 miles southeast of Paris, are hit.

  It is a beautiful morning. Rommel is off again, his last day for this inspection tour before he leaves Marcks and heads back towards his château. Today, Rommel wants to wind it up inspecting the 21st Panzer Division. At present, it is the only panzer unit that would be able to immediately respond to any landing on the Normandy beaches. On instinct, Rommel stops at Falaise early in the morning, and drops in on the headquarters of the 100th Panzer Regiment, commanded by Oberst! Hermann von Oppeln-Bronikowski.1

  Rommel arrives around 8:15 a.m. They park, and the field marshal climbs out of his Horch and walks briskly over to the regimental headquarters. Von Oppeln is a decorated, well-seasoned panzer veteran of the Russian Front. Rommel expects no problems here. So it is unpleasantly surprising when he walks into the adjutant’s office and is told that the regiment’s gallant commanding officer is not around. Rommel, disappointed and impatient, asks that he be found immediately.

  While the field marshal cools his heels, two of the regimental staff aides fly out the door and over to von Oppeln’s quarters to get him. They find their colonel passed out on his bed, sleeping off a rousing night of heavy drinking. He is lying there still in yesterday’s uniform, smelling strongly of stale alcohol and in need of a shave.

  Excitedly they wake him, and the tired colonel opens one eye.

  “Herr Oberst!,” one of the aides says urgently. “Herr Oberst!. Come! Please, Herr Oberst!. Feldmarschall Rommel is here!”

  Von Oppeln, groggy, partially sits up, his eyes still half-closed. “Who?” he barks. He is not in a good mood. He overdid it (again) the night before, and his head feels like it is going to split apart.

  “Feldmarschall Rommel!”

  Von Oppeln sighs, trying to wake up. “Rommel?” he grumps. “Did you say Rommel?!” He sits up and scratches his head. His tongue feels like san
dpaper.

  “Jawohl, Herr Oberst!!. He is here for an inspection!”

  “Ja, ja,” he grumbles in a tired voice as he staggers up out of bed up and tries to straighten his uniform. What on earth is the field marshal doing here at this hour? And him in bed. Well, no time for hygiene.

  “Why the hell didn’t anyone tell me that he was coming?” he yells.

  “No one knew, Herr Oberst!!” his aide replies excitedly. “He just came!”

  Great. Just damned great.

  Some ten minutes later, von Oppeln walks into the headquarters office. Rommel, who has been slowly losing his patience waiting all this time, notes with irritation that while the colonel has washed his stubbled face (for whatever that was worth), stale alcohol is still on his breath, and his uniform, smelling of tobacco, is wrinkled, smudged and disheveled. The man’s face suggests the pain that is no doubt hammering in his head. Obviously, he had been actively carousing into the late hours and is hung over. Rommel, turns to him with a scowl.

  “Good morning, Herr Feldmarschall,” the colonel croaks politely, giving what he hopes is a disarming smile. Actually, he probably cannot even feel his face.

  Rommel, his blue eyes blazing, explodes. “You’re lazy stinkers!” he roars at the startled colonel, who winces in pain at the sudden noise. “What happens if the enemy invasion begins before eight-thirty?”

  Von Oppeln, his head splitting and clearly suffering, is at a loss for words. Caught off guard, he resignedly shrugs his shoulders, wearily slumps down into a chair, and mutters with a sigh, “Catastrophe.”

  What the hell. They are going to shoot him anyway. Now would be a good time to do it.

  The room goes deathly quiet as the other officers gape at the two of them with horrified expressions. How will the field marshal react? Amazingly though, von Oppeln’s delivery is perfect comic relief, and it hits the field marshal just right. In the ensuing silence, Rommel, thrown off guard, cannot stop a slow smile from breaking across his face. He chuckles softly. The retort has amused him, and he obviously cannot chastise the poor guy any further. He plainly is hurting enough. Besides, von Oppeln knows his stuff. He is a Knight’s Cross holder, he has cheated death by enemy fire several times in France and in Russia.

  Still smiling, Rommel mercifully shakes his head in amusement and leaves the building with his staff. Chuckling softly, he heads for his car. He can almost hear the sighs of relief coming from inside.

  He goes on to inspect the regiment. They have worked hard recently, preparing certain defensive positions. They have dug holes in the ground for their panzers to sit in, hull down, so that just the turrets are visible above ground. They have also buried munitions and supplies. Rommel is satisfied.

  He makes sure that they run patrols and conduct exercises—not that they can set off much ordnance. It is too scarce. One or maybe two shots in a firing exercise is the most that can be allowed. Of course, once the invasion comes, they will be able to fire. He instructs that each panzer be allocated 100 shells for the real thing.

  At the drill ground, he attends a presentation put on by some mortars, and by Major Becker’s rocket-launching company. He has again done some improvising by taking stationary Nebelwerfers (fog or smoke launchers) and mounting them onto some of those French tracked vehicles.

  Then comes a firing exercise to demonstrate laying down a smoke screen, Rommel watches awestruck, as several volleys of rockets are launched with one of the most awful noises that he has ever heard, and whomp into the ground in succession, the explosions starting a small forest fire. To him, the demonstration is an overwhelming success. He gives Becker his heartiest congratulations.

  “Build me more,” he says, beaming.

  He goes on to view the rest of the division. He inspects von Luck’s 125th Panzergrenadiers, noting that their 1st Battalion now has halftracks for transport. The 2nd Battalion now has a number of supply trucks, although some are odd models.

  He converses with von Luck, who tells him more about Becker’s strange self-propelled weapons. General Feuchtinger had a few weeks ago ordered him to drive to “Sonderkommando Becker” in Paris and familiarize himself with the new equipment. Von Luck had gone and had marveled at the ingenious mobile assault weapons Becker had managed to create out of old captured chassis, odd-caliber guns, and some scrap metal.

  Still chatting, Rommel and von Luck wander off to talk to some more divisional officers. Food in this area, Rommel is told, is scarce. Potatoes are often rotten, and meat is very hard to come by. As for the French themselves—well, they tolerate the occupiers, but predictably do not like them at all. Rather, they treat them in a snobbish, haughty fashion. That is understandable, under the circumstances.

  Finally it is time to leave. Rommel thanks the officers present for their efforts to remain civil with the local populace, and exhorts them to stay so. Angry Frenchmen is the last thing that he needs at this time, especially in light of the recent escalated activities of La Résistance.

  He stops to have lunch with Feuchtinger at his division’s staff quarters at St.-Pierre- sur-Dives.2 There is one new detail for the division commander. Rommel has decided that, until he can get a sizeable panzer unit moved to the base of the Cotentin peninsula, the 21st Panzer Recon Battalion will have to deploy west some 100 kilometers to around Carentan. He instructs Feuchtinger to plan for moving them soon.3

  He returns to his château that night. Tired, he goes straight to bed.

  ***

  Today, von Rundstedt is on the phone with Keitel at OKW, complaining about his crippled rail supply network. The enemy air attacks in the last couple months have been devastating. Hundreds of locomotives have been hit. Von Rundstedt asks if he can be allowed to use prisoners of war to help repair his rail units. As a precedent, he points out that Kesselring had been allowed to do so a couple weeks earlier. Keitel promises to ask the Führer.

  ***

  At 84th Corps headquarters, General Marcks is thankful that Rommel has finally finished his inspection tour. He likes discussing defensive methods with the field marshal, but the man at times makes him feel decidedly uncomfortable. Now, sitting at his desk, he continues the letter he had started home:

  These last few days, Rommel was again with me. We get along well, although we are very different. Everything here too seems to push the final decision. Perhaps it has come closer. It will come to us in May.

  He goes on:

  Opinion at present is that the Tommies have decided to tackle me… I’ve been given a lot of fine new soldiers, and I’ve been busy unpacking them from their cardboard boxes and setting them up. This brings the number in my corps up to more than 100,000.

  It’s highly gratifying to see the number and the quality of divisions that we can still turn out in this, the fifth war year! The latest to arrive here, the 91st Airborne Division, is a real élite one; we had nothing remotely like it left by 1918. So I’m looking into the future with a good heart, whatever they choose to throw at me. I’ve got this bad feeling that things won’t start heating up until about my birthday.

  Marcks pauses and stares down at the paper. It is strange, but the night before when they dined, he and Rommel had actually enjoyed a pleasant evening, despite the fact that they occasionally disagreed on schedules. Marcks had once complained about all the work his men were doing on the beach defenses. He had grumbled that his men were getting “neither training nor rest.”

  Rommel had looked back at him and replied dryly, “My dear Marcks, which would they rather be—tired? Or dead?”4

  They had later stumbled on the amusing fact that Marcks and the field marshal’s wife had the same birthday—June 6. Marcks will be 53, while Lucie will turn 50.

  Marcks now wonders what this birthday would bring him, besides another year to reflect back on.

  He looks down and continues writing.

  1The 100th Panzer Regiment is the armored unit for the 21st Panzer Division. Later this month, it became the 22nd Panzer Regiment, to avoid confus
ion with the 100th Panzer Battalion.

  Forty-five-year-old Hermann Leopold August von Oppeln-Bronikowski had served in World War I as a lieutenant, winning the Iron Cross in 1918. Between wars, he became an award-winning champion horseman and actually won an Olympic gold medal in 1936. In 1939, he served as a panzer commander in Poland, after which he was transferred to OKH. In of 1941, he was sent to the Russian Front, where he served with distinction, having several panzers shot out from under him. A number of times he successfully led ad hoc forces himself against the enemy. Although considered an excellent panzer commander, he had problems with higher authority because he was an excessive drinker. He survived the war and died of a heart attack on September 9, 1966.

  2Located some 20km southeast of Caen.

  3For some reason, Rommel later changed his mind about this move, perhaps because of objections by von Rundstedt or Geyr von Schweppenberg. Interestingly, had the panzer battalion been stationed near Carentan on D-Day, they could very well have helped the Germans retake Ste.-Mère-Église from the American paratroopers that morning, or might have successfully counterattacked with von Heydte’s parachutists against the Utah beachhead.

  4In the movie The Longest Day (for which Cornelius Ryan was a key consultant), Rommel makes the remark to Fifteenth Army commander Hans von Salmuth.

  Friday, May 12

  Rommel this morning finds himself in a sort of funk. The isolation of his position and the desperate urgency in his mission are starting to affect him. To get his mind off issues, he plays with Elbo and Treff.

  Then he calls Jodl at Berchtesgaden and reports to him that the southern portion of the Cotentin peninsula is still devoid of any real strength. He suggests that they move the 12th SS Panzer Division there. Jodl replies that he will consider the request.

  Air activities, he adds, are really starting to heat up. Enemy air raids, once just relatively minor occurrences, now disrupt a good part of northern France. Bridges get attacked repeatedly, usually in daylight. Trains are getting strafed almost with impunity. Coastal batteries are getting bombed up and down the Channel. Cities near the coast are being hit. Granted, a lot of the damage being reported is distorted. But there seems to be a fair lot going on right now. Some of the more poorly designed positions are suffering badly.