Rommel then turns to Speidel and says a few parting words.11 They shake hands gravely, and pause briefly. Speidel looks at his superior solemnly and says quietly, “Good luck.”
Rommel smiles slightly, and then climbs into the front next to Daniel. He momentarily turns around to look at Lang and von Tempelhoff in the back. He beams as he raises the shoebox, to show them that he has not forgotten Lucie’s birthday present.
They are finally ready to leave. “We can go now, Daniel,” Rommel tells his driver. It is about 7 a.m. as they leave the château for Germany.12
***
With Rommel having departed, the empty morning seems to drag on at La Roche-Guyon. The weather continues to be bad for the rest of the day. And with the field marshal gone, this Sunday is like a holiday routine. A couple of incoming calls deal with whether or not inland shipping should operate in the bad weather.
Speidel dispatches a message to OKW, reporting that Heeresgruppe B might stand down its two armies during the bad weather, so that they might get some rest after the low-grade alert they had been on for a while now. He also adds that enemy air activities still indicate the Straits of Dover as the likeliest landing area.
***
Generalfeldmarschall von Rundstedt begins writing his weekly estimate to OKW in the afternoon. After going over the strengths of the panzer units, he turns to the infantry. Those that had been drafted in the 22nd recruit wave have fleshed out several of his corps. The training of those in the 25th wave is progressing acceptably.13
He quickly tires of the details. Jotting most of the major points down, he sets the report aside. He and Blumentritt will finish it on Monday, the 5th.
***
Along the eastern shore of the Cotentin peninsula, more pigeon target practice. Today, Sergeant Günther Witte, a crew member of the nearby 1262nd Army Coastal Regiment, takes aim at a pigeon headed out towards the Channel, flying close to the ground. Witte, a crack shot, fires his rifle and incredibly hits the bird, which falls to the ground. Investigating his catch, he finds a small metal capsule attachéd to one of the bird’s legs. Inside the capsule is a coded message written on a small scrap of rice paper, along with what appears to be the dispositions of the German units on the peninsula.
Witte turns the capsule in, and a report is filed to go up the 709th Infantry Division chain of command.
***
Admiral Krancke at Marinegruppenkommandos West is finishing up his latest situation report. His available forces look pathetic. Less than half a dozen fleet torpedo boats, some minesweeper flotillas, several score auxiliary craft, and his biggest punch, five squadrons of S-boats.
There are also the U-boats. Some three dozen are operational in the Bay of Biscay. Eight of them have the new schnorkel. Another 15 coastal units are in immediate range of the English Channel and can strike at the invasion fleet once the landings begin. He cannot though, direct and coordinate their attacks; the U-boats are under Dönitz’s command.
Mining operations have been pathetic. His minelayers have only been able to put down three minefields this month, all near the Pas-de-Calais. Mining around the Cotentin peninsula has hardly begun. Their plan to replace the mid-Channel minefields laid last year had been postponed a few times and was finally called off in March, partly because there just were not enough mines available, and partly because intensive Allied radar operations would have spotted the operations and easily noted the areas for avoidance or for sweeping.
Krancke feels that that their minefields in deep water will probably be virtually obsolete by the middle of this month. It is true that a few simple minefields were laid in the Bay of the Seine a couple months ago, but they were only designed to be effective for a little over a month. With supplies short, Krancke determines that if the invasion were to come now, patrol boat mining operations would only provide “nonessential” help against the enemy.
On the positive side, the recent enemy bombings have not damaged his land units as badly as he had feared. His radar stations for instance, have not all been knocked out, not by a long shot. And only eight naval guns have been put out of action, five in the Kanalküste, and three in the Normandy area. He is sure that an invasion will not come until a widespread, aggressive bombing campaign is carried out against the coastal batteries. And that is just not happening, although recent raids indicated that this strategy might have already started.
Krancke states in his report:
The anticipated mining operations to renew the flanking minefields in the Channel have not been carried out. On the way to the rendezvous at Le Havre, T-24 fell behind because of damage from [a] mine, “Greif” was sunk by bombs, “Kondor” and “Falke” were damaged by mines, the former seriously. The 6th Minesweeping Flotilla likewise on its way to Le Havre to carry out KMA operations reached port with only one of its six boats, one having been sunk by torpedoes and the other four having fallen out through mine damage, air attack or sea damage. The laying of KMA mines out of Le Havre therefore could not be carried out.”
Krancke’s report’s summary accurately reflects his views. If the invasion comes, he believes it will probably be at the Pas-de-Calais—that is, if it comes. Like Rommel, he is seriously beginning to doubt that the invasion will take place at all… The furor across the English Channel is starting to look like a gigantic, elaborate deception, just to keep them armed along the French coast, and their divisions away from the other fronts, where they would do some good. And the enemy might very well keep up this façade for many months yet, continuing to prepare. Germany would have to maintain some sixty divisions just sitting along the coast, while meanwhile it would continue losing in all the other theaters. Krancke sees this as a solid strategy, because eventually, the German army groups in the West would get so weakened from transfers to the other, threatened fronts that an invasion here would be sure to succeed.
Yes, the admiral can feel himself starting to relax. The enemy does not look like he is going to come soon. He glances again at that meteorological report. And especially not in bad weather.
When he receives a message from Fremde Heeres West that the first part of the Verlaine poem and a number of other important personnel messages have gone out to the Resistance. Krancke writes in his war diary:
Although it is hardly to be assumed that the invasion will be announced in advance, it must be admitted that these “messages personnels” would certainly cause acts of sabotage in connection with the traffic and communications network, and also insurrections, all of which would pave the way for the invasion proper.
Krancke issues one last set of orders before he departs for Bordeaux to wind up some mining operations in the Bay of Biscay. Because the weather is scheduled to be bad for the next few days, he suspends minelaying operations. Thinking about it, he decides to add naval patrols to the order. After all, there will be nothing out there to see in those heavy seas and high winds except rain, so why risk losing an S-boat? He has damned few left as it is.
The Allies have had a distinct advantage over the Germans for weather predictions, and this will prove to be crucial now. The Germans no longer have meteorological facilities and vessels as far west as the Allies do. Their Greenland, Spitzbergen, and Jan Mayen Island weather stations have been captured, evacuated, or destroyed. Their weather ships in the Atlantic have all been captured or sunk. They therefore cannot know that an abrupt weather change has taken place in the Atlantic, and that a significant break between storm fronts rapidly approaches the Channel, It is a break that will bring minimal weather conditions needed for an invasion.
Today, Seventh Army commander General Dollmann is having lunch with five of his officers. Edgar Feuchtinger has dropped in as well. The prevailing feeling at the lunch table is one of optimism. Most believe that the long-awaited invasion will not even come this year. The Allies would have launched it in May, when the weather was great. June is a tricky month, as evidenced by the current storm.
One or two officers sitting at the table do not sh
are this optimistic belief and express concerns about the invasion date. But all of them are pretty sure that nothing is going to happen for a few weeks. And certainly not with this storm brewing in the Channel.
Just to be sure though, Max Pemsel has started making a complete survey of the Normandy defenses.
The officers finish eating and sit around afterwards chatting some more. Feuchtinger will finally return to his headquarters at St. Pierre around 6 p.m. Dollmann plans on retiring early, because he is going on an inspection tour in the morning.
***
Adolf Hitler is still enjoying the beautiful, idyllic scenery of Obersalzberg. In one of today’s meetings, he and Albert Speer discuss turning over aircraft armament production to Speer’s own War Ministry. Göring will be furious. Too bad. He is not the Führer’s favorite son these days. Production of the V-1 is going well, so today, Hitler orders the unit preparing the weapons to stand by for operations in the next week or so.
Later that afternoon, Josef Tito, the Slovakian prime minister, visits the Berghof, and Hitler brags to him about the new weapon. “If the British came to us now with any kind of peace-feelers,” he boasts, “I would prefer to tell them to keep their feelers…” He pauses. “At least until the invasion.”
***
Rommel’s two cars have traveled along the Seine River to Paris, and from there, take the main highway towards Châlons-sur-Marne. They continue across France, through lovely Saverne, and eventually come into beautiful Stuttgart. There, Lang parts from them and, in a change of plans, takes the second car, originally assigned to von Tempelhoff, so that he can have some type of immediate transportation. Lang heads for his 400-year-old townhouse in Gemünd. Daniel drives on, passing the Herrlingen turnoff, and goes into Ulm. There they drop off von Tempelhoff and his driver at the railroad station, where they will catch the next train for von Tempelhoff’s hometown of Munich. Daniel then turns the Horch around, and drives the field marshal back to his townhouse in Herrlingen.
They pull into his driveway around 7 p.m. that evening. The stiff-jointed field marshal gets out of the car and stretches. Elbo is excited when he spots him, and begins barking excitedly and jumping up and down, his tail wagging eagerly. Lucie warmly meets him at the door. Aldinger, his aide in residence, helps Daniel bring the bags in, while Rommel goes upstairs and changes.
Lucie of course is glad to see him. She often worries about him, especially when he runs around from one hotspot to the next. She knows that he thinks of himself as being charmed, but she often frets that one day his luck might turn on him. And now he looks very tired and spent from the tension of his responsibilities. Well, she is making his favorite dish for him—Swabian-style Spaetzle mit Kalbsbraten.14 That would help.
Their son Manfred joins them. Now over six feet tall, the fifteen-year-old towers over his father. His thick glasses go well with his quiet demeanor and his dark hair. He speaks comfortably with his father in his own strong Swabian accent.
They sit in the living room for a bit as the field marshal unwinds from the trip. He tells them about the upcoming visit with the Führer, and that troubles Lucie. They discuss the issue at length.
Later, they sit down to dinner. Rommel comments favorably on the casserole. Since neither he nor Lucie has a much of a taste for wine, they instead sip on some blackberry and cherry fruit juices with the meal.
After they have eaten and their aides have cleaned up the dining room, the field marshal and his wife sit down again and relax. Manfred goes to his room to read, while the two of them talk about his upcoming meeting with the Führer. He confides in her about his hopes and expectations of the visit. She has always understood and made an excellent sounding board for him. He admits to her that he has worried for months now about his degenerating command capabilities as the war has turned steadily against Germany. He worries that, if the invasion fails, Hitler will never surrender and will drag the country down in ruins.
Lucie sympathizes, telling him that the Führer will surely listen to his concerns. He looks at her pointedly, and she shrugs. The Führer, brilliant as he is, has a screw loose somewhere in his head.
She asks if he should even be away at this time. He reassures her. The weather is bad, even if there is a full moon. The latest reports seemed to confirm this. Enemy activities levels are relatively low. So he does not expect any attacks at this time. Not until at least mid-June, or more likely, early July, the next full moon.15
At 9 p.m., Rommel phones Speidel at La Roche-Guyon to tell him that he has arrived safely and shared a nice evening with his family. Speidel has little to report, and so the call is not long. Rommel tells him that he will phone in an update on his itinerary as soon as he finds out from Schmundt when his appointment with the Führer will take place.
After the call, Rommel talks some more with Lucie. They turn in around 10 p.m. He has no doubt that he will sleep well tonight.
9:30 p.m., BDST. Eisenhower, dressed as always in his olive-green battle-dress uniform, walks into the library of Southwick Manor. He and his staff must decide whether to give the word to start Operation Neptune, or to delay the invasion again, this time to at least mid-late June, or maybe even mid-July.
Chief Meteorologist Staggs starts off by reporting that if the invasion had taken place on the 5th, it would have been a total catastrophe.16 He then delivers the good news that electrifies the tension in the room; an upcoming 3-day period of barely tolerable conditions is still scheduled to arrive early in the morning, and at the moment appears to be on track. The rain will subside, and the 25—30 knot winds will abate some. Clouds will be heavy, but not continuous. And by Tuesday morning, visibility should be good enough to allow naval fire support to spot their targets. All three of Stagg’s weather teams agree on this.
Eisenhower is now faced with a tremendous decision. Another postponement now could easily spell disaster. The next tolerable tidal period would start on June 19; but it would be relatively moonless.
A postponement would also create a logistical nightmare. Those men already loaded onto the hundreds of transports would have to disembark again. In most cases, they would be unloading onto piers and assembly zones already crowded with other units that were slated to follow them ashore in France. Complex schedules would have to be refigured. And of course, morale would take a big dip.
On the other hand, there is no promise that this short break in the weather will be as good as predicted by the American weather team, nor that it will last. To make matters worse, postponing the invasion by 24 hours has meant that, should he give the word to now go on the 6th, low tide will now occur about an hour later, coming now at 5:15a.m.. The American landings will therefore be at least an hour later, coming between 6:15 and 6:45 BDST.17
Then there is security. Waiting until July would add more enormous risks to keep the time and place of the invasion secret, not to mention giving the enemy more precious time to prepare. In the next two weeks, the Germans could learn of the invasion site, and the critical element of surprise would be lost. An intercepted “Ultra” message gives the Allies the latest Luftwaffe weather report, which calls for more bad weather. The Germans will not be looking for an invasion at this time. So the critical element of surprise (assuming the enemy does not know about the invasion date and location) would for now be solidly on their side.
As the debate goes on, Admiral Ramsay18 breaks in with a time concern. If they are indeed going to go on the 6th, some units in various distant harbors will have to be notified within the next half hour. It is because of refueling considerations, Ramsay explains. If these forces sail any later and are recalled, they would not be able to return and be refueled for a possible landing on Wednesday, the 7th.
Eisenhower turns to each of his senior commanders to get their opinion. His chief of staff, Bedell Smith, thinks they should proceed with the landings. The air commanders, Air Chief Marshals Tedder and Leigh-Mallory, are not so sure. Montgomery, like yesterday, wants to go. They discuss it some more.
At 9:45 p.m., Eisenhower finally makes up his mind. Still staring at the table, he slowly says, “I am quite positive we must give the order… I don’t like it—but there it is.” Looking up to the men, he concludes solemnly, “I don’t see how we can possibly do anything else.”
They will have a final commanders’ meeting at 4 a.m. That will be the last opportunity they will have to break off the operation. But there is little chance of that now.
1That was 3:30 a.m., German Central Time.
2Stagg oversaw the efforts of three separate forecasting teams. This key briefing for the British was given by 46-year-old Norwegian meteorologist Sverere Petterssen. Living in the United States when the war had broken out, he had gone to Britain and had helped in weather planning for Allied bombing raids. Now he predicted continued bad weather for the next day.
3Interestingly, Eisenhower also received a cable from the Russians advising him to postpone as well. An invasion later in the month of course, would have been timed with their own mighty summer offensive, which began on June 22.
4Sources vary on the count. One makes it 150 vessels. Another source says 77 British LCT, 61 American LCT, 4 escorts and a rescue tug.
5Located near the southwest tip of England in Devon, about 20 miles southeast of Plymouth.
6The British Supermarine Walrus was a small, antiquated single-engine amphibious biplane designed strictly for air reconnaissance. Used mostly by the Fleet Air Arm, it was the first British aircraft to feature a fully retractable main undercarriage, with either an all-metal fuselage (Walrus I) or all wood (Walrus II). First flown in 1933 and outdated by the middle of the war, they still were valuable for patrolling the western approaches to Great Britain. Each carried a pilot, copilot, and a crew of one or two airmen. The Walrus was only 10 meters long and had a wingspan of 14 meters, with a single pusher engine mounted in the rear of the top wing. It had a top speed of just 215km/hour and a range of about 960km. Production was halted in 1944, by which time a total of about 740 had been built.
Countdown to D-Day Page 76
