Countdown to D-Day

by Peter Margaritis

  OB WEST IS FULLY AWARE THAT IF THIS IS ACTUALLY A LARGE-SCALE ENEMY OPERATION IT CAN ONLY BE MET SUCCESSFULLY IF IMMEDIATE ACTION IS TAKEN. THIS INVOLVES THE COMMITMENT ON THIS DAY OF THE AVAILABLE STRATEGIC RESERVES… IF THE 12TH SS AND PANZER LEHR DIVISIONS ASSEMBLE QUICKLY AND GET AN EARLY START THEY CAN ENTER THE BATTLE ON THE COAST DURING THE DAY.

  On the Cotentin peninsula, firefights have turned into skirmishes as both sides collect their forces and begin probing the enemy for weak points. Bands of American paratroopers roam the countryside, struggling to join up with their regiments and move to their objectives.

  One such group of four soldiers from the 508th Regiment of the 82nd Airborne, led by Lieutenant Malcolm Brannen, is walking down the small road towards nearby Picauville. Suddenly, a black car comes speeding down the road at them. Brannen yells, “Here comes a car! Stop it!”

  The Americans fling their weapons up and yell at the approaching vehicle to halt. The occupants either do not hear or chose to ignore them, so the GIs open fire.

  General Wilhelm Falley, having turned around, is impatient to get back to the 91st headquarters. As his Dusenberg barrels along a minor road, he says to Baumann, “Drive faster. It’s light already.”

  They are almost there, only a few kilometers away. He is tired from the wasted trip, and worried about all the air activity overhead. Something is up. Hopefully, army headquarters will figure it out before it is too late. Some sort of big enemy air operation has started. A paratroop drop perhaps? They have not seen any chutes, although it has been cloudy.

  The car turns into a side road. Far in the distance, Falley can barely make out the upper floor of the château he is using for his headquarters… If the enemy is already on the ground, his regiments will have to find and attack them immediately, before they can group themselves into a solid defense. As soon as he gets back, he will order a full issue of ammunition. And then they—

  The still night is suddenly shattered by the sound of automatic fire. The car’s windshield spatters with little starbursts as bullets slam through it. Bartuzat, sitting in the front passenger’s seat, immediately sags and falls to the side, struck in the face and the chest.

  Baumann swerves the car violently and loses control. The vehicle careens back and forth across the road, tires screeching loudly as he desperately tries to compensate with the wheel. With a final rattle of stones, they leave the right side of the road and lurch into a short stone wall. Both Bartuzat and the driver are ejected from the car by the impact. Bartuzat is thrown violently onto the ground. His Luger slithers away from him, bounces once in front of him, and lands next to the road.

  Dazed, Bartuzat begins crawling towards the pistol a few yards away. He becomes aware of the enemy soldiers racing towards him. Are they American? He yells in English. “Don’t kill! Don’t kill!” as he edges away from the car and closer to his weapon.

  Lieutenant Brannen sees at a glance that the officer still in the car is out of commission. He looks back to the man on the ground. He sees his arm stretch out, apparently for his pistol. “Stop!” Brannen yells. The German continues reaching for the Luger. Coldly, the GI levels his Thompson and fires at the figure below him. One bullet hits the man in the head, blood briefly spurting up in a high geyser before subsiding.

  The lieutenant walks over to the car and examines the passenger. He notices that the officer in front, slumped down, has red stripes on the sides of his trousers, gold epaulets, and an Iron Cross hanging around his neck. This might be someone important. He sees the man’s hat lying on the seat, picks it up, and reads “Falley” on the inside sweatband. He rips the name out to send back to headquarters. Maybe they will know who this joker is.11

  5:00 a.m. in Cherbourg. Dawn is about an hour away. Admiral Hennecke is in teletype contact with Oberleutnant zur See Walter Ohmsen, commanding the large naval gun battery at St. Marcouf. The battery is about 8km northwest of the large beach area next to the Vire estuary. The battery commander had earlier sent a message detailing a status report, and that an air raid around 11 p.m. had knocked out all six 75mm anti-aircraft guns. The gun crews had tried to repair two after the raid, and were still working on them.

  Now the commander is on the teletype again. Hennecke’s eyes widen as he reads the message. The battery has sighted many vessels. Presumably they are the enemy’s, but Ohmsen wants to make sure.

  Hennecke replies immediately:

  ANY VESSELS SIGHTED BOUND TO BE ENEMY SHIPS. PERMISSION TO OPEN FIRE. AMMUNITION TO BE USED SPARINGLY.

  MESSAGE ENDS. OUT.

  ***

  5:15 a.m. Alfred Jodl is spending a quiet morning in his quarters. Up at 5 a.m., he is having his usual light breakfast of a soft-boiled egg, a thin slice of toast, and a cup of coffee, before leaving his quarters.

  The news from Italy is bad. With Rome fallen, Kesselring’s men are pulling back, desperately trying to stave off an Allied breakthrough. Walter Warlimont has been ordered to go see Kesselring and scope the latest situation.

  As if on cue, Warlimont calls. Up since 4 a.m. following the airborne reports in Normandy, he now reports the situation to Jodl. He tells him about OB West’s teletype message requesting release of the reserve panzers, and his own subsequent phone conversation with Blumentritt. “OB West wants to move them into the invasion area immediately,” he concludes.

  Jodl hesitates before responding with a simple question: “Are you so sure that this is the invasion? According to the reports I’ve received, it could very well be a diversionary attack... you know, part of a deception plan.”

  Jodl decides. “OB West has sufficient reserves right now,” he states. “They should try to clean up the attack at present with the forces at their disposal.”

  Warlimont acknowledges, stunned. No reinforcements? He is not going to argue with Jodl, though.

  Jodl, perhaps perceiving the surprise in his deputy’s voice, finishes by calmly observing, “I do not think that this is the time to release the OKW reserves.” Jodl also says that he is not going to awaken the Führer about this. He had only gone to bed a couple of hours ago taking some sleeping drugs. Typical.

  Warlimont questions this, and Jodl responds, “We must wait for further clarification of the situation.”

  Warlimont understands and says, “Sir, in view of the Normandy situation, shall I proceed to Italy as planned?”

  Jodl thinks about this, and replies, “Yes… Yes, I don’t see why not.”

  ***

  Warlimont hangs up, shaking his head. He looks at Baron von Buttlar-Brandenfels who is standing next to him, and who had heard most of the conversation.

  “I sympathize with Blumentritt,” he says. “This decision is absolutely contrary to my understanding of what the plan was to be in the event of an invasion.”

  Warlimont stares down at the phone. This information will not be well received. Still, he is not in a position to argue with his boss. Sighing, he picks up the receiver again and telephones Blumentritt in France.

  Blumentritt comes on the line at the command bunker and tells Warlimont that, based upon the information coming in, this enemy operation is more than likely the actual invasion, and that the apparent target is Normandy.

  Walther replies that he will pass that along. In the meantime, he adds reluctantly, the release order for the reserve panzers will have to be postponed until the situation becomes clearer. The Führer himself will release them at that point. But the panzers cannot move without his approval, and he has only been in bed a couple of hours.

  Blumentritt in an angry tone demands to know who countermanded the order. “General Jodl,” Warlimont replies. “He feels that would be the decision the Führer would make if he were awake.”

  Blumentritt voices his objections loudly, his tone cold and biting. Walther sympathizes, but he is just doing his job.

  ***

  When Blumentritt tells von Rundstedt that OKW will not release the reserve panzers, the crusty old field marshal becomes furious. His face turns brig
ht red, and his speech becomes almost incoherent. He yells that he wants confirmation of this insult. So their Ia, Bobo Zimmermann, calls OKW back to confirm the surprising decision, and to try to get it changed.

  Zimmermann’s call goes through to the Strub Barracks. But this time, instead of Warlimont taking the call, von Buttlar-Brandenfels does. He has just gotten off the phone with Jodl.

  Zimmermann asks for confirmation of the release delay, and von Buttlar coldly gives it to him. Zimmermann starts protesting, telling him that the order is crazy. Von Buttlar’s reaction is swift.

  “These divisions are under the direct control of OKW!” he barks. “You had no right to alert them without our prior approval. You are to halt the panzers immediately.”

  Zimmermann, distressed, tries to argue the point. “Sir,” he says, “if we cannot use the panzers now, the Normandy landings will succeed, and then all types of unforeseeable consequences will follow.”

  Von Buttlar though is adamant. “You are in no position to judge,” he replies curtly.

  Zimmermann is shocked. If OB West was in no position to judge, who the hell was?

  Von Buttlar cuts the argument short by snapping, “Nothing is to be done before the Führer makes his decision. Do as you are told!” He slams the receiver down.

  Blumentritt and Zimmermann walk in to von Rundstedt’s office and find the field marshal half-sitting on the front edge of his desk, glaring at the floor. The Old Man is really pissed off. This is not going to be easy.

  The old Prussian looks up at them. “Ja?” he grouches.

  Zimmermann tells him about the phone call as von Rundstedt begins to seethe. Blumentritt tactfully suggests that he call the Führer himself. After all, he has the privilege as a field marshal to be able to go over OKW’s head.

  The field marshal glares at his chief of staff. Does he know what that would mean? Being hard of hearing, it is embarrassing to not hear a sentence, or misunderstand it. And to do that to someone important on the line… Besides, he does not want his voice secretly recorded, so that his comments might be used against him later. Worst of all though, it would look like he was begging. He would have to swallow his noble pride and grovel to that house painter. He imagines the Führer grinning as he humbles himself into the phone.

  He grits his teeth. He will never call that Bohemian corporal. He is an aristocratic Prussian, a true blue-blood. He despises that Nazi bastard and his commoner background. For months now he has been treated like a figurehead in the West. There was that humiliating war conference in May. And now that he is just trying to do his job, those martinets around Hitler are playing power games, trying to cover their fat butts. Yes, well, the hell with all of them. He will never crawl on his knees to them, no matter what the situation—war or no war.

  ***

  At Berchtesgaden it is about 5:30, and the birds are just starting to sing. Dawn will shortly break against the beautiful backdrop of the Obersalzberg mountain, and a lovely Austrian sky.

  At the Berghof, Admiral von Puttkamer, Hitler’s naval aide, has been told about the airborne drops. Does he wake up Hitler after only a few hours’ rest?

  Hitler at this point in his life is an insomniac. He stays up into the early morning hours, and only turns in when he can no longer stay awake, to sleep fitfully for a few hours. On the evening of June 5, as was his custom of late, he had stayed up well into the early morning hours, entertaining Eva Braun and some of her young female friends with his stories and trite chit-chat.

  The Führer had finally gone to bed at 3 a.m. To make sure that he slept well, Dr. Morell had given him a sleeping drug. Obviously, the Führer would be in no mood to receive any news, good or bad, after less than three hours’ sleep. And the admiral felt that Hitler should be in good spirits before hearing about some paratroop landing in France.

  So the admiral decides not to wake him. “Besides,” he comments to an assistant, “there isn’t much to tell him anyway.”

  ***

  Along the Calvados beach near Ste.-Honorine-des Pertes, 12 the night is nearly over. It has, all things considered, been somewhat eventful for Major Werner Pluskat, commanding the three batteries of the 1. Abteilung, 352. Artillerie Regiment. Awoken just before midnight in his gloomy château in Etreham13 by the sound of anti-aircraft fire, he had immediately phoned his regimental headquarters to find out what was going on. He had spoken to Karl Ocker.14

  “What’s going on?” he had asked.

  Ocker had replied “I don’t know yet,” adding that when he found out anything, he would call back. But the continued bombing up the coast had worried the major. Instinctively, he called Major Paul Block, the 352nd’s Ic, at division headquarters. Block had replied, “It’s not clear yet. We think American paratroopers are landing to the left of us, but I’m not sure.” The reports were very sketchy.

  After hanging up, Pluskat had considered a possible airborne attack to his west and wondered what to do. Should he get up and go to regimental headquarters? Or to his command bunker on the shore? Or was this just another one of the many false alarms they had been given over and over in the last few months? In the end, he just tried to go back to bed. But Block’s report, the bombings, the sporadic anti-aircraft fire… It was difficult to go to sleep.

  Twenty minutes later, regimental headquarters had called back. Ocker told him that the invasion was probably beginning, and that he had better alert his unit. So Pluskat got dressed and woke up his two ordnance officers, Leutnant Fritz Theen and Hauptmann Ludz Wilkening. They grabbéd a driver, and together with Pluskat’s dog Harras, they all climbed into his small command Volkswagen and drove north about four kilometers to his fortified, advanced command bunker, located on a cliff overlooking the bay.15 They had arrived there after one o’clock in the morning.

  Pluskat had found that all was quiet at the bunker. As the hours crept by though, they noted a tremendous amount of air activity going on, although actual glimpses of aircraft were sporadic. Bombing raids continued far up the coast around Boulogne, and many aircraft formations had flown by in the clouds, both to the east of them and to the west. Some groups seemed to be going inland, and some seemed to be headed back out to sea, towards England. Later, a small bombing raid actually flew over their bunker, the bombs falling somewhere inland. Occasionally the quiet sound of the waves was broken by sporadic gunfire far off to the west; evidence perhaps of the few sketchy reports that he had received from regimental headquarters about possible enemy airborne landings.

  However, that had been the extent of the excitement for the night.

  Now Pluskat, tired and somewhat calmer, stands in his command bunker, gazing with his powerful binoculars through the narrow aperture out into the dark Channel and at the shore to each side of him. For several hours now, he has periodically swept the area thoroughly and painstakingly for any signs of enemy activity. He is emotionally drained from the night’s apparent activity. Out here alone with his men, he feels isolated, vulnerable. The sea though, seems tranquil despite the recent storm, and the dark skies, though cloudy, occasionally glow from the backdrop of a full moon. It is now exceptionally quiet, the misty stillness in the air heavy.

  The sky to the east is just starting to lighten up. Dawn cannot be far away. Pluskat will soon get to return to his quarters and finally go back to bed, another long night over. No invasion, it seems. But those reports of Fallschirmjägern landing to the west bother him.

  The men in the bunker rarely speak, and when they do, it is in low tones. They are busy listening for something, anything. But there is nothing. Dead silence, except for the rolling sound of the waves.

  Pluskat turns to Theen and Wilkening, now talking quietly. “Still nothing out there,” he tells them. “I’m about to give it up.” He sighs, walks over to the aperture, and once more scans the horizon for any signs of activity… No, nothing… Empty sea. Not one—

  He stops his sweep and gazes hard through the glasses at the center of the bay, tensing up. Something there! A vess
el? He peers hard through the glasses. No, not just one; several…

  He lowers the binoculars and steps back in amazement. Pausing, he raises them again, his heart pounding. The dim dark-gray horizon is starting to fill with all sorts of vaporous vessels, a ghostly armada materializing out the mist, moving in slow, steady, precise formations towards the coast—towards him.

  He hands the glasses to Theen and says in wonder, “It’s the invasion. Take a look.”

  Theen raises the glasses, observes the massive ethereal fleet of ships coming closer, and says in shock, “Mein Gott. It’s the invasion.” He gives them in turn to Wilkening, and the captain confirms it.

  Pluskat quickly grabs the phone and calls Block at division headquarters and tells him. “There must be 10,000 ships out there!” he adds.16 “It’s unbelievable… It’s fantastic. This must be the invasion.”

  Block is calm on the other end. “No… Look Pluskat, are you really sure there are that many ships? The Americans and the British together don’t have that many ships.”

  Angrily, Pluskat snaps, “For crissakes, come and see for yourself!”

  Block, still skeptical, and asks calmly, “Which way are these ships heading?”

  Pluskat, staring at the enemy vessels slowly closing in, yells, “Auf mich zu direkt!”17

  But Block still remains dubious. Pluskat, disgusted with him, growls, “Aw, the hell with you,” and throws down the receiver.

  Some ten minutes later, hundreds of Allied warships begin their bombardment of the Normandy coast. Scores of projectiles of all calibers start slamming into the beaches and the bluffs, raining down from different distances and angles, shelling the five major beach areas—Sword, Gold, Juno, Omaha, and Utah. Swarms of Allied aircraft fly over the shore, headed for coastal targets, unworried about any interdiction from the Luftwaffe.

  The firing of the mighty battleships is distinct, and the massive thuds from their large guns can be felt a few miles away and heard for many more. The recoils from the gun turrets slam the warships sideways, setting up small tidal waves that drench the troops standing in the nearby small craft as they head in towards the beaches. A silent enemy battery on Pointe du Hoc takes a terrific beating, and portions of the point collapse and fall into the sea.