Around 4:30 p.m., Rommel tells Daniel that he wants to stop in the next city and phone in for an update on what is going on. Ahead of them is Rheims. Daniel replies that they will get there in about a half-hour. This is of course not good enough for Rommel, but he cannot lash out at Daniel. He is doing his best.
About 25 minutes later, the Horch rolls into town, still 140km east-northeast of Paris and 220km from headquarters. They pull up to the commandant’s headquarters. Lang immediately gets out and goes inside to secure a phone to call La Roche-Guyon, Rommel close behind. The field marshal is given a phone in an office and after a small delay, finally gets hold of Speidel. Rommel spends the next fifteen minutes getting updated. Lang walks back outside to the car again to make sure it is getting refueled and serviced.
Speidel fills Rommel in on the situation. Summarizing, he admits that Normandy is indeed a large Allied operation. However, he also adds that this does not discount the possibility of future major operations somewhere else. The chief of staff still feels that this is not the main invasion effort.
Rommel does not pursue that at the moment. He does not want to waste time arguing with Speidel about that. Impatiently, he drops the subject and asks about the German panzer counterattack.
“There has been none as yet, Herr Feldmarschall, ” Speidel replies. “The closest division to the assault area is the 21st Panzer. The division itself is ready, but it is awaiting further reinforcements before it advances.”9
Rommel is aghast. What had happened to his counterattack-at-once instructions?
“Get the division moving into the attack right now!” he rasps. “Don’t await further reinforcements. Attack at once!” The conversation ends, and Rommel dashes back outside. The call has lasted less than fifteen minutes.
Lang can see immediately by the look on Rommel’s face that the news is bad. They pile back into the car, and Daniel starts off again, no one saying a word.
The three of them travel on in silence. Daniel is busy driving, and Lang does not dare intrude on the field marshal’s thoughts. Rommel suddenly slams one gloved fist into the other and bitterly quips, “My friendly enemy, Montgomery.”
A while later, Rommel tries to recover his hope. Perhaps it is not too late to change the outcome. If they can muster their forces quickly enough and reinforce the 21st’s panzers when they eventually go in with some assaulting infantry battalions, they still might stop the enemy long enough to let the big panzer divisions arrive and finish the job. “My God!” he says aloud. “If the 21st Panzer can make it, we might just be able to drive them back in three days.” Rommel is clearly trying to think positive.
He is also clearly having a hard time about it.
It is at 4 p.m. at the front. Without realizing it, the Germans are playing their last card to destroy the beachhead. The 21st Panzer Division, finally in place to attack the British late in the afternoon, prepares to begin its long-awaited counterattack.
Marcks’ orders to the commanders are clear. Fight through to the coast. Stop for nothing or no one. Forget retreat. Gottberg and his force of 35 tanks will take Périers Ridge, about 5km from the coast. Oppeln himself will lead the other group of 25 tanks to take the Biéville ridge on the right. The 192nd Panzergrenadier Regiment will then push through the middle, and go on to reach the coast.
General Marcks himself arrives at the scene. Walking up to Oppeln, he says simply, “Oppeln, the future of Germany may very well rest on your shoulders.” Marcks’ tired eyes stare at him through his wire-rimmed glasses. “If you don’t push the British back into the sea, we shall have lost the war.”
Oppeln hesitates to say anything in return. Taking a deep breath, he salutes and replies, “General, I intend to do my best.” What the hell. If he dies, he dies.
Marcks returns his salute, then turns and hobbles over to General Feuchtinger and exchanges a few words with him. Oppeln takes a last look at them, and then walks over to where his unit commanders are.
Marcks and Feuchtinger turn around and climb into Marcks’ command car. They drive over to the lead armored scout car of Rauch’s 192nd Panzergrenadiers. Marcks slowly gets out and looks at the anxious faces of the men around him, loaded up and ready to move out against the enemy. Solemnly pointing forward with his cane, he says loudly, “Press on to the coast.”
Oppeln meanwhile, apprehensive and worried, climbs into his command tank. As he checks the skies for aircraft once more, he spots a small command vehicle approaching from the coast. The driver must have seen Oppeln’s command pennant, because he drives over to his tank. Sitting in the back of the vehicle is a dusty, smudged General Richter, commander of the 716th Division. Oppeln climbs out of his PzKw IVand greets him. Richter is full of anguish, tears making trails in the dirt on his face.
“General, are you all right?” asks Oppeln.
Richter takes a deep breath and wipes his eyes. His voice trembling, he dismally replies, “My troops are lost. My—my whole division is finished.”
Oppeln is surprised. Surely some elements are left. Someone has to still be fighting, or else the enemy would have advanced much further by now. Finally, he said, “Well, what can I do, sir?”
Richter says nothing. After a short pause, he just dejectedly shrugs his shoulders. Oppeln feels compelled to say something more, something encouraging. He replies softly, “We’ll help as best we can.”
He pulls out his map and shows it to the grief-stricken general. “Where are their positions, sir?” he asked.
Richter glanced over at Oppeln’s map and stays silent, his hands at his sides.
Oppeln presses him. “Sir, will you point them out?”
Richter seems not just distressed; but also disoriented. He finally looks up and gazes past Oppeln. Slowly, he shakes his head. “I don’t know,” he murmurs. “I don’t know…”
Oppeln glances at his watching subordinates. They are clearly worried.
At 4:30 a.m., the advance begins. From Lebussey, Oppeln’s panzers attack on the right, and Rauch’s 192nd Panzergrenadiers fan out to his left.10 But the advance of Panzergruppe Oppeln is stopped cold by deadly fire from what seems to be a few enemy tanks and anti-tank guns along the well-protected, well-camouflaged Biéville ridge ahead of them.11 Four panzers are picked off in succession by the dug-in, hidden, longer-range guns of the British. The enemy continues firing, and as has occasionally happened in the past, von Oppeln’s own tank is again shot out from under him, along with almost a dozen other new but antiquated short-barreled PzKw IVs. Von Gottberg’s panzer battalion on his left spreads out to the west and manages to make it to the hills around Périers before dug-in British anti-tank guns and nearby tanks destroy six units. However, von Gottberg is determined to break through, and continues on resolutely, changing his attack direction again and going further to his left. Near Mathieu, he gets ambushed again by a few British tanks, and another three PzKw IVs are knocked out.
The 192nd Regiment though, moving forward on his left, gets lucky. Smashing through between the Canadians to their left and the British on their right, they break through the still-forming enemy lines and press forward, onward, all the way down to the sea. Reaching the shore, they relieve a few beleaguered units. But as they try to consolidate their position, they realize that no help is going to come to support their advance. Sitting out there on the beaches, with the psychological impact of the huge naval armada in front of them and enemy units closing in from both sides, they quickly realize how exposed and cut off they are.
As they contemplate withdrawing, von Oppeln, although he has been stopped on their right, has not given up. He learns about the 192nd’s breakthrough to the coast. With part of his regiment now dug in and ordered to hold, the rest get ready to follow the 192nd up the middle and exploit the breach. Oppeln begins to brief the other group of four dozen panzers on where to follow the panzergrenadiers to the shore. General Feuchtinger drives up and agrees with his plan, and the men begin to move out.
But Feuchtinger’s confid
ence drains away at about 8 p.m. when, looking up, he sees the unmistakable sight of hundreds of parachutes descending in front of and possibly even behind the dug-in forward positions of his other panzers. He panics, thinking that this is a British airborne reaction to his counterattack, and that the landing paratroopers intend to cut his men off. Concerned about his rear, Feuchtinger calls off the entire attack on the beachhead and orders von Oppeln to withdraw all elements of these two advanced regiments to a new position behind the present line. Von Oppeln reluctantly gives the orders.12
***
Marcks’ men in the end cannot stop the advancing enemy coming ashore. Even at Omaha, the crisis begins to end in the early afternoon as the Americans start getting off the beach. The clearing weather makes it worse, as the Allied air force and now closer navy both pitch in to support the men beneath the cliffs. The Germans, low on ammo, shocked by the day’s fighting, taking heavy casualties, and seeing little relief, slowly begin to fall back.
***
Von Rundstedt, infuriated over the panzer episode, is in bad temper all day as he struggles to get a hold of the situation.
***
Rommel’s Horch continues on its speedy trek to La Roche-Guyon. Daniel, as ever, is silent as he drives them at breakneck speeds down the various roads. Lang, alone in the back, suffers the bumps silently. He is glad that the field marshal has now apparently partly recovered from his self-recrimination. Rommel at one point turns halfway around, and says fervently, “I hope there isn’t a second landing right now from the Mediterranean.”
He pauses briefly. How spectacular it would be to lead the mighty forces that the Allies possess… Deep into this image, he says slowly, “Do you know, Lang… If I was commander of the Allied forces right now, I could finish off the war in fourteen days.” Having said that, and deep in thought, he turns back around and once again stares at the road ahead. Lang feels terribly upset and helpless. He remains silent as the car speeds on. Evening is approaching.
Allied tactical aircraft continue to swarm over the invasion area. Caen is bombed again, and Vire will be hit at 8 p.m. German vehicles moving up towards the front along inland roads are repeatedly strafed. American and British medium and heavy bombers continue to pound the defensive positions as darkness approaches.
The Allies have now landed the staggering figure of over 155,000 troops onto French soil. They control an area about 15 miles long and almost six miles deep—over 80 square miles. On the negative side, casualties just on Omaha beach are terrible. Bodies are strewn everywhere, and those units surviving have lost about 50 percent of their men and vehicles, as well as about three-fourths of their heavy weapons and supplies, including tanks. The disorganized beachhead will not be able to withstand a determined panzer counterattack. The British are doing better, and before dawn comes, they will have landed a total of four divisions.
The Allied fleet is relatively safe from naval attack, although 36 U-boats will put to sea from the Bay of Biscay in the next 24 hours. None will reach the Allied shipping lanes for at least a week.
Pitifully few German aircraft—maybe fifty or so of various types—have been available to scramble against the enemy landing. They have been thwarted by its formidable air cover. Several aircraft attempting to pierce the umbrella are shot down.
The evening report at 84th Corps is not good, and Marcks’ staff is in a dejected mood. Between the American airborne assaults and the landings at Utah beach, the left flank of the developing front has all but collapsed. The Germans hold the center, but have made some major concessions to the British and Canadians on their right flank. Bayeux, held by the 915th Grenadier Regiment and supported indirectly by elements of the 21st Panzer, is about to fall. The mighty guns at the Pointe du Hoc had been moved back beneath camouflage, under Rommel’s orders, so that they would not be bombed. A daring American commando raid in mid-morning had captured the guns where they sat, ready and waiting to deliver devastating fire onto Utah beach, stacks of shells next to them. The Americans had simply spiked the guns.
The one small glimmer of sunshine is the 21st Panzer’s continued assault west of the Orne River. Elements of the 192nd Panzergrenadiers have broken through the enemy lines and have reached the coast at Luc-sur-Mer. But the panzers on their right, trying to widen the attack corridor, have been stopped, picked off by enemy anti-tank guns. And on the other side of the Orne, more bad news. Von Luck’s 125th Panzergrenadiers have run up against a heavy barrage, and have been forced to fall back through Escoville. He will have to be reinforced by the 4th Panzer Company before he tries again.
No attacks by the Kriegsmarine have been reported, and only a few dozen German aircraft have been sighted in the invasion area all day. So much for Göring’s promise of a thousand aircraft.
The status portion of the briefing concluded, Major Hayn stands. It is his turn now. The Ic starts out by flatly stating that this is the main invasion.
Marcks, normally easy-going (but thorough), is in a foul mood. Rommel is on his way back from Germany, and so is incommunicado. One hell of a time to leave France. The Führer had slept undisturbed until the late morning, and then had still held off making a decision. Those damned panzers had been frozen in reserve for hours, with everyone in the Supreme Command sitting on their thumbs. Von Rundstedt’s had tried to get them to act, but had failed. Many at OKW probably are still wondering if the real invasion has actually come. Hell, the Allies had even announced the landing on the BBC! What do they need, a written invitation? Where are the replacements? Where are the supplies? The reinforcements? Who the hell is running logistics? Marcks’ men are fighting desperately against an overwhelming enemy, using up their ammo and dying as they give ground.
“Damn!” Marcks finally snarls aloud, startling his staff. He forces his attention back to Hayn.
Three parachute divisions, Hayn is stating, have been identified so far in the assault: the American 82nd and 101st Airborne Divisions on the left flank, and major elements of the British 6th Airborne on their right. That is over half of the Anglo-American airborne force that is known to be based in England.13
Hayn checks his notes and continues. The American 1st and 4th Infantry Divisions have been identified ashore. So why, Hayn argues, would the Allies commit these first-line units—not to mention most of their airborne force—to a diversionary attack? Would they use their second-line divisions for the main assault? Hardly.
Hayn looks at his audience and holds up a paper. “Just take a look at Major Wiegmann’s report from the Caen area. This is what it says.” He glances at the paper. “The 3rd British and 3rd Canadian Divisions were identified before noon. Now we also know that the 50th Northumbrian and the 7th Armored Divisions are present. That leaves only the 51st Highlanders and the 1st Armored Division to make up Montgomery’s entire old Eighth Army from North Africa!”14
Hayn knows that he is right, and makes his conclusion. “If this isn’t the invasion, then what units are they going to use for it?” Hayn’s argument makes sense. Marcks agrees with Hayn, and orders that the report be sent up the chain of command.
The intelligence officer at Seventh Army (Vorwerk) and the one at OB West (Meyer-Detring) later will agree with Hayn and endorse his report. But they will still have trouble convincing von Rundstedt that this is the real invasion.
***
At about 10 p.m., Rommel finally reaches the village of La Roche-Guyon. Daniel slows down as they roll through the outskirts. As they move quietly through the main street, the town seems deserted. The black Horch finally pulls off the main road, turning down the entrance driveway, and enters the well-guarded courtyard. As the car screeches to a stop next to the main steps, Lang jumps out and runs ahead to inform General Speidel that they have returned.
Hustling into the main hall, Lang slows down, puzzled. Incredibly, he is hearing—yes, that is music! Baffled, he listens intently, and recognizes a Wagnerian opera. It is definitely coming from the chief of staff’s office. Stunned for a moment, he
starts to get angry. The future of Germany is being desperately fought for out there, perhaps has even been lost by now, on the very beaches that this headquarters was assigned to protect. The field marshal is feeling miserable, but the chief of staff is playing records. Suddenly, the music grows louder as the door opens. Speidel comes strolling out, a serene look on his face.
Lang looks him straight in the eyes, laying aside for a moment that he is only a captain speaking to a general as he snarls, “How can you possibly play opera at a time like this?!”
Speidel, ever cool, smiles graciously in return, and replies, “My dear Lang, you don’t think that my playing a little music is going to stop the invasion, now do you?” Lang is too shocked to reply.
Speidel sees the field marshal striding down the hallway in his long gray field coat, grim-faced, his baton gripped tightly in his right hand. Glancing briefly at Speidel, Rommel walks directly into his office and, clasping his hands behind him, begins studying the map. Speidel closes the door to begin their private conference. It is going to be a long one. Naturally, the aide is not invited.
Lang stands there a moment, fatigued and dejected. It has been a terribly long drive, and the day seems to be going horribly. Still, there is nothing that he can do right now—at least nothing that would help the field marshal.
Lang finds his way into the dining room and collapses at one of the tables. Tired, he gets up, pours himself a cup of coffee, and then sits down again. Gazing over, he spies another officer reading a newspaper. The other officer looks up affably and asks with a smile, “How was the trip?”
Lang cannot say anything. He can only stare at the man.
***
Rommel, now in the chief’s office, begins studying the situation map. He shakes his head and grumbles, “That’s one hell of a mess!” Speidel begins telling him the measures that he has taken.
As the field marshal listens to Speidel’s briefing, he finds himself even more concerned. On the right flank, the British have secured a beachhead 20 miles wide and 3 to 6 miles deep. They threaten Bayeux in the center, which is barely holding on, defended by remnants of the shattered 915th Grenadiers.
Countdown to D-Day Page 84
