Hans Von Luck - Panzer Commander

by Unknown

  “If you are allowed to go home,” continued the Colonel, “we know you will become a soldier again and fight against us.” I shook my head and replied, “I should like to get home at last and help to rebuild my bomb-damaged country and establish a democracy and live in peace, nothing else.” At that came the familiar “Davai” from the Colonel.

  I went back to my barrack. My fellow prisoners crowded around me at once, and after I had described the course of the hearing, they all said the same, "You're mad, that's your undoing.

  You'll have to stay here." But I judged the Russians differently.

  Next morning the interpreter came along. “That was risky, Polkovnik, but good. I think you impressed the Colonel. He was a frontline soldier like you and he understands tough talking.” Two days later, in the early hours of the morning, I was called out of bed by one of the guards. My roommates said good-bye to me: “All the best, old man, wherever your journey may take you.” In the courtyard prisoners from every barrack were assembling with their few possessions. At a table sat a Russian otticer with a list of names, from which he called out one after the other. The man who was called went to the table. There he heard either “Davai,” which now meant release, or the fateful “Niet.” We saw the stricken faces of those who had been singled out with “Niet” and hardly trusted ourselves to look at them. I was the third of our section who had to step up to the table. As the man before me heard

  “Niet,” I patted him sympathetically on the shoulder.

  Which word would I hear? It was “Davai”!

  More running than walking, I hurried to the camp gate. A great stone fell from my heart. We didn't dare look round for fear they might still fetch us back. Did this really mean release?

  There I found the interpreter. “Domoi, Polkovnik, all the best.” I still think of her today, full of gratitude.

  Then we marched to the station, where a train was standing ready to take us away. We still didn't trust the Russians. In which direction would it go? But after we had got in, the doors remained unlocked, for the first time in five years. Our joy knew no bounds. We could hardly take it in, that the day we had dreamed of for so many years had now come at last.

  It was bitterly cold. In spite of that we left the doors open a crack, for fear they might be bolted again. We lay pressed tight together and hardly felt the cold.

  A few sang quietly, others imagined the first thing they would eat, what it would be like after nearly five years to be face to face with their own wife or girlfriend. No one was ashamed of his feelings.

  We all knew that when we reached home it would be like being born again.

  My thoughts went back to my youth, to the security of my parents' house and to the many pleasant years, until Hitler came along and the war began. Of my 39 years I had spent more than 10 at war and in captivity.

  Growing Up“ 1911-1929 I come from an old military family whose roots can be traced back into the thirteenth century. Monastic records show that my ancestors fought successfully against the Tartars in Silesia in 1213-since that time they have been allowed to bear a Tartar cap in their coat of arms. Family tradition required service in the Prussian army. The name of von Luck crops up several times in the letters of Frederick the Great; two originals hang in the living room of my house in Hamburg. On 29 May 1759, during the Seven Years War, the King wrote to ”Lieutenant von Luck" asking him to find out what the Austrian enemy was up to: My dear Lieutenant von Luck. I am very pleased with your report but you must now try to find out through your patrols what the officers of the Austrians seen near Hermsdorff were doing there and what they were looking for and asking about, then we will soon see from the circumstances why they were there. This much is certain, when we moved off yesterday, they struck many tents on the Rehom. It can be therefore that where the heights of Hermsdorff dominate, they have recognized our camp. You will be able to find out about all this from the people of Herinsdorff.

  I am your affectionate King.

  Reich Hennersdorff 29 May 1759 Written by a clerk.) Added by Frederick 11 in his own hand: His report is very good, only (illegible) for spies and when he has them before (him) then he must bring (them) here tomorrow.

  Signed F. And ten years later, on 13 October 1769, the King informed his “General of Cavalry von Zieten”: My dear General of Cavalry von Zieten. Reluctant as I usually am to grant my Hussar officers permission to marry, owing to the encumbrance that results, which is too worrying and useless in time of war, I am nevertheless willing this once to yield to the marriage of Cavalry Captain von Luck of your Regiment, for which you sought my consent in your letter of the 11th of this month, and I remain your affectionate King.

  Potsdam, the 13th 8 her 1769 The letter was evidently written by a clerk to dictation and signed by Frederick II.) Against the background of this family tradition my father, Otto von Luck, was almost a freak, for he was a naval officer. When I was born, in Flensburg on 15 July 1911, he was with a unit of the fleet, as a lieutenant, in the Chinese port of Tsingtan his way into a world which was accessible at that time only to sailors and merchants.

  Our house in Flensburg was full of valuable pieces from East Asia. As the remains of this collection I still treasure today a precious Chinese vase and a Japanese tea set which my father had made when I was born. A few years ago a Japanese business friend was very impressed when he drank tea with me from these eggshellthin cups. “Nothing like these can be made today,” he said. “Earlier, the Japanese used to go out in a boat on a quiet lake, before the firing, in order to do the hand-painting free from dust.” After the outbreak of the First World War, and after he had taken part in the battle of Jutland, my father was transferred to the naval school in Flensburg-Muerwik. Among my childhood memories, one of the happiest is playing with my younger brother on the warships lying in the harbor and eating snacks with the sailors in the galleys. My father was an enthusiastic sportsman and was regarded as the best gymnast in the navy.

  Our father was a model for me and for my brother, Ernst -Angust, born in 1913. We loved his sense of humor and his athletic ability. When he came home from work at the naval school, he sometimes came up the stairs to the upper story on his hands, in full uniform, in order to greet us there.

  Our generation was born into the First World War. As little children, we lived through its bitter end, the revolution and the difficult years that followed. In contrast to the Second World War, the first took place outside Germany. All we knew of it was the worsening food supply, for turnips in every form became our basic nourishment. We longed for the seamen's diet on the warships.

  Growing Up, 1911-1929

  At the beginning of July 1918, at the time of my seventh birthday, my father died from an influenza virus brought in from Fast Asia. With him we lost the most precious thing in our lives: a model a partner, whose influence on us can still be traced today.

  The full implications of the end of the war and the revolution of 1918, which began in the navy, were naturally beyond me. I couldn't understand why the young midshipmen, who had been trained by my father, were now being dragged through the streets by shouting sailors who had been our friends. We found it exciting that one or two cadets fled to us and hid themselves in our attic.

  Our father's death changed our lives. Our mother had to give up our house. We found a farmer to stay with in the neighborhood.

  To ensure that we were provided for in the hard times, our mother married again. Our stepfather was a naval chaplain and teacher at a cadet school.

  We were now brought up in the “Prussian” manner. Our blond hair was cropped into a crew cut, the beds had to be made armystyle.

  To be late was to be punished. From our stepfather we learned to take care of ourselves, including all household chores. This stood me in good stead later, especially in captivity.

  On 1 April 1917, I was enrolled in the Monastery School in Flensburg, one of the oldest schools in north Germany. My stepfather wanted me to go in for the classics, which I have never r
egretted. Thanks to my study of Latin and Greek, modern languages came very easily to me. My stepfather insisted on my learning the origin of all foreign words. Even at mealtime, the moment I used a foreign word I had to get up from the table, pick up the dictionary, and read out to him the definition of the word employed.

  In 1929, at the age of 17, I took my Abitur, or graduation examimates always sent his car and chauffeur for us on weekends, as the nation, which I very nearly missed. The father of one of my class family lived outside Flensburg. Once we decided to take a diversion to a little seaside resort on the Firth to meet our girlfriends. Wearing our school caps and smoking cigarettes, we were sitting ostentatiously in the backseat when we overtook our headmaster, who was out for his Saturday drive.

  Not only was smoking strictly forbidden, but on top of that our headmaster had to swallow our dust. He recognized us and the next morning we were summoned to his study.

  “You know that smoking in school caps is forbidden. The staff have decided to exclude you from sitting the Abitur on account of immaturity.” My classmate seemed unimpressed, for one way or another he was going to take over his father's factory. For me things looked differently, everything was at stake.

  Family tradition and my stepfather had decided that I was to embark on a career as an army officer. Out of more than a thousand applicants for only about 140 places in the 100,000-strong army, the Reichswehr, I had been accepted. A postponement of the Abitur would have meant the end of my career before it had begun.

  So I said cautiously, “Headmaster, I have been accepted by the Reichswehr as a cadet officer in order to serve the Fatherland, true to our family tradition. If you hold me back from the Abitur on account of one cigarette, you would be wrecking my career. Can you justify such a thing?” He seemed moved.

  "I would not want that, of course. I will speak to the staff.

  But you can no longer pass with the mark“Good.” The highest is “Satisfactory.'” I have never understood the logic of this decision. But just to get through the Abitur was enough for me.

  The Reichswehr and My Teacher, I was assigned to a cavalry regiment in Silesia, but transferred unexpectedly to East Prussia, to the ist Motorized Battalion, a bitter disappointment, as the cavalry was the elite force and I loved homes and riding. But we soon realized that the seven motorized battalions in the Reichswehr were to become the nucleus of the later tank force. According to the Treaty of Versailles, tanks and armored scout cars were forbidden. So, very early on, General von Seekt, head of the Reichswehr, entered into a secret agreement with Russia. Under this, young officers of the motorized battalions were sent for three months every year to a Russian training camp in the Urals and instructed on tanks there in the tactics of motorized units.

  Unfortunately, it was no longer possible for me to go on my course, scheduled for 1933, as the Russians canceled the agreement when Hitler came to power.

  It was the beginning of a hard schooling.

  Seekt had made of the Reichswehr a “state within the State.” It was kept deliberately nonpolitical and it was inculcated with a healthy national consciousness. The “dictate” of Versailles was regarded as a national disgrace; the “Polish Corridor,” former West Prussia, which separated East Prussia from the rest of the Reich, as a plundering of German territory.

  The economic crisis of the 1930s, the ever increasing number of unemployed (over 6 million in 1932), the ominous growth of the Communist party, and finally the strengthening of the National Socialist party-we paid little attention to all this. Instead, cadres were formed in the Reichswehr which later made it possible to set up the new Wehrmacht in a very short time.

  Tradition and the oath taken were regarded as sacrosanct and determined the behavior of the officer corps.

  Our East Prussian instructors were regarded as particularly severe. The word “drill” was practiced there in its fullest sense. NCOS who sought to compensate for their complexes and their intellectual inferiority by particularly ingenious methods had it in for me and another cadet especially. For the slightest misdemeanor, for instance, we had to clean corridors and lavatories with a toothbrush.

  Withdrawal of weekend leave was another punishment, as was being chased over the obstacle course. One thing we found particularly macabre was a “test of courage” that our instructor thought up especially for us. One evening we were summoned to his room. He took from his cupboard the upper part of a skull, which was supposed to have belonged to his uncle, and which held exactly one bottle of rum. We then had to drink this receptacle dry. We didn't dare report this petty tyranny to our training officer.

  Even if it did us no harm, this kind of “drilling” was still senseless. I decided then and there to treat any young soldier entrusted to me differently, more humanely.

  In other respects our training was rewarding and exciting. We had to qualify for all the driving licenses, including that for trackvehicles. This was followed by intensive driving practice with crosscountry journeys by day and by night, as well as a four-week course in our motor vehicle workshop. We then had to pass an examination and earn a teaching certificate.

  I was particularly proud when I was allowed to be the driver for our company commander for four weeks. He had at his disposal what is today a sought-after vintage model, the super-charged Mercedes cabriolet. Since we were the only motorized unit in East Prussia, I also had the opportunity quite often of driving the divisional commander. Our chances with the girls were naturally also increased because of our car.

  As early as 1931 we began to simulate the use of tanks with dummy armor, which we mounted on small private cars.

  For us officer cadets, riding instruction was also part of the program. The conclusion of our instruction took place at Neukuhren, a spa on the Baltic Sea, where our horses were quartered on a farm. Each morning before breakfast we rode among the dunes and then down the steep bluff to gallop over the wide, white sandy beach. The years from 1929 to 1932 in East Prussia were among the best of my military career.

  In 1931 and 1932, we officer cadets went for nine months to the infantry school in Dresden, to complete our commissioning as junior officers.

  Here, in the pearl of Saxony, I met for the first time Erwin Rommel. He was a captain, our infantry instructor and at the same time our most popular training officer. In the First World War he had been highly decorated in the fighting against the Italians with the “Pour le mgrite” order. He was 42 years old when I met him, The Reichswehr and My Teacher, Rommel is tall, strong, tough, wearing a severe uniform with a high collar, but a man with a warm and sympathetic smile. He told us war storieswe hung on every word-and his book Infantry Tactics was our bible.

  In Dresden for the first time I met the Don Cossacks, who even then were emigrants who had had to flee from Russia in 1917. As a further consequence, I took Russian as an optional subject at the infantry school. My teacher, an emigrant from the Baltic, introduced me to the Russian colony. To some extent the emigrants led a miserable existence, but they still kept up their native culture. Prince Obolensky, a charming gentleman of the good old school, was their doyen.

  My most memorable experience was at a Russian Easter party with the von Satin family, with whom I had become friendly.

  Rachmaninoff, the world famous pianist and composer, was Mrs. von Satin's brother. He often came from Paris or Switzerland to visit his family. At this Easter party Rachmaninoff was once again a guest. We ate and drank tea from the samovar, with which preserved cherries were served. Suddenly Rachmaninoff sat down at the piano and called out, “Come on you young people, dance now in honor of our Easter festival.” Who could resist the pleasure of dancing to the accompaniment of With my Baltic teacher I began to read Dostoyevski, Pushkin, and Tolstoy and was fascinated by the beauty and musical quality of the Russian language, which formed a harmony. The two years with my Russian friends and my increasing knowledge of the Ianguage helped me to understand something of the Russian mentality, which was to be a valuable aid to me lat
er in Russia.

  In 1932, I passed the examination as senior cadet officer, and after a brief spell as guest with my old unit in Koenigsberg, I was transferred to the 2nd Motorized Battalion at Kolberg, a pretty seaside resort on the Baltic coast of Pomerania.

  Kolberg, as an ancient trading center, had received its freedom as a city in 1207; in the Seven Years War it was besieged three times by the Russians and in 1761 it was taken. In 1807, Gneisenau, together with the citizens of Kolberg, defended the city successfully against the French. When the Russians were advancing toward Pomerania in 1945, Hitler and Goebbels made use of the Kolbergers' historic deed to inspire the population to even greater resistance. The film that was made about it, Kolberg, was shown in every theater.

  In 1932 this pleasant town, with its white beaches, the kursaal, and the clubhouse, gave a peaceful impression. The inhabitants were extremely friendly and army-minded, just as the Pomeranians in general were very conservative, so that National Socialism found hardly any support among the predominantly rural population. While Kolberg was enlivened during the summer by visitors, in winter the town fell into tranquil hibernation, and we as the garrison were the only lively element.

  In the autumn I was promoted to lieutenant and appointed to train rts. I thought of the experiences I had gathered in East Prussia and so urged my NCOS to treat the young men humanely and, as Rommel had taught me, to attach more importance to training in the field.

  Our unit was now concentrating more and more on its expected conversion into an armored reconnaissance battalion. In 1933, after Hitler came to power, we were suddenly supplied by night, under the strictest secrecy, with the first genuine scout cars, which we were allowed to use for practice purposes, although only by night. Hitler was not risking as yet an open breach of the terms of the Treaty of Versailles. The seven motorized battalions of the Reichswehr now became seven armored reconnaissance battalions of the Wehrmacht, which was to be built up anew. General Heinz Guderian was appointed inspector of the entire armored branch of the army; we “scouts” took over the tasks and the spirit of the cavalry.