Hans Von Luck - Panzer Commander

by Unknown

  “You will secure the area by the river with your battalion,” Rommel ordered. “Give your men some time to rest. With the armistice the French campaign is over and won.” I posted an armored patrol and some motorcycle escorts at the northern approach to the bridge. My people relaxed and behaved in exemplary fashion toward the inhabitants.

  Here I went through the last, this time entertaining, episode of the French campaign. On the second day of our “bridge watch” a runner reported, “Captain, a French colonel with a white flag has France, 1940 51 arrived and would like to speak to the local commander.” I went along, greeted the colonel politely and asked what he wanted.

  “Mon Capitaine,” he said, "General Weygand, chief of the French general staff, requests that an authorized officer be sent to Bordeaux to make arrangements for the withdrawal of the provisional government of Marshal P&tain and the surrender of the city to the Wehrmacht. Your authorized officer will work with General Weygand and the mayor. He will have an office in the district army building and accommodation in the Grand Hotel.

  Would you kindly settle this question at once with your divisional or corps commander. I am instructed to wait here for your answer.“ I winked at Kardorff, ”This is a job for us, Kardorff.“ I informed Rommel by radio and suggested, ”General, I speak good French and have Kardorff as interpreter; I think I should go to Bordeaux."

  “Agreed,” came Rommel's reply. “I take responsibility and will inform Corps headquarters. The task of the battalion remains unchanged. Hand over to yqur senior company commander.” I was glad to have something to do and quickly bad two scout cars polished up to the nines, equipped with ammunition (who knew what might be happening in Bordeaux?), and manned by our best crews. I settled for my jeep and, besides Kardorff, took the driver and an orderly.

  So our little convoy appeared at the bridge, where the French colonel was waiting.

  “Cest moi-mme, mon Colonel; I'm coming to Bordeaux with you.,, ”Trs bien, let's go." The closer we got to Bordeaux the heavier the traffic became.

  The city seemed to be crammed. Many who still bad enough money had fled there from Paris. The Colonel billeted me at the Grand Hotel. Next to me was Kardorfr, and rooms there were also made available for the crews of the armored cars. I was somewhat embarrassed to think that other guests had probably been forced to vacate their rooms on our behalf.

  “Could we go to General Weygand now?”

  "the Colonel asked, as I returned to the hall.

  I agreed and also gave my men quick directions, "The two scout cars are to be drawn up in front of the hotel; the radio post is to be manned day and night. A guard will stand in front of each car with a machine-pistol at the ready. The others will not leave the hotel.

  No discussion, please, with the inhabitants or the soldiers. Conduct yourself with the utmost propriety." I followed the Colonel to the local military headquarters, where I was allocated an offir-e. Then, I was received by Weygand.

  He first expressed his thanks that we had been ready without great forinalities to allow the removal of the provisional government under Marshal P6tain to be carried out smoothly. I was naturally very impressed to be face to face with one of the best known French generals, who until only a few days before had been our opponent and regarded by Nazi propaganda as the “archenemy.” I tried by my deferential attitude to show him our respect as soldiers, and saw in his tired eyes how heavy that hour must have been for him.

  “Commandant,” he ended the brief audience and gave me his hand, “in two days the Fraench government will be able to leave Bordeaux for Vichy. The Colonel will arrange with you the details of the surrender of the city to the German Wehrmacht.” I never suspected at the time that P6tain and Weypnd would later be accused of “collaboration” with the Germans and marked as traitors to their country. What a bitter end for army commanders of such distinction!) On the way back to the hotel I was told by the Colonel, "There are no British in the city, but tens of thousands of French soldiers, who have been called upon to hand in their weapons.

  Whether all have complied with the order, I don't know. We are combing through the whole city.“ I had a strange feeling in my stomach and was not sure that we had not overreached ourselves with our little liaison unit. I felt as though I were in a bee hive. I arranged with the Colonel that I would go to my ”office" with him the following morning.

  On arriving at the hotel, I inspected the guards. A lot of Frenchmen, disarmed soldiers among them, were standing around our armored cars with angry or curious looks.

  For the evening meal, tables had been reserved for us on the terrace of the hotel. There, too, we met with hostile looks from many of the guests. I felt somewhat ill at ease. Yet, it was pleasant to sit on the terrace. It was a fine, warm evening. In the harbor lay a neutral passenger ship. Owing to its international status, I could do nothing about it, but I knew that a lot of French people had embarked on it. I radioed to Rommel that everything was in order and reported France, 1940 53 the course of events. He told me that Army command, meanwhile, had agreed to our mission. I was relieved.

  The following morning, the Colonel took me, as arranged, to the office where journalists and an official of the municipal administration were waiting. The official turned to me, “Mon Capitaine, it has already been decreed that no one may leave the city for the north. The disarming continues and should be finished today.” Then the journalists wanted to hear from me, "What time are you setting for the couvrefeu, the curfew? We suggest ten o'clock.

  There is a fuel depot outside the city with about 60,000 liters.

  It is under constant guard. We have emergencies that make it necessary for individual refugees to go to the north, especially to Paris. For that they need a laissez-passer from you and a voucher with which they can get fuel at the depot. Doctors and supply vehicles will also need a laissez-passer." I now had to make far more, and more varied, decisions than I had imagined when I took on the job.

  I reflected briefly and “ihade known” as follows, "The curfew at ten o'clock is agreed (we were in the middle of summer after all and it remained light for a long time). I need until tomorrow for a stamp with which gas vouchers and laissez-passers can be officially approved. By then I shall be able to tell you which roads may be used without disturbing our troop movements.

  "I need a list of doctors and supply agencies which you consider necessary.

  “I shall be here from eight o'clock tomorrow morning and count on your continued support.” Motor traffic had dwindled almost to nothing, but some soldiers were obviously carrying on a flourishing black market in army fuel. For the moment, however, I was not worrying about that.

  I had to know from Rommel or Army command which roads were not to be used. During the night I was notified by division of a few roads that could be opened to the north.

  When I came back to the hotel, I was given s ,pme special editions of the local paper in which my function, the location of my office, and the time of the curfew were made known.

  After I had eaten my evening meal on the terrace again, the captain of the neutral ship came to see me to ask whether he might put to sea. Once again, I was faced with a problem that could only be solved diplomatically or through Army command. So I made inquiries and received the answer, “The ship must remain in harbor until Bordeaux is surrendered. Further directions will follow.” Since the friendly captain now had to stay in harbor, he invited me on board next day for a long-forgone whiskey, to sit with him in the officer's mess as in times of peace. A pleasant change awaited me.

  Next morning I drove to m office-this time unescorted by the y colonel. I could not believe my eyes. Waiting for a laissez-passer was a line of hundreds of civilians. Waiting in the office itself was a venerable old woman who was introduced to me as Madame Lyautey. She was the widow of the famous Marshal Lyautey, who had played a great part in the subduing of Morocco and was regarded as a popular hero.

  “Mon Capitaine, I am an old lady who would like to go home. Ca
n you please give me a laissez-passer and a gas voucher? I would be grateful to you.” What must have been going on inside this old lady, who had to ask such a favor of a young German who had fought against her country?

  I gave her the papers without hesitation, and a leaflet showing which roads she was allowed to use. She thanked me very warmly.

  I could detect no hate in her eyes, but understanding, rather, for the course of events which neither she nor I could have influenced.

  The road map was hectographed and handed out to all recipients of the coveted documents. At my request, a German administrator was sent to the fuel depot to supervise the issue of fuel. The day was filled with handing out documents and answering questions. In this I had strong support from Kardorff and we were both glad when, in the late afternoon, we were able to return to the hotel, then to restore ourselves with a whiskey on board the ship.

  P6tain's removal to Vichy was scheduled for the following day.

  The surrender of the city was also being prepared, so in two days I would be free of my unaccustomed work.

  That evening our “Moor” in the hotel had just served coffee.

  “What do you think,” I asked Kardorfr, “should we go somewhere in town and have a drink?” He thought it was a good idea, so we got into the jeep and drove to the town hall in the vicinity of which we hoped to find a bar.

  The town was completely dead. Then it occurred to uurfew was at ten o'clock, as I myself had ordered. It was now quarter past.

  What was to be done?

  France, 1940 55 We then spotted a fiacre, at that time the most general means of transport, standing all by itself with the driver asleep on the box.

  “Monsieur,” we shook him awake.

  He saw our uniforms and stammered in dismay, “Mon Genral, I have a family, I fell asleep, for God's sake.” We reassured him, “That's all right, but do you know where one can still get a drink?”

  “Non, Monsieur, everywhere is closed because of the couvrefeu, everyone is afraid. There is still a maison sgrieuse of course, but I don't know if they will be open for you.” We had no idea what a maison s6rieuse might be, but we were prepared to risk it. So we let ourselves be taken by the driver to our hoped-for drink. The streets became narrower and narrower, the district more and more dubious. Now and then we thought we were being :watched from behind curtains. Gradually our situation became uncomfortable.

  “Where are you taking us, Monsieur?”

  “Voild, we're there.” He climbed down from the box and knocked at the door. An elderly lady appeared.

  “Please come in, General.” (She promoted me just to be on the safe side; one can never tell!) I impressed upon the driver that he was to wait for us if he valued his life.

  No sooner had we stepped inside than we realized the meaning of a maison s6rieuse. It was a, brothel, admittedly in the French manner. The furnishings were of quality, Madame was very kind, and the girls made a good impression.

  “Ma dame,” I tried to explain our presence, “until the surrender of the town we are the responsible German ofkcers of Bordeaux. We really only wanted a drink, but were caught out by the curfew we ourselves had ordered.”

  “You are very welcome. Let's drink a glass of champagne to celebrate the end of the war. We women are always the moumers.” After half an hour of lively conversation on the sense and senselessness of the war, we took our leave, not without assuring the old lady that we would recommend her establishment to the local German headquarters. She was highly delighted and gave us her visiting card.

  Our driver was asleep again, but he was there, thank goodness.

  We trotted slowly back to the town hall, where our jeep was 56 PANLLIC COMMANDER waiting. The driver refused any money.

  When I paid him liberally all the same, he called out, “The Germans are not half as bad as we've been told. I'll wait for you here, mon Gn.gral, every evening until curfew, in case you need me.” And he trotted off contentedly.

  P6tain, meanwhile, had left the city with his provisional government. The ceremonial entry of our division had been fixed for the day after, with a march-past before our corps commander, General Hoth.

  I reported back to Rommel and could not help telling him about the maison srieuse, which much amused him.

  Our 7th Panzer Division was transferred to the area west of Bordeaux. Further orders were to follow. I managed to get permission from Rommel to move with my reconnaissance battalion to Arcachon, the delightful seaside resort on the Atlantic coast in the lee of the Cap Feret peninsula. There among the dunes I set up my headquarters in one of the pretty summer villas. For a few days we enjoyed bathing in the sea, fresh oysters, which were collected every day from the oyster beds, and the delicious dry white wine. The end of the French campaign could not have turned out better.

  Interim, 1941 Every war brings with it, through the shifting of theaters of action, longer or shorter pauses, the “periods between campaigns.” These pauses are of great value, both for the individual soldier and for the community. Everyone tries to mobilize his mental forces and is ready to suppress negative experiences and assimilate even the slightest positive ones.

  People encourage each other and strengthen one another in the hope that at some point in time they will be able to escape this constant mortal threat forever.

  Probably every soldier finds out in the course of a war that he can only bear the “having to kill” and “being killed” over long periods if he adopts the maxims of the Stoics: learn to endure all things with equanimity. He can only do this -it he builds up an immune system of his own against the feelings of fear and sympathy and probably, to a certain degree, even against matters of ethics, morals, and conscience. He cannot afford to question the whys and wherefores of the things that happen around him and in which he, himself, has a part. He must act and apply his whole concentration to that. He learns through a long process of habituation to suppress images of horror, to distance himself from his neighbor in order to remain capable of rational action.

  If-he mana-W-&-bis chances of survival increase.

  These thoughts and emotions were at work in us now after the end of the French campaign. We knew that our families at home were suffering from anxiety about their sons and husbands. We all felt genuine grief for our dead and severely wounded. We thought, also, of the losses we had inflicted on our opponents.

  Predominant, however, was joy that we had survived thus far.

  The navy and the Luftwaffe remained in action; the first Allied air raids on our industrial centers and communication networks made our own country a theater of war for the first time.

  Rommel flew to Vienna, his last garrison before the war, for a few weeks' leave, to relax with his wife Lucie and his young son Manfred.

  Through close friends on the general staff I learned that Hitler had tried to conclude a separate peace with Britain. To him, the British, besides the Scandinavians and the Germans, of course, were members of the “Germanic race,” whom he secretly admired.

  But he seemed to have completely misjudged Churchill, who, as we gathered from the British news bulletins, was determined to destroy Hitler and his National Socialism.

  In July, our division was transferred to the area west of Paris.

  Rommel came back and told us that “Operation Sea Lion” was being prepared, the invasion of Britain. The 7th Panzer Division was among those earmarked for the operation. This was the start of wearisome weeks and months of preparation. On converted barges and a few special ships, loading and unloading was practiced again and again under combat conditions. But our impression was that the preparations for Sea Lion were halfhearted, as the Luftwaffe was losing the Battle of Britain.

  I moved with my reconnaissance battalion to the Parisian suburb of Le V6sinet, which lay on a loop of the Seine west of Paris.

  Living in the villa opposite was Josephine Baker; our neighbor was the owner of the Lido, which he reopened with a new show immediately after the armistice. Our villa belonge
d to a Swiss national who wanted to return to Switzerland, as he was unable, for the time being, to do any business in Paris. He saw us as a guarantee that he would one day find his villa again intact.

  “I don't know how long we shall be staying here, but don't worry, I'll keep everything in order,” I promised him.

  He showed me around the villa and the wine cellar.

  “Please help yourself as often as you like.” I declined his generous offer with thanks. Finally we agreed on a token price of one franc per bottle of his fine old wines. I particularly enjoyed a 1929 Chambertin.

  My men were quartered in a sanatorium. A baroness was the spokeswoman for the citizens of V6sinet. She praised our behavior. Friends were made, but this had nothing to do with so-called “collaboration,” which was later to be punished so gruesomely by the French.

  July 1940: Paris was on our doorstep. Military headquarters had been set up and entry to the city was permitted only with a special pass. I obtained one of these passes and spent all my spare time refreshing my memory of this unique city and exploring the individual quartiers. One evening, I happened to go into Le Cavalier, a bar in the vicinity of the Champs Elys6es. Its proprietor was C16ment Duhour, an Olympic athlete in 1932 and a well-known chanson Interim, 1940-1941 59 singer and later film producer. We took to each other at once and Le Cavalier became my regular bar.

  There one met no Germans from the ever more swollen administration, who often behaved overbearingly as “victors.” They were the ones who had never heard a shot, let alone taken part in the war. It was often embarrassing when drunken members of the military administration sang Nazi songs in the bars, while the French customers would have liked to bear chansons.

  Once, when it became too much for me and physical violence threatened to break out, I called the military Police and had the place cleared of rowdy Germans.