Hans Von Luck - Panzer Commander

by Unknown

  The fuel problem had become increasingly critical; of the 250 tons promised by air transport, only 60 bad arrived. With that, we could cover just 150 kilometers and had to avoid getting into any battles. Thankfully, the heavy rain that had set in also prevented the British from pursuing us. Italian destroyers with fuel on board turned west; the Afrika Korps was again left standing without fuel. With the last reserves, we managed to bring the motorized panzer units behind the Mersa el Drega line.

  Rommel was reckoning on a strong flanking attack around the salt lake south of Mersa el Brega. I had to reconnoiter with greater intensity in this area. At the same time, my reconnaissance group was broken up; the two Voss and Linau battalions were sent north. Only the Nizza Battalion remained with us.

  Gause called us again, "Through lack of fuel, we cannot engage in a battle with the British at or south of Mersa el Brega.

  Everything points to a strong British attack." From 6 December, the nonmotorized German and Italian elements were moved to Tunisia, which was not easy, owing to shortage of petrol. The supply problem became ever more critical, Time and again, whole divisions or sections were left immobile.

  It was only thanks to great combat experience and outstanding morale, that it was somehow contrived, again and again, to release them from encirclement, as soon as some fuel could be organized.

  I had to give up the Fieseler Stork again; it was needed at HQ.

  I had to draw the net of patrols much tighter. Thank goodness our air reconnaissance to the south was intensified. In the course of it, we came to be attacked by our own fighters, who didn't expect to find us so far south. During air attacks, everyone had to leave his 132, PANZER COMMANDER vehicle and lie flat on the sand 20 to 30 yards away. The radio operator often stayed voluntarily at his post, to send off our reports.

  Our aerial reconnaissance reported that, to the south, a strong coltimn, probably a complete British tank division, was preparing to outflank the Nofilia position. On 17 December, I moved my battalion north, where, with other elements of the Afrika Korps, we launched an attack in the flank of this division. Together, we were able to knock out 20 British tanks with our 88s and for the time being, avert the danger.

  While the remains of the Africa Army were fighting for their lives on the coast and suffering constantly from shortage of fuel, we went back into the desert. The danger of a fresh attempt to outflank us remained too great.

  South of the Buerat line, we came across our British “friends” again and the old ceremonial of the “five o'clock agreement” was resumed. But we also stumbled on the tracks of the Long Range Desert Group, tracks that led to the west. General Gause sent word that the British had apparently been forced to make a pause, since they had to reorganize their supply routes. But another outflanking attack was expected from the legendary Lieutenant-Colonel Stirling. Our task: to reconnoiter more intensively as far as south of Homs-Tripoli, with particular attention to an almost insurmountable north-south mountain range between Homs and Tripoli.

  The End in North Africa One afternoon, shortly before Christmas, toward four o'clock, I decided to drive to a hill some 12 kilometers to the south in the hope of getting a good view from there. Unthinkingly, I took a light-armored car without radio; I intended, after all, to be back by five o'clock. I ordered my driver to set off.

  I could detect nothing unusual and was setting off on the return journey, when I discovered, right between me and my battalion, a fairly large British patrol, which seemed to be settling there for the night. Fortunately, I was not spotted and at once withdrew a little to the south and then to the west. The terrain was difficult and I needed time to distance myself from the British. Meanwhile, it was getting dark and there was no chance of reaching my battalion. So there I was, with no radio, but at least with my compass.

  By the last light of day, I saw a wadi, in which I decided to hide for the night. As I came to the edge of it, I found a Bedouin family there with their camels and several tents. With a white cloth, I drove toward the Bedouins, who now all ran together, and made myself known as a German. In a gibberish of Italian and Arabic, I outlined my situation and asked for hospitality for the night.

  “Come, German, you are our guest. Nothing will happen to you and tomorrow you will be guided back to your people safe and sound. We, too, are moving off tomorrow, to the south, until you and the British have gone away.” As always, the women stayed in the tents and risked only surreptitious glances at the strangers. The family elder led us to the fireplace and we squatted round it. A low fire was maintained with camel's thorn wood and over it hung three kettles from iron forks. The Arab tea ceremony then began.

  In one kettle, sugared water was boiled, in another boiling water was poured over the tea leaves, and in the third kettle, the tea and the sugared water were mixed. The procedure was repeated continuously until, in the end, a strong, almost viscous tea was transferred to a pot. Little porcelain bowls in brass beakers were handed around and the most astonishing part of the ceremony then took Diace. The family elder took the porcelain bowls in turn, held the spout of the teapot close over them, and as he poured, lifted the pot straight up, so that, in the end, the stream of tea was flowing into the bowl from a height of over three feet, without spilling a single drop. I was told later that in this way, the tea became mixed with air, bringing out its full aroma. It was said to be the pride of the Bedouins to be able to pour tea accurately into the little cups from the back of a camel.

  So there we sat, together, the Bedouin family, my driver, and I. Meanwhile, night had fallen and the whole sky yas covered in stars; among them, one could recognize the Southern Cross. We were enveloped in an uncanny, beneficent peace. Without saying much, the men in their bumooses sat round the glimmering fire, which turned their faces a ruddy brown. I suddenly had the feeling that we might have been sitting there thousands of years before, or thousands of years hence, so timeless did it seem to us.

  For a few hours, we wrapped ourselves in our coats; the night was cold. Shortly before dawn, the Bedouins struck their tents.

  The family elder came to say good-bye.

  “German, we are moving on now, to the next water hole. You in I ust now travel on this camel-track, here, for three hours camelhours), then you will find another track that branches off to the right. You travel on that for five hours, till you come to a hill. From there, you will see your friends. The British will not see you. We wish you the blessing of Allah, that you may return safe and sound to your country.” A handshake and he moved off with his camels into the desert.

  I have never understood how the man knew our position and that of the British so accurately.

  I converted the camel-hours into “scout-car hours,” took compass bearings, drove cautiously along the indicated tracks and came right on my battalion!

  There, great agitation had reigned. Shortly before dark, patrols had been sent out, which had found their way back to the battalion only by means of light-signals-without finding me.

  Finally, the Royal Dragoons and the I I th Hussars were asked if they had taken me prisoner.

  “Sorry, unfortunately, no. We would have liked to greet your commander here!” Christmas 1942 arrived but we had no time to celebrate. In any case, how? Deep in the desert, without a tree or a bush, and in The End in North Africa, 1943 135 heat of day, our thoughts turned to home, where our families were having to endure air raids and food rationing.

  On 31 December, New Year's Eve, Rommel came to see me unexpectedly in his Fieseler Stork. He briefed me on the situation and his plans.

  Hans Von Luck - Panzer Commander

  "Luck, some time or other, Tommy is going to launch another attack and outflank the Buerat position in the south. I need the remains of the panzer divisions in the north. The reconnaissance group will be reconstituted; in the next few days, Linau and Voss will join you, and you will get back the Fieseler Stork, which will help you to reconnoiter.

  “I am very concerned,” Rommel went on, "that the A
mericans, with their vast potential in weapons, might make a thrust from the Atlas Mountains and cut us off at Gabes from the 10th Army in northern Tunisia. Marshal Bastico shares my view that we cannot allow the Africa Army to be destroyed at Buerat.

  “I have suggested transferring the remains of the 21st Panzer Division to southern Tuhisia, to rest them there and to ward off a possible American attack.” Rommel then repeated what he had outlined to me some weeks earlier.

  "I still think that, in view of the disastrous supply situation and the state of our men, who are certainly experienced but far from fresh, we can no longer turn this war around let alone win it. So I should like to get as many men and as much materiel as possible to Tunisia. There, the opportunities for defense are better and-this is my main concern-as many men as possible can be saved by the short route to Sicily.

  “Now to you,” Rommel continued. "With the reconnaissance group, you will secure for me the whole area south of Homs and Tripoli.

  The British must, on no account, take us in the rear." Until the middle of January 1943, things remained quiet. On 13 January, the 21st Panzer Division was transfeffed to the Mareth position in southern Tunisia, and rested. As yet, the Americans were showing no signs of an eastward movefrm the rugged Atlas Mountains.

  Voss and Linau arrived with their battalions, so did the Fieseler. We kept watch in a broad fan to the south; contacts were resumed with our “friends” on the other side. Very much to my surprise, my battalion was transferred to the area southwest of Tripoli for a few 136 PANZER COMMANDER days, to be restored to strength. Major Voss took command of the rest of the reconnaissance group.

  The quiet spell in a palm grove did us good; replacements of men, ammunition, and fuel arrived. I used the opportunity for a brief visit to Tripoli. In the bar of the Ouadan Hotel, the Italian barman served me a cocktail. “I shall probably have to serve the next one to Montgomery,” he said. The Italians took things more lightly.

  On 13 January, I was back with the reconnaissance group. On the 14th, with massive artillery and air support, the British moved against the Buerat position. They then made a strong thrust south of the Buerat position toward Tarhunah-Homs, hence, practically against Tripoli already.

  My reconnaissance group, along with elements of the 164th Division and the paratroops, were at once sent in to counter this move. Despite considerable losses in tanks, the thrust was continued fairly successfully toward Garian and Azizia. With that, the British were already southwest of Tripoli. Thanks to the Long Range Desert Group, a complete tank division had found a route over a rugged mountain terrace. The Homs-Tarhunah position was in great danger. To avoid annihilation, Rommel had it evacuated.

  On 20 January, we heard, even far to the south, the rumble of explosions in Tripoli. As I discovered later, through the superhuman efforts of the supply units, about 95 percent of the stores were moved to safety from Tripoli, in the direction of Tunisia, all harbor and supply installations were blown up and the food depots handed over to the Italian mayor.

  On 23 January, the British occupied Tripoli without a fight.

  A few days later, as we were covering the disengagement of our units southwest of Tripoli, a patrol reported: "Gathering of high military personnel about six to eight kilometers to the northeast, believe Monty identified, strong protection with tanks and scout cars.

  I went there at once and scanned the scene with binoculars. It really did seem to be Montgomery, and, much more sensationally, Churchill appeared to be with him, wearing a safari helmet. It was too far to open fire with our weapons; 88mm guns and artillery were not available. I, at once, sent a radio message to Gause: “Churchill and Monty believed located at great distance, no action possible.” Actually, I thought about what Rommel said about Churchill and held my fire.

  The End in North Africa, 1943 137 Later, I heard that it could well have been Churchill, who, on his way to Casablanca, had stopped off to see Monty and his troops. However that may be, we never saw Hitler in this theater of war, or even senior officers of the High Command of the Wehrmacht (the OKW).

  In January, Lieutenant-Colonel Stirling of the Long Range Desert Group, was finally captured.

  “Nice to meet you,” was his first remark, “I shall be glad to spend a few days with you and perhaps meet your famous Marshal Rommel.” He was taken to HQ under heavy guard; a day or two later he promptly escaped. After a mistaken “deal” with Bedouins, however, he was handed back to us.

  The British paused to organize their supplies. By an immense effort, continually harassed by the RAF, we were able to bring all our units over the Libyan-Tunisian border to the Mareth position. With the reaching of Tunisia, the reconnaissance group was again dissolved; I also had to relinquish the Fieseler again, unfortunately.

  I received orders to -stop, or at least report, any approach by British units south of Mareth. I was to pay particular attention to the track that led north from the desert fort of Foum Tataouine. That was where the French column was expected, which, in an unprecedented feat, was supposed to strike from Chad through the Sahara, against our southern flank. It failed to reach Tunisia in time.

  I sent a liaison officer to Rommel's HQ to learn something about the situation and about intentions for the future in our struggle in Tunisia. On his return, he told me that Rommel seemed to be planning an attack through the American-held passes in the Atlas Mountains, in order to score a hit against the completely untried Americans, and thrust north in their rear.

  Reconnaissance Battalion 3 was to hold itself ready for this operation.

  Shortly after, an orderly officer arrived from Rommel with an antiaircraft platoon.and one of light artillery.

  “Major,” he said, “your task is as follows: since Rommel considers it possible that the British may attempt a wide, out-flanking movement from the south, or that the French combat group may turn up, your reinforced battalion is to advance on Fort Foum Tataouine, capture the French garrison, and from there, reconnoiter to the south and southeast. If no enemy is observed, your combat group will return at once to the Mareth position. You will set off for the south tomorrow morning; radio contact must be maintained without fail.” Well spread out, we made good progress at first, until a British reconnaissance plane flew over us, circled, and flew off again.

  That was sinister. I sent off a radio message to Gause: "Expect air attack on my combat group, can you alert our fighters?

  Progress toward Foum Tataouine otherwise good." Then they came: flying out of the sun and low over the ground, the Hurricanes attacked, protected by Spitfires, which kept watch high above them.

  No special orders were needed: all movement ceased, every man left his vehicle and lay flat on the sand 30 yards away. My motorcycle escorts opened fire with their machine-guns, but without success. We didn't know that the Hurricanes were armored on the underside. Their target was the flak platoon antiaircraft platoon), which was eliminated before it could fire a shot.

  On their second run up, the artillery platoon was hit and its vehicles badly damaged. As fast as they had come, the fighters turned away again. Everything had lasted only a few minutes.

  I The Hurricanes must have seen my armored reconnaissance vehicles. I figured we were in for a second attack, Again, I sent off a radio message.

  “Have been attacked by Hurricanes, flak and artillery platoons largely out of action. Anticipate fresh attack, send Messerschmidts.” The British bases must have been close behind the front. After barely an hour, they were back again. This time, it was the turn of our armored vehicles. With dismay, I saw only a few yards away, how the Hurricanes fired rockets, which went straight through our armor. That was new to us.

  The only one to remain in his vehicle, was my radio operator, who was sending off my messages. Next to the vehicle, stood my intelligence officer, who passed on to the operator what I shouted across to him.

  Then a machine-I thought I recognized the Canadian emblem approached for a low-flying attack on the armored radio station. A
t 20 yards, I could clearly see the pilot's face under his flight helmet. But instead of shooting, he signaled with his hand for the radio officer to clear off, and pulled his machine up into a great curve.

  The End in North Africa, 1943 139 “Get the operator out of the vehicle,” I shouted, “and take cover, the pair of you.” The machine had turned and now came at us out of the sun for the second time. This time, he fired his rockets and hit the radio car, fortunately, without doing too much damage.

  This attitude of the pilot, whether he was Canadian or British, became for me, the example of fairness in this merciless war. I shall never forget the pilot's face or the gesture of his hand.

  Except for two vehicles, which we had to abandon, all were in running order, though we had to take several in tow with' our tracked motorcycles. But the British fighters were still circling over us; we had to anticipate a third attack.

  Suddenly, a squadron of Messerschmidts appeared high in the sky and, at once, engaged the British in an air battle. They moved off to the north, but not before we saw one British machine go down after being hit. So, at least a third attack had been prevented and we had had the satisfaction of one shot down.

  We at once moved off again toward Foum Tataouine. We were now in the middle of the desert, which, in this part, was flat and provided easy going. By radio, I notified General Gause. And then we saw the little desert fort lying before us: a heap of stones piled on top of each other, not a tree or a bush. What an enervating existence for the garrison, to keep watch there for months or years.

  We were met by machine-gun fire, which we very quickly silenced with our own MG24. Secured by our motorcycle escorts and two guns that were still intact, and under the immediate protection of armored cars, I drove into the fort. A French captain came toward us; his men had laid down their weapons and raised their hands.

  “Why are you still here,” I asked him, “now that the front has moved on to Tunisia?”