Hans Von Luck - Panzer Commander

by Unknown

  “I have struggled to build a new profession for myself, which I, enjoy and which takes me abroad a lot. To give that up I should have to have some guarantee from you that I would serve either in the tank force or as a military attach6. Can you guarantee that?” The reply was not encouraging. “We might have a place for you in either capacity, but,” I was given to understand, “we can give no guarantee. Ranks of colonel and above need approval from the political parties.”

  “Then I must decline with thanks. I have no wish to find myself back as a parade-ground commander all of a sudden, just because my face doesn't fit somewhere. Without anyguarantee I would not give up my present position. I am grateful to you all the same for having thought of me.” Similar decisions were made by many of my friends who had built up good positions for themselves in industry or commerce. For me this was the end of the matter.

  BACK INTO THE PAST Then, in the 1960s, when I had just completed my first spell in Angola, I received a call from the British military attach6 in Bonn.

  "We have been told by your Ministry of Defense that you took part on the German side in Operation Goodwood, as commander of a combat group of the 21st Panzer Division.

  “The Staff College at Camberley would like to invite you to their next 'battlefield tour' in Normandy, to give an account of,your activity during the operation, which for Montgomery was a costly one. Would you be prepared to come, naturally with all expenses paid?” The prospect of seeing Normandy again and the scenes of our heavy defensive fighting appealed to me. I agreed.

  The terrain near Caen, east of the Ome, looked just as I remembered it from more than twenty years earlier. It was June, the corn was ripe, the villages had been rebuilt and the farmers were going about their business as they had been doing before D-Day. Caen, completely destroyed, had risen from the ruins, thanks to sensitive architects, more lovely than ever. The French with whom I came into conversation had by no means forgotten what had been done to their tormented land by both sides, but they had forgiven it, and to me, the former sale Boche, they were friendly. “C6tait la guerre, Monsieur; you did your duty, although it was for an evil regime.” The CO and the staff officers of the college greeted me as their “fair and courageous opponent” and introduced me to the other guest speakers.

  I met General “Pip” Roberts, probably the youngest and most flexible of the British tank commanders. I had known of him from North Africa and was aware that during Operation Goodwood he had been in charge of the leading I Ith Armoured Division, which had had to bear the brunt of the battle and suffer the heaviest losses. Bill Close, one of his tank company commanders; David Stileman, of the grenadiers in his division; and other former participants in this fierce engagement greeted me like an old friend. I was overwhelmed by the kindness with which I was accepted and by the fairness with which it was acknowledged that Goodwood had been only a hard-won partial success, and that the action by our combat group had amounted to a successful defense, which we owed to our greater war experience and to Rommel's order to defend in great depth.

  A New Start 331 With the exception of one or two years when I was living in Africa, I was a regular guest of the Staff College until 1979.

  Parallel to “presentation Goodwood” in all those years was a “presentation Overlord,” which was concerned with the landing of the 6th Airborne Division, including the capture of the two Orne bridges by a company under Major John Howard. I was interested in this coup de main operation during the night of 5/6 June 19".

  On a free day I joined the Overlord team and listened in fascination to the

  “John Howard story.” Afterward I went up to him. I “I am Colonel Hans von Luck, commander of the combat group of the 2 1 st Panzer Division, which was not allowed to attack during the night on which you, however, arrived in Escoville on your mission. I am pleased to make your acquaintance in person.”

  “Oh, Hans, I am so glad to meet you,” he replied. “We must get together. There's so much I should like to know from you.” In a little bar of the seaside resort of Cabourg we then sat together that evening with other paratroopers who had descended on my combat area during the night in question. That was the start of my friendship with John Howard, which has lasted to the present day and has grown ever deeper. What madness to fight to the knife and then become good friends!

  In 1979 the British Ministry of Defense made the film Goodwood, so that this important battle, and the personal experiences of those who took part in it, would be preserved for posterity. It became a fascinating film: original photographic material from both, sides was accompanied by commentaries from the veterans, and the point of the battle and its outcome were explained by historians.

  Since then the Goodwood film has been sold to almost all European general-staff colleges and tank divisions as training material for young officers and NCOS.

  A few years later, again on the recommendation of John Howard, I was approached by the Swedish Military College and general staff.

  “Would you be prepared to go around Normandy with us and talk to our officers about Operation Goodwood?” I was astonished. Why should a traditionifly neutral country be interested in the history of the Second World ?

  “We are well aware,” I was told by the sympathetic commandant of the Military College, "that in the event of a military conflict between the great powers no one would respect our neutrality.

  We should like to learn, and practice, how we as a numerically country could succeed in preventing a landing on our coasts. Or, if that is not possible, how we could prevent an enemy who has landed from invading our country.

  For this purpose Operation Goodwood seems to us a very good example." For about eight years now, always near 6 June, I have been the guest of the friendly Swedes. 1984--THE FORTIETH ANNIVERSARY OF D-DAY The 6th June 1944 came around for the fortieth time. Great remembrance celebrations took place, attended by the British royal family, several crowned heads, the president of the United States, and representatives of all the countries that took part in the invasion on the Allied side.

  John Howard's coup de main at the Ome bridges had been most spectacular. It was no wonder that the great TV companies of all countries looked here in particular for people to interview.

  It was John Howard again who referred them to me, if they wanted to know something about “the other side of the hill.” At the end of 1983 I had already been sought out in Hamburg by Professor Stephen Ambrose, a well-known historian in the U.S., who had been asked to write time for the anniversary. The inter my suspecting that it was being recorded. After going over i I tape, Steve telephoned me. '.Hans, what you have been through is unbelievable, not to men tion your relationship with Rommel and your experiences in Russia. You must write your memoirs.

  I'll see to it that they are read everywhere in the world." That was the moment this book was born.

  At the invitation of Steve Ambrose I was in Normandy at the end of May 1984, to speak to a group of Americans he had organized about the invasion, Rommel, and the Russians.

  “Are you taking part in the celebrations on 6 June? After all, you played a decisive role at the time.”

  “On no account,” I replied. “It's a day of remembrance for the Allies; it's their victory over Hitler Germany. I would have no business to be there.” The reaction to reports on German TV, in the press, and in radio broadcasts, in which I told of our action during the night of the invasion, was overwhelming. Letters and telephone calls from members of my former units came flooding in.

  A New Start 333 “I heard you on the radio Read your article with the photogmph.”

  “You were on TV-are you my former commander, Hans von Luck?”

  “I didn't know you were still alive. I thought you had disappeared in Russia, and then, all at once, there you were on TV!” All of them asked if they could see me, meet me, or hear from me.

  The past had caught up with me.

  Thank goodness sufficient time had gone by since the events. I could see things in perspec
tive, without too much emotion. All the same, the meetings, in Hamburg or elsewhere in Germany, showed me that even after so many years a friendship once established, and sufferings endured in common, created a feeling of solidarity that had nothing to do with the war tales of old veterans.

  Then Fritz Winand called me from Cologne.

  “How marvellous! I saw you on TV. Do you remem. We were together in the camp in the Caucasus, you the Colonel and I the young soldier, both of us suffering the same fate as prisoners, in the mines or on the building sites. Did you know that since 1945 there has been a Camp 518 Association, which has kept several hundred former members of the camp in touch, from 1950 onward, in Cologne, Berlin, and Munich? We meet regularly-in Cologne in two weeks. Couldn't you come?” Naturally I had to go. We former prisoners of war had endured more than the battles in Russia, Africa, and France, and we had' mastered our fate together.

  Sitting in a room were some forty elderly gentlemen, who sprang to their feet as I came in.

  “Our Colonel, von Luck! What a pleasure! To think that you're still alive and with us now!” Many had tears in their eyes, and it was no different with me.

  I had to relate what had happened to us in the punishment camp in Kiev. I told of the hunger strike and of the interrogation before my release. Then I wanted to bear what had become of the many people I had known and with whom I had Worked.

  Fritz Winand, the enterprising initiator of the meeting, told me that our Camp 518 Association was probably the only one of its kind. In 1965, 426 members had met regularly and 375 were still doing so in 1984.

  I asked about Jupp Link, our German camp commandant.

  “Jupp is living in a farmhouse near Munich. He is severely disabled but mentally as lively as ever. We can give him a call.”

  “Jupp Link here,” came the familiar voice, “who's calling?”

  “This is Hans von Luck. Do you remember, Jupp? I am here in Cologne with a lot of our friends from the hard times. It's a great pleasure to be in touch with you again after more than thirty-five years.”

  “Colonel... Hans von Luck... my God!” His voice faltered.

  “How wonderful to speak to you. Are you well? Do you ever come to Munich? You must pay me a visit. I live very peacefully here in the country.”

  “Of course, Jupp. I'll come. I'll let you know.” I went from table to table. What had become of the plennis who in those days, in their coarse denims and padded jackets, had all looked alike? I was interested in the theater and music group, with whom I had spent so many pleasant hours.

  At one table I was detained.

  "Do you remember us? I'm Glaubrecht, the one-time drummer.

  Next to me here is“K6bes' Witthaus and Walter Struve, the arranger for our orchestra and band. Do you remember how you hummed Glenn Miller's”In the Mood' to us note for note, and how we played it at the beginning of every performance?" Helmut Wehrenfennig came to the table. He had written the librettos for our operettas.

  “On my return I went to the university and became head of a training college. Besides that I've been writing poems and novels, which have been published by an Austrian publisher.”

  “What became of the others, Karl-Heinz Engels, for instance, who as actor and director helped to set up the theater group?”

  “Engels,” I was told, '. was not released until 30 April 1950.

  Why so late, he himself has no idea. He remained true to his profession: he became administrative director of the municipal theaters in Dortmund and then one of the directors of the Recklinghausen Ruhr Festival. He's been retired since 1985.

  “Reinhold”Reini' Bartel, our tenor, studied singing and was engaged by various theaters, including the well-known opera house at Wiesbaden. He subsequently became assistant professor of singing at Mainz University.“ Bartel wrote to me somewhat later: ”I was so pleased to hear of you. On the radio I once had to sing the song“Ninou, lach' mir einmal zu.” I only wish our Jewish doctor, Dr. Fuchsmann, could A New Start 335 have heard it. He once sang the song to me; he was very fond of Jan Kiepura, its interpreter." At the next table sat Drews, our camp cook, the most important person of all.

  “I still remember quite clearly how Major Samcharadse told me to give the theater and music group a double helping of gruel. As he explained to me, ”For Kultura we do anything.“' ”I'm Fred Sbosny, the driver of the camp Studebaker. Do you remember how we once drove to Tbilisi together?"

  “Of course!” Everything came back to me. “I know too how nervous you were when you had to steal tires, on orders from Samcharadse, from the mine depot. The guards might well have killed you. A lot of our 'special' jobs really were dangerous'and quite an adventure.” Back to Fritz Winand's table, the energetic organizer of the meeting of our camp association. On his return he had completed his training and is today a municipal inspector in Cologne, responsible for the care of the mentally and physically handicapped.

  “Meeting my fellow sufferers of that time,” he said, “has left its mark. I cannot and will not suppress or forget those years in the Gulag; they became for many a turning point in their lives. It is quite clear to me that it was only the feeling of solidarity, and the comradeship without regard to rank or social origin, that enabled so many to survive.” In Cologne we asked ourselves a question: would we like to see Tkibuli again? Opinions varied, from

  “Never again!” to “Yes, why not, if the Russians would let us in?” A business graduate, Eberhard Koellreuter, was at the time one of the very young prisoners; today he is professionally employed in the Munich area. He took the initiative and in 1978, 1982, and, most recently, in 1985, he traveled to the Caucasus quite officially with groups of German tourists. He organized the last trip himself. With his permission I pass on his account of it.

  I in 1985 1 made up a party of sixty-seven people who wanted to see the beautiful state of Georgia on the edge of Asia. Apart from me, no one had anything to do with wartime captivity. My application to Intourist to include Tkibuli in our itinerary was rejected:“For that, responsibility lies with the veteran's association.” Why is still a mystery to me today. “On 6 September 1985, our party arri-ved in the Caucasus. I asked the young and friendly Georgian woman who 'had been allot ted to us as guide whether we might go via Tkibuli. ”I happen to have heard of the place,“ I said by way of explanation. ”Yes, of course, the town is on our way to Lake Ox-eye, high in the Elbrus mountains. There we shall be visiting the famous cathedral of Nikorzminda, built under Bagrat 111, A.D.1010 to 1014."

  "I was very excited; no one in the group had to know why I was so interested in this God-forsaken hole. On 7 September, after a horrible breakfast, we traveled north into the mountains in a dilapidated bus. The road was full of potholes, as it always had been.

  "On either side of the road were vast tea plantations (Georgia is the third largest tea-producer in the world), then virgin land again, lying under the peaceful glow of the warm autumn sun. Parallel to the road ran the single-line railway, along which we had been transported to our camp, cooped up in freight cars.

  “After two hours of jolting we arrived in the outskirts of Tkibuli. Passing the custom-house, we came to the dreary railway station, where we had once been unloaded and had had to drag ourselves to the camp laboriously on foot. I asked the guide whether we might stop for a moment, 'a call of nature, you understand.” From a point of concealment I took a few photographs. (May the Russian law forgive mel Taking photographs is strictly forbidden.) From here the town, set against hills and mountains, looked as untroubled as a health resort. When I thought of the many hundreds of our comrades who lay somewhere up there in unmarked graves, tears came to my eyes. I was not ashamed of them.

  “As we drew nearer, the little town appeared as it really was and how I remembered it: plain wooden houses, neglected streets, a place built only for prisoners, who brought out the precious coal. We stopped in the middle of it. I spoke to some Georgians, asked about our camp and the coal mines. They looked at me in amazement, a p
lenni who was visiting the scene of his tribulation? ”Your camp has been pulled down long ago,“ they replied. ”Other camps still exist for Russians." Although most of them had not been alive at the time, or living there, they all showed much sympathy.

  "We went on up, past the electricity works, which we had once built and which now looked pretty run down. Along a winding road we climbed the mountain to the Nakerala Pass. There, in 1949, I had been on my last building site: accommodation for mine workem The houses looked neglected; what must they be like inside?

  A New Start 337 The view back to Tkibuli was of matchless beauty; up there nothing recalled the suffering of that time.

  "I took endless photographs, the view to the north stretched across to Lake Ox-eye and on to the untouched mountain world of the Elbrus range. Then we were at our destination. The beautiful old cathedral appeared to be undamaged, a showplace, perhaps, for the few tourists who strayed this far? We were at once surrounded by mountain peasants, to whom we distributed T-shirts and other little gifts. The friendly pope came up to us, posed for my Polaroid camera with evident pleasure and tucked the picture proudly'into his cowl.

  “When the peasants realized that we came from”Ferge," the Federal Republic, we were submerged in a torrent of words.

  "'We've heard from our parents how a lot of Germans had to work here as prisoners of war and that some of them starved to death.

  We like you Germans; we too are freedom-loving people. There must never be war again."

  “On the way back we passed once more through Tkibuli, that place of horror. Time has spread its cloak of oblivion. And it is well that it has” So ended Eberhard Koellreuter's account.

  What he, as an individual, managed to do should one day be made possible for everyone, in order to extend a hand to the people there and to the whole of Russia.

  At the beginning of July 1987, my way took me to Munich. I would visit Jupp Link.

  I called Ernst Urban in Munich, who was to arrange the meeting.