by Gee, Colin
The preliminary written report was on his desk, and had formed the basis of his telephone conversation with Prime Minister Clement Attlee.
In truth, the figures were beyond comprehension.
Two hundred and seventy-five aircraft now confirmed lost, and along with them over one and a half thousand air crew, either dead, maimed or prisoners.
‘Unmitigated disaster.’
That had been Attlee’s shocked understatement, wholly accurate, but insufficient to carry the weight of the terrible events.
Whilst restoring his command was his number one priority there was undoubtedly another matter which needed addressing.
Standing up and turning to the window, he looked into a cloudless sky and asked a question of no-one in particular.
“How did they know we were coming?”
A question that was already taxing other minds across Europe.
Attlee replaced the receiver with extreme care, his face white, the news he had just been given so appalling as to beggar belief.
Not in even the darkest days of the German War had such losses, so many young men, been taken by the Gods of War.
His hands were trembling, hindering his efforts to charge his pipe.
The other occupant of the room waited silently, knowing that the Prime Minister would reveal all when he was ready.
That did not prevent Sir Richard Percival Carruthers, Attlee’s personal private secretary, from acting to precipitate the conversation.
He placed a healthy measure of single malt in front of his leader, sampling his own, his concern mounting as he watched the shaken man consume his with unusual speed.
The silence continued, even after Carruthers had supplied a refill, the PM’s mind occupied solely with working through the problem.
Attlee drained his glass again and positioned it neatly on the table, moving blotting pad, pen stand and all the other writing accoutrements into perfect position, squared off, symmetrical, much like his thoughts that had just been perfectly placed into position in the greater run of things.
“Richard, I need you to perform your country a great service.”
Intruiged, Sir Richard Carruthers listened.
At first, in horror, as Attlee repeated all the awful details of the disaster that had befallen RAF Bomber Command.
Secondly, with concern, as the poor military situation in Europe was summarised.
Thirdly, in curiosity, as Attlee outlined an intruiging proposal.
1420 hrs Wednesday 29th August 1945, Headquarters of SHAEF, Trianon Palace Hotel, Versailles, France.
Already, the disaster was having a knock-on effect, the USAAF bomber missions for the day having been scrubbed, leaving solely fighter and interdiction sorties in place
Eisenhower had finished a very difficult briefing session with Air Chief Marshall Tedder; one that left him in no doubt that Bomber Command would take some time to recover.
An investigation had started, and had already looked at the intelligence on which the raid was based, deciding the no action was to be taken on such reports until further notice.
Whilst the loss of so many aircraft and crews was awful, other matters became more pressing as the morning wore on, reports of Soviet gains arriving, reflecting an increase in pressure across the front as a whole.
The situation map illustrated the changes, or at least, it was constantly attended by staff personnel, desperate to keep the map current as the situation started to become extremely fluid.
The Soviets were taking big chunks out of the front line and the Allies were falling back in front of them, his Generals doing a difficult job in difficult circumstances, and doing it extremely well.
Eisenhower held off calling some of his senior men, leaving them to do their job uninterrupted.
He opened his second pack of the day and inhaled the smoke, watching as a small problem became a huge problem and red arrows spread like a virus towards the Ruhr.
By the time he lit another cigarette the situation was clear; awful, but crystal clear.
He suddenly became aware of an USAAF Lieutenant holding out a handset to him.
“General Bradley, Sir. It’s urgent.”
Of that, Eisenhower had little doubt.
After a brief outline of the situation, reinforcing the visual image conjured up by the map in front of him, Eisenhower sought answers to Bradley’s problems, and found none without pain.
With some reluctance, Eisenhower announced his decision.
“OK General. I get the picture and I understand your choices, limited as they are.”
Ike scribbled an order as he spoke, relaying the contents to a worried Bradley.
“I am ordering the 18th Airborne Corps to be placed under your command. Use them wisely, Brad, and try and give them back to me intact. I will scare up some more assets to help plug the gap but I agree. Now is the time for Guderian and our German allies to take some strain.”
He signed the document and dotted the signature so forcefully as to penetrate the paper and mark the exquisite walnut table top.
“I will contact both Guderian and Ridgeway,” he thought quickly, “And in that order too, telling them to take their orders from you. Anything else you need from me, Brad?”
A few staff officers had gravitated towards Eisenhower, understanding that there was about to be a burst of activity.
Eisenhower laughed a laugh that held no amusement whatsoever.
“Miracles are not within my purview I’m afraid, Brad. One moment.”
Eisenhower held out his hand to receive a report he had been waiting on. Swiftly reading it, Ike nodded in satisfaction.
Placing it on the table, Eisenhower refocused on the 12th’s Commanding General.
“I will certainly tell Air to prioritise you for now, but there is a lot going on, Brad.”
Obviously Bradley wanted to get about his business, now he had some extra assets to play with.
“OK Brad, you do that. I will tell both to contact you immediately. Get your boys in line safely, General.”
He looked at his watch, his face betraying a modest calculation.
“Sure thing, Brad. Now, get it done. Good luck, General.”
The written order was given up to be typed, and another two were quickly issued.
Two telephone calls were made.
Eisenhower was never quite sure why it was, but his dealings with the Germans often made him feel inferior.
‘Maybe that’s part of it?’
In this instance, it may have been because Guderian had expected such an order, and had started to make some adjustments to his forces already.
By the time he put the phone down on Ridgeway, the map threw up another problem.
Stuttgart was surrounded.
“Get me General Devers on the horn, please.”
1820 hrs Wednesday 29th August 1945, Headquarters Building, 1st Legion Brigade de Chars D’Assault ‘Camerone’, The Rathaus, Waldprechtsweier, Germany.
Knocke and Lavalle were sat discussing a delicate problem when they were interrupted by an insistent knocking on the door.
Both men were handed seperate messages, and both men were long enough in the tooth to know what they were before they read them.
Dismissing the messenger, Knocke pulled out a map, angling it so that Lavalle could examine it with him.
The two worked in silence, making the calculations, imagining the move and all the pitfalls it held.
Finally, Lavalle moved back, pouring two Perriers, and passing one to his Brigade Commander.
“Santé, Ernst.”
Knocke acknowledged the toast and took a sip before putting his glass down.
“Distance of about ninety kilometres to the present line, one hundred to break through?”
Lavalle concurred.
“Will they hold, Sir?”
“The Algerians are a tough bunch, Ernst. They will hold.”
The order had given specific instructions on what was expected of them
once they got to the Stuttgart area, but little of substance on how to get there, and what assistance they might expect.
“Right then, Ernst. Take the two ready units of ‘Alma’ under your command, and get your Brigade ready to move as soon as possible. I will organise some support and get the information we will need.”
Lavalle took another look at the map, examining a rough route pencilled in by Knocke.
“That seems appropriate, but I think the bridges at Pforzheim are down?”
Without the merest hint of superiority, Knocke shook his head briefly.
“Back up yesterday, Sir. Two bridges, both capable of bearing my Panzers.”
And without the merest hint of offence, Lavalle acknowledged the information.
‘Well, he is the best, isn’t he?’
“How long, Ernst?”
Taking a look at his watch and another sip of water, Knocke did a swift calculation.
“I can have Camerone rolling within the hour, Sir.”
At 1925 hrs, the first units of ‘Camerone’ moved out of their laager and through the small town of Malsch, heading to the sound of guns, and the relief of Stuttgart.
On a man to man basis, the German ground soldier consistently inflicted casualties at about a 50 per cent higher rate than they incurred from the opposing British, Canadian and American troops under all circumstances. This was true when they were attacking and when they were defending, when they had local numerical superiority and when, as was usually the case, they were outnumbered, when they had air superiority and when they did not, when they won and when they lost.
Colonel Trevor Nevitt Dupuy, US Army.
Chapter 73 - THE CAMERONE’S.
0830 hrs, Thursday 30th August 1945, Combat Headquarters of 1st Legion Regiment du Chars D’Assault, Hauptstrasse, Aidlingen, Germany.
The movement had been swift and uneventful, save for the incredulous looks from locals, drawn to the passage of German tanks through their village or town.
‘Camerone’, and its additions from ‘Alma’, had arrived in darkness and efficiently secreted themselves, completing the task just as the first rays of the new day made themselves known.
The commander of the Stuttgart Garrison had made his plans for the breakout, and these had been relayed to the relief force.
Thankfully the man knew his job and there was nothing to criticise in his proposition.
All call-signs, fire free zones, and routes of advance were thoroughly briefed, and that left the task of the tactical break-in battle to the skills of Ernst-August Knocke and his commanders.
The mission had changed, from one of relief to evacuation, but it had come as no surprise, and made no difference to the Legion dispositions.
Lavalle had secured standing air protection for the battleground to keep Soviet Shturmoviks at bay, and even some ground-attack assets to suppress the Soviet artillery.
To their front lay the small town of Dagersheim, the centre of the escape route planned by the French General commanding the 3rd Algerian Division. Not just the Algerians, it was now known, as a plethora of smaller units had withdrawn into the city as the Soviet pressure built.
The Algerians, supported by some American armour, would strike towards Sindlefingen at 0900 hrs, with a view to opening up the main road out, and expanding the hole sideways as much as possible.
Once that was achieved, the Algerians would fold inwards, funnelling their soldiers out of Stuttgart to the relative safety of allied lines.
Some would stay behind, volunteers or pressed men, in order to cover their comrades’ departure.
‘Camerone’ had merely to advance two miles and smash the outer ring of the encirclement, widening the hole to the north-west and south-east as much as possible, whilst ensuring that the flanks were held against any efforts to reseal the pocket.
Considering that the unit had been hastily put together, it was superbly equipped and well supplied.
Although Knocke was hugely responsible for that, the abilities of his officers and Lavalle had greatly contributed to the efficiency that had been quickly developed and maintained.
Inside the Rathaus on Hauptstrasse, a final assessment was being made, based on yesterday’s aerial reconnaissance photos.
Cigarette smoke hung lifelessly in the air, despite the huge hole in the wall beside the large table, a product of a near-miss in some American barrage the previous April.
On the reconnaissance photos there seemed to be a few tanks in an area of interest.
“I can only agree, Rolf; where there are four there are probably more. None the less, it seems we will face mainly infantry and anti-tank guns.”
The Germans were used to doing things on the hoof and with little reconnaissance and were not fazed by the likelihood of surprises.
Fig #48 - Relief of Stuttgart
“We anticipated a hedgehog here,” Knocke tapped an area north-west of Dagersheim, marked by a rise in the ground and shielded by a small watercourse, “And artillery have their orders to hit them hard.”
It was designated ‘Leningrad’.
Uhlmann nodded along with Von Arnesen, the latter being more concerned as his 1st RdM’S 2nd Battalion was tasked with clearing the position.
The tank regiment commander pondered for a moment, and his reflection brought some good news for Von Arnesen.
Uhlmann addressed Knocke with his suggestion.
“Sir, I was keeping hold of my self-propelled guns as an additional reserve. I can move them up behind the infantry’s advance to provide direct support if you wish?”
There was never any chance that such an offer would be turned down, so Uhlmann’s 5th Company of Sturmgeschutz III’s and IV’s was re-tasked.
Outside, some 20mm Flak weapons started to hammer out, but the firing soon ceased as whatever it was disappeared from sight.
The noise provided no opportunity to talk, so those present took the opportunity to examine the map to ensure they were fully acquainted with the plan.
The senior officer from ‘Alma’ wiped away a trickle of blood from his forehead bandage, a trophy of a vehicle accident during the night march.
Lieutenant Colonel Lange was an unknown quantity to those in the room, his military credentials unproven. Whilst his service in the 17th SS Panzer-Grenadiere Division ‘Götz Von Berlichingen’ had apparently been spectacular, it had also been brief, his war ending when he was captured by US forces during the Battle of Mortain on 7th August 1944.
His 5th RdM was tasked with opening the southern side of the breach, supported by the other ‘Alma’ unit, the 3rd Legion Reconnaissance Compagnie.
Knocke had also assigned the self-propelled guns of the 1st AT Battalion to support Lange, should he need them. JagdPanthers, JagdPanzer IV’s, and two Nashornes would deal with any enemy tanks encountered, and the recon photos showed none whatsoever.
Knocke had retained some units under his command, ready to respond to an emergency or reinforce success, whichever one visited the battlefield that day.
A wave of relaxation seemed to sweep the officers group, as all realised that the planning was over and that their new war would start very soon.
They moved out into the main room.
It was 08:45, and the headquarters was a hive of activity; last minute checks, orders being confirmed, the mechanics of war smoothly operating prior to the attack. However, a stillness fell upon the room, as staff officers hard at work realised that the senior officers had completed their private discussion, and that the Brigade Commander was now stood on the briefing podium, silently waiting for their attention.
Those who knew him well could see the tiredness and strain sitting heavily upon the man.
Knocke, resplendent as always in his crisp black tankers jacket, his medals catching the eye and confirming his quality, looked down on his men with proud eyes and, when all had stopped around him, he began.
“Meine Herren, the time is upon us when we will atone for the wrongdoings of recent years. No
t necessarily our own, or those of our country, but certainly those of the political leadership.”
Knocke softly gestured around the room as he continued.
“We fought long and hard, with comradeship and bravery, but we fought to preserve a political system that brought our country, and this world, to the brink of an abyss.”
The pause was heavy with widespread but unspoken thoughts of comrades, men who died in furtherance of that cause, that leadership, that political system. The voice grew in firmness and conviction.
“No man here has anything to reproach himself for, as you all fought with vigour and courage.”
Knocke reinforced that message with his piercing look at any who gave him eye contact.
Strongly he continued.
“But no matter how honourable we felt the cause for which we fought, or the pride with which we carried arms for our country, we must all now accept that there will be a price to pay before we, and the Fatherland, can again stand tall and take our rightful place in world affairs.”
More softly, and with full knowledge of the meaning of his words, he went on.
“The stain can only be removed by the further sacrifices of our nation.”
He left that statement hanging for a moment, and then raised his voice strongly once more, driving into the substance of his exhortation.
“We have been given the chance to bear arms once more, and now stand side by side with our former enemies, united with the French, British and Americans in a common cause.”
“Today, we lead an attack and start the bloody process that will start to roll back the communists, and ultimately secure the future of our Fatherland, Europe and the world.”
Nodding as he spoke, Knocke pressed on forcefully.
“On this battlefield a change will be made, and communism will know a defeat.”
“There will be other days, in other places; hard days for us all.”
