The Valkyrie Option

by Markus Reichardt

  Under his feet the sodden soils gave way and he had to catch himself every few steps to avoid landing in the mud which the mass of human boots and vehicles of 66 Army Headquarters had created. Not that it would have mattered much, his uniform, like his short stout body was badly in need of a bath. He was completely exhausted but exhilarated. He had not slept much over the past month but more importantly he had not slept in the same place twice in a row as his unit had followed 66 Army across northern Byelorussia from north of Vitebsk to just east of Daugav’pils, the Lithuanian town the Germans called Dünaburg as the Bagraton offensives had ripped apart the German Army Centre removing 30 divisions from the German order of battle. Borzov did not know the how decisive the German defeat had been, a victory larger than Stalingrad that effectively deprived the Germans on the East front of the manpower and resources to regain the initiative. At the moment he like nearly a million Red Army soldiers was simply concerned with staying alive during what was quite simply an staggering rate of advance.

  As he approached the tents he scratched his two-day beard, fervently hoping that his commander would grant his unit at least a day’s rest. The Russian supply system, never a model of efficiency, had been outrun by the bulk of its army long ago. For the past two days Borzov had been living off fuel siphoned out of destroyed German vehicles. If pushed his trucks would have the fuel to continue for another five to ten kilometres but then they would be dry. The tankers previously dedicated to his unit had not been seen in a week.

  He was also in need of medical supplies. Most of his men were sick with some vicious bug that made them void their bowel every half hour even when there was nothing to void. He knew that a competent doctor could administer some medicine that would end this quickly. Alternatively the doctor would inform him that whatever it was, was infectious and he would soon be suffering the same indignities. That would be a fine way to drop out of this mess for a few weeks.

  Borzov was lucky. Only two staff officers briefly found time to talk to him and overpowered by the enormity of the task of moving thousands of men and machines westward at a pace they still could not truly believe, told him to report back for duty at 5pm that afternoon. They also pointed him to the field hospital and organised the badly needed fuel tankers. A very relieved commander headed back to his unit with a very definite intention to get his first decent length sleep in weeks. A final satisfaction before nodding off was to detail the miserable zampolit – the political commissar, Vlasik a skinny, bespectacled weasel of a man, to oversee guard duty for the task of refuelling. Borzov had grown heartedly tired of the man’s ranting and raving about ultimately victory and Stalin’s genius over the past months. ‘Since you are that committed, Gospodin (Comrade), you will look after us while we rest.’

  Sadly he knew that the little man would do a good job of it and have his men ready to move out the moment 66th Army decided what to do with his mobile artillery unit. Even fanatical weasels had their value.

  12:30, 22nd July

  La Roche Guyon

  Rommel’s HQ

  Colonel Speidel stood watching his boss on the phone to Berlin while making an endless spectacle of cleaning his round spectacles. For nearly ten minutes, the Field Marshall had been listening to the young Colonel who had killed Hitler. Normally that would have been unusual but these days Stauffenberg could call anyone he wanted, anytime. But Speidel knew that despite Hitler’s death, this call would be critical: Although he had helped make Rommel a member of the Widerstand, he knew that Rommel had not approved of Hitler’s murder. Rommel, was never a plotter in the moral or political sense; No, the soldier and patriot had rebelled when he had judged Germany’s military position under Hitler’s direction as hopeless. Rommel never the most talkative had become downright monosyllabic, his normally narrowed eyes almost totally shut. Between the occasional yes or no, he kept repeating the phrase ' I am no politician.' Unable to contain himself Speidel edged closer. Rommel finally noticed and motioned him closer with a jerk of his head. Speidel caught Stauffenberg's closing argument as he bent close to the receiver.

  'Field Marshall you outrank me. But like me, you are a soldier, a German soldier and you are the best we have. All I am asking, I am begging you to do is that you use all your skills, even those you claim not to have, to save the Fatherland, to save German lives. You know the Allied Commanders and in particularly Montgomery better than anyone, even though you have never met. The Allied troops respect you for your military conduct and your chivalry in North Africa and in France. I know Herr Feldmarschall, I served under you in North Africa. I implore you to use all your skills to gain us the breathing space we need to save the Fatherland. Will you consider my request?

  'Put Beck back on the line, Colonel' Rommel still felt repulsed by the idea of using a bomb to accomplish the assassination but that repulsion was mingling with admiration. That crippled man had pulled off the coup almost single-handedly. He had dared and won - and that was something Rommel could identify with. 'Feldmarschall Beck, I am no politician but I will go and talk to the English. I will meet Monty.' His tone was formal and earnest.

  'Thank you Field Marshall and may God be with you. Our prayers certainly are.' As Rommel put down the receiver, he found his chief of staff bowing deeply to him.

  “The good general is the one who wins battles with the fewest possible casualties; but morale will remain high even after considerable casualties, provided the battle has been won and the men know it was not wastefully conducted, and the that every care has been taken of the wounded, and the killed have been collected and reverently buried.”

  Field Marshall Montgomery, Memoirs p.84

  10:00am July 23

  Blay, Normandy,

  Monty's HQ

  'Rommel's coming'

  Word ran like a wildfire through the soldier’s ranks. All along the muddy road leading to the hastily set up tent in the wet green field at Blay. Nearly a thousand allied soldiers and officers lined the road. They pushed and shoved to catch a glimpse of the famed Desert Fox as he arrived in his black Mercedes. There were cameras everywhere.

  'We seem to be popular, Herr Feldmarschall' Lieutenant-Colonel Speidel grinned.

  'I am not running for office, Hans' Rommel was tense and his features betrayed it. 'Someone else should be here. A real politician.' For the third time in as many minutes his gloved hand went inside his leather overcoat to feel the proclamation that Beck and Goerdeler had asked him to read to Montgomery. Next to it was a sheet of pointers which Colonel von Roenne, the Wehrmacht's western front spy chief had provided on the allied leaders. Most of it was biographical drivel but there had been some interesting personality details Rommel had filed away for possible use.

  Beck had told him that when he, Goerdeler and Stauffenberg planned the coup they had upfront accepted the possible necessity of Allied occupation even by the Russians. It was in their views, particularly Goerdeler’s, the penalty the German nation would need to pay for its support of Hitler and his war. Rommel had taken some affront at that, having himself been such an admirer of the Führer during the years of his early military successes. But in the end he had accepted the need to follow the new leader, it was just the natural thing for him. There was however one factor he had not divulged to Goerdeler, whom he did not trust to keep his mouth shut; he was ready to give up without a last effort. Today he would meet the Allied commanders, above all Montgomery, today he would seek peace if possible, surrender on his terms if he could. That is if his gamble, his last big gamble on this front failed.

  The diminutive Speidel just smiled at his commander as the rain dripped from his glasses. It had been drizzling since the day before and the soft soils of Normandy were turning ever more permanently into mud. 'No-one will have the power to reach Montgomery as you do, Sir. You are his adversary, his professional opposite number. You and he can come to an understanding better than anyone else.'

  'And if you now add 'and you both are the Field commanders on the battlefield' you will s
ound just like Goerdeler. Ever thought of going into politics when this is over, Hans. ? Provided we can pull this off. 'He turned to Lang who sat mesmerized by the passing groups of Allied men. The young lieutenants had constantly searched for the sidearm that was not there. 'And you, Helmuth any last minute advice?' The edge in his voice was not quite covered by his attempted sarcasm. The Desert Fox was nervous.

  Helmuth Lang looked at his commander. He had followed Rommel since the latter’s return to Europe in 1943. To him the proximity to the great man was the fulfilment of his career. From now on, he knew, everything would be a pale shadow by comparison. He thought of the leather suitcase between his legs that he had brought along out of habit but which contained nothing but a notepad and a camera. It gave him a sense of purpose as they cast out into the great unknown. And it looks good, he reminded himself. Which is more than we can say for this grey wet stretch of mud.

  A smile crossed his face. 'Look at the sky Herr Feldmarschall. It’s raining and there is low cloud. It has been like this for at least a day. The way things look it will stay this way which means that few Allied planes will see our movements. There is little possibility that they can piece together our plans. Isn't that a good omen?'

  Speidel smiled broadly 'There you go. Even the weather is with us today.'

  'Now we are truly lost' Rommel growled in mock despair 'my officers have taken to witchcraft.' But he was grateful for their humour and moral support. Helmuth took advantage of the situation “You do realise what according to his last testament Hitler wanted inscribed on his tombstone? “ Rommel cocked an eyebrow, ‘Enlighten me?” “Well, “ Helmuth smiled “it says : this is my last territorial demand.” With that the Mercedes came to a sliding halt twenty yards from a large mottled British Army tent.

  Field Marshall Bernard Law Montgomery watched the Mercedes slither to a halt. He was surprised to see that there was no escort. Always the gutsy loner, he thought as Rommel's aide opened the door for his commander. Wiping the rain from his forehead he silently cursed the weather for the hundredth time this morning. On days like this the allied were unable to bring their greatest advantage - air power to bear, and there had been nearly as many rainy as there had been sunny days. It was hardly an auspicious sign.

  Even worse Montgomery thought, I have all these spectators here.' Around Monty half the Allied battlefield commanders in Normandy were gathered, among the Chief of the Imperial General Staff Sir Alan Brooke, US Generals Patton and Bradley and virtually all of Monty's divisional commanders. All of them had somehow found a reason for visiting their boss' camp on this occasion. When his armoured corps commander Horrocks, had snuck in early this morning Monty's exasperated chief of staff de Guignand had growled something about ' haven't you got a war to run.' only to receive a happy 'Not today old chap, wouldn't miss this for the world.!

  But it wasn't his officer's voyeuristic intentions that got to Monty. The politicians had come here as well. Most annoyingly the leader of the Free French General De Gaulle had snuck into the camp with a small entourage an hour ago. Thank God that the Prime Minister had decided that this meeting should remain strictly restricted to discussions between soldiers. Nothing more than armistice or cease-fire details were to be discussed as far as the Allies were concerned. For that reason Churchill had even persuaded the Supreme Commander of the Allied Forces in Western Europe, General Eisenhower, to stay at away. Good thing to, Eisenhower was still sore at having to cover for Monty’s last failed attempt to keep Winston Churchill from running around the front just two days ago.

  As the Germans approached, the British, as hosts took the lead. Brooke in formal uniform as always, and basically living out of a suitcase away from his London base. For this historic occasion Monty had turned out in all regalia he could find, five rows of decorations adorned his battledress, his famous black beret (which he was not entitled to wear) with its two badges.

  Standing stiffly to attention the Germans came to a halt before Montgomery, his head characteristically inclined to one side, hands over behind his back, at ease.

  Rommel stepped forward and saluted. 'Feldmarshall Montgomery'

  'Field Marshall Rommel' No matter how much he had tried to rehearse for this moment, Montgomery was tongue-tied. For a few seconds two of the war's greatest generals studied each other. His face is much rounder that the drawing in the caravan Montgomery thought. For his part Rommel found his adversary shorter, more haggard than expected. Even though his English was basic he managed the first opening lines without a hitch.

  'Ve meet at last in person, I vish it happen under better situation.' He motioned towards his companions. ' Generalleutnant Colonel Speidel, my Shieff of Staff and my adjutant Oberleutnant Helmuth Lang.' The latter had never felt so proud to be anywhere before.

  Still mesmerized, Monty managed a few introductions, mainly Brooke, Bradley, Patton and one or two of his aides. But from the start he found himself at a disadvantage he could not define.

  With a decisive tug he adjusted the collar of his flight jacket. The incessant rain was really working on his nerves. He hated being outside in this weather, ever fearful that the wet cold would have a detrimental effect on his ardently guarded health.

  The Germans protected from the cold by their dark leather overcoats seemed impervious to these concerns. Together with their jackboots their dark leather overcoats gave them an overpoweringly sinister appearance. Even the occasional drop of water falling from the brim of his officers cap did not seem to distract Rommel's gaze as he scanned the rows of Allied officers. Dammit even in this muddy weather the click of their heels could still be heard as they acknowledged their counterparts.

  'A tent has been prepared for our discussions. Please follow me.'

  In the tent the two sides sat down with Alan Brooke next to Monty, Rommel and Speidel seated opposite. Lang found a seat at the end, flicked out his notepad, and asked permission to take notes. Two of Monty's aides were already seated next to him to do the same.

  'Let’s hear it Field Marshal' Brooke was as curious as he was cold.

  Rommel motioned to Speidel to get straight to the point. Speidel's English was better than his. 'Gentlemen. At noon on July 20th a bomb exploded in the Führerhauptquartier. The Führer was fatally wounded and died from his injuries a short while later....

  'Bet you that bastard didn't suffer long enough' one of Brooke's aides murmured to his neighbour. An evil glance cast his way by Montgomery shut him up.

  '.... I myself was part of that conspiracy as was my Commander and many other officers of the Wehrmacht. Let me assure you that this action was not taken lightly - as German officers we are all acutely aware of our Soldateneid, our Soldiers oath. But in view of Hitler's policies, his crimes against the German people and his seeming determination to lead our people and indeed all of Europe into certain disaster, action was taken. The new Government, led by Reichspräsident Field Marshall Beck and Chancellor Goerdeler has taken control and desires peace. At present all NSDAP Gauleiters, senior NSDAP functionaries, and the SS leadership that were not killed in the coup are being held in detention.' He paused for a moment almost expecting an interruption from the British. There was none; although the American, Patton, was firmly bursting to make a comment, he was restraining himself.

  'The new Head of the Wehrmacht, Field Marshall von Witzleben, has confirmed Feldmarschall Rommel as Commander of all Forces in France. He has also instructed me to convey the following message from my Government to yours. It is my Government's absolute priority to end the state of war between ourselves and the West. By this we mean the United Kingdom, the United States of America, France, Belgium, the Netherlands, Luxembourg, Poland, Denmark, Italy and Norway. We wish to live in peace with all these countries and to this end intend to take the following unilateral steps.

  - Immediate suspension of all military activity against the forces of

  the above-mentioned countries, regular or irregular,

  - Withdrawal of all our forces to the
Reich's borders,

  - Release of all POWs and their safe return to their homelands,

  - Prosecution of German war criminals by German courts

  Opening of negotiations to discuss the issue of formal ceasefires

  and subsequent peace treaties.

  Rommel interrupted Speidel 'I am here as Commander of all Wehrmacht forces in Normandy and Special Envoy of my Government to present proposals and to discuss ways in which to talk about them.’

  There was silence. In order to keep his hands busy Rommel made an elaborate effort of laying out the proclamation and the spy chief's notes on the table in front of him.

  'I see' Montgomery's response was neutral. After years of battling against the 'Rommel legend' among his troops, he found himself mesmerized by his former opponent from North Africa.

  Sir Alan Brooke also studied the Desert Fox, with grudging admiration. As a professional officer Rommel could not but hate the fact that he was discussing de facto admission of defeat. He was clearly no political genius, there were many ways in which he could have delivered this message with sweeteners but without changing its substance. So why had he been sent, the CIGS wondered. Why no civilian? A civilian would have carried greater legitimacy, signified greater change. Then it hit him. The answer was blindingly obvious, Rommel was here because of Montgomery. He was here to use the power of his status and his perceived communality with Montgomery to make some kind of deal. A deal Brooke reminded himself, that some unknown German politician would not have the standing to extract.

  Signalling to Montgomery that he wished to speak he stood up. 'You are familiar with the Allied demand for Germany's unconditional surrender? ' Sir Alan hated himself for bringing up the miserable issue. Like his master Churchill he had stubbornly resisted the simplistic, and in his view totally misguided American demand made by a President in a faraway place when the United States had hardly entered the war. He had never understood the American motivation for the Casablanca demand and had always thought that it had always worked against the Allies by stiffening the German resolve. Even Stalin had questioned the wisdom of the policy. Nonetheless Churchill had insisted that the matter be raised at the outset.