'So where does this leave us?' Rommel was now the one inviting comment, eager to get away from any political issue. The loyalty of Dietrich and Hausser had made the difference but for many SS men, especially the older officers, the issue was at best deferred. 'From what I can see there is a divisional strength unit of Shermans plus a good deal of support units loose behind our front. If they continue along this route what can they hit?' His hand traced a line from Sens westward. There was nothing there but slightly to the north was a spot on the map all their plans in France hinged on: Chalons.
Ritter was the first to speak; 'Surely those bastards cannot know, there has been little air reconnaissance on their part due to the weather.'
'There's always the French Resistance and their radio network.' Speidel murmured, ’the alternative is of course that they just want a bridgehead over the Seine; in which case they will stop just east of Troyes.’
Rommel was already on his way out the door. 'Have my Storch plane readied. Warn the troops in the area and, Ritter, you are coming with me! Let’s find our phantom French. He did not tell anyone that in May 1940 he had underestimated De Gaulle once and had nearly paid for it with his life and his division – he was not going to make the same mistake twice.
10am August 15th
near Troyes
France
‘Relax Al everything is going fine. You'll see Old Blood & Guts was right! All they need is another kick in the nuts and then this will really be over.’ Rick, the gunner was happily sprawled over the Sherman's turret, fidgeting to repair a jammed round in the machinegun belt.
Al raised a sceptical eyebrow to his fellow-tanker. The man just worked with too much optimism. True, things had gone substantially better than anyone could have expected. They had punched through the thin rear guard units with minimum delay. Clearly the Germans had not expected a push of this strength after so many days of lame following. Their Sherman was third line a long line of over 40 tanks rolling down the road between Sens and Troyes, the two major towns straddling major rivers south of Paris. Today CCB of 4th Armoured was leading the charge. With 6th close behind and 90th infantry fanning out to hold key road crossing and towns on the flanks.
Now the 4th was advancing in 3 mutually supporting columns along a narrow front. Over the last two days they had caught a number of German units, small groups really, and simply swept them aside. After the initial encounters there was no longer any attempt at hiding their intentions, and this morning they had veered northwards towards Chalons. The railway yards had been reported as the principal location the Wehrmacht was using to shift its major units via rail to the Eastern Front. Free of the harassment from Allied planes since Kammhuber's raid, thousands of German troops and supplies were being moved out of France and fed straight into the crumbled German lines in the Balkans and the Baltic. Stalin was already screaming blue murder about the renewed spirit and strength the Wehrmacht was exhibiting on the Eastern Front. That much at least Al knew from the newspapers.
If they could get there and neutralize the place, then things would be different. Nearly a third of the German forces in France, including most of the key Panzer units, would then be reduced to major detours that would make them fail their deadline and give the Allied leaders cause for more aggressive action that would force an end to the conflict. At least that was how Patton had explained when he had talked them and their commanders into joining his raid. In all likelihood they would still surprise a major force around the yards and taken them prisoner. If pushed the Germans were just as unlikely to fight for ground they intended to vacate as Allied troops were. There really seemed to be no downside.
Rumbling along at 15 kilometres per hour the spearhead was making good progress. The land was mostly flat, few hills many country roads. Good tanker country, except for the swampy area along the Seine. The weather was overcast and there were, at present, no signs of German units in the area.
'We'll probably catch them napping just like we did back there.' There was no end to Rick's optimism. For Al every rule in the book was being violated by this narrow front thrust. He felt sorry for any logistics officer trying to keep this column fed with fuel and ammo. But he had to admit, so far it was working. Yesterday morning they had charged a town whose name he had already forgotten and surprised a battalion of Waffen-SS Infantry. They were now more than 25 miles west of there already.
'That morning does not really count Rick. We really caught these guys with their pants down.' Both men smiled. The German battalion commander had been caught literally on the toilet by the GIs who had swept into town just before dawn. Less than a handful of SS-men had managed to put up a fight, knocking out a Sherman and two halftracks before throwing up their hands in surrender. They had not been treated well for that.
Al's scepticism had died with that success. His Sherman had been in the lead column and had not gotten around to firing a shot in anger before the Germans threw in the towel. He looked along the row of American tanks crawling along the French road; most of them still look like they’re fresh out of the box he mused. Clearly German reconnaissance was not up to the task of finding them. If they were still surprising units at this stage, the Wehrmacht must be in worse shape than even Old Blood 'n Guts thought
noon August 15th
Champagne district
France
Despite the honour of being asked to accompany Rommel on his reconnaissance flight, Waffen-SS Major Ritter felt rather sick. Rommel’s plane – the Fieseler Storch – was the perfect reconnaissance vehicle which was why Rommel used it extensively. A high-wing one-engine plane that could barely manage a top speed of around 270 kilometers per hour, the Storch, with its large glassed-in cabin into which he, Rommel and a pilot had squeezed, appeared very vulnerable. But the looks very deceiving; according to its laconic Schwabian pilot Albert Nill, the Storch was so slow and so manoeuvrable that it was extremely difficult for Allied fighters – who generally travelled at twice its speed – to get a fix on it. As a tanker with limited flying experience Ritter considered this academic, especially since the already miserable weather limited visibility and made him feel vulnerable. The mist and with it the cold seeped into his black tanker uniform as the little plane crawled through the sky of France. Rommel seemed impervious to it all and to his chagrin the younger man found himself struggling to keep his attention focussed on the roads over which they flew. After take-off they had headed straight for Chalons and from there flown westward along the main road along which it seemed the mysterious French column was advancing. They had then scoured a parallel route to the north where they had found the tracks of a substantial tank unit (none of our Panzers came this way Ritter was certain) heading east. But they had not made visual contact.
As they flew along the third possible route of advance, visibility was limited to a few hundred meters. The Storch was dodging trees and the constant abrupt motion was giving everyone a feeling of air-sickness – I want to get back to my Tiger Ritter thought longingly. Only the robust Nill seemed impervious to it all. Ritter had long since ceased being an effective navigator. But Rommel did not seem to mind.
‘There Feldmarschall’ the pilot pointed to the left. That’s the crossroad ‘We should be about 3 kilometres from this point.
‘Find another landmark so that we can be sure of where we are.’
All he got was a calm ‘Yes Sir’ from Nill. The pilot and the Feldmarshall came from the same area; little seemed to excite these Schwabians.
To his own amazement it was Ritter who spotted the road crossing and the narrow stream right next to it a few minutes later. This marked the location that Speidel had identified as the most likely location of the advancing column for now.
For a few minutes the Storch following the road eastward at an altitude of less than 100 meters. A group of lorries came into view – fuel tankers. They were past before the escorting halftracks had a chance to ready their machineguns.
‘Definitely American vehicles Herr Feldmarsc
hall!’ at this altitude Ritter felt he could almost touch the unit’s insignia.
“If these are fuel trucks then the spearhead must be further to the east. Turn this thing around … Ritter’s stomach did a somersault as the Storch seemed to turn virtually on the spot.
This time the machine gunners in the half tracks were more alert. Tracer streaked up towards them but missed. Amid the high trees to both sides of the road Nill skilfully wove the plane so as to avoid danger. As a tanker Ritter forgot about the Storch’s lack of armour and, not used to fearing machinegun fire, his gaze never wavered as he scanned the fuel trucks and snapped a series of pictures.
They encountered a few more isolated American vehicle groups as they flew eastward, barely 50 vehicles in total. But as Rommel pointed out “there has to be more, just look at the road – its seen lots of tracked traffic in recent hours. Ritter could only concur.
They found one group of Shermans backing under some large trees just twenty kilometres from Vitry. Ritter got off only one shot on the second pass. Then the enemy vanished from sight. Low on fuel and thoroughly frozen they turned back.
An hour later Ritter’s photos were developed. Speidel called him ten minutes later “You are sure this shot is not from another trip?” Ritter who had never before photographed from a plane and hoped he would not have to again, was certain.
“Well this could complicate matters – Intelligence identifies these insignia as belonging to an American unit. An American tank unit with no record of French staffing. The unit commander is not known at present but it belong to the Third US Army commanded by General George Patton. The analysts thank you for snapping the tracks on the road – they are willing to bet money on a force of more than 100 tanks. This looks like it could be something much bigger.”
10am 16th August
near Sezanne
France
From his perch in the pine Wittman watched the American column speed by more than 4 kilometers away. The Feldmarschall had been right. Already word of Rommel's reconnaissance flight the previous day had made the rounds. Based on his information a number of German units had managed to get out of harm’s way as the 3 American tank columns charged down the narrow roads towards their prize. As they approached it they were increasingly channelled onto two major tarred roads. One from the south via Vitry, another directly from the west via Sezanne. The American commander was obviously a real blitzkrieg man but why was he ignoring the basic rules of the game and leaving his flanks completely open. So far not even a thin screening line of American infantry had come into view. It did not matter; he would pay the price. Wiitman slowly slid from his perch and hurried towards his tanks.
Twenty minutes later he received the message he had been waiting for. A hastily scratched-together group of Wehrmacht infantry and flak units supported by some of his Tigers had taken the two small towns over whose bridges the Americans had passed and on whom their supply lines now depended. These bridges spanned a side arm of the Seine in an area where the river’s eastward turn made much of the surrounding off-road countryside bad tanker country. The few defenders had been overcome without much bloodshed. Now it was up to his tanks to form a bloc across the approaches that would seal the trap that Rommel was setting.
1pm 16th August
4th Armoured advance column
west of Chalons
Patton was staring out ahead through his binoculars as his command vehicle slowly moved along the River Marne that flowed gently from Chalons to Vitry. Along this river the miracle of the Marne had occurred in World War One, here the German advance on Paris had been stopped. There just another seven kilometers ahead lay Chalons. Everything was falling into place. Another ten minutes and his men would be in position. Again he regretted the absence of decent reconnaissance but from what his intelligence team could glean from the local population, there was nothing to change the plan. A major Panzer unit was indeed in the town and another major infantry formation nearby. The Panzers had been reported as entraining today. He intended to catch them napping when his Shermans swooped from the south and west.
Roosevelt was almost an egomaniac in his belief in his own wisdom.
General Dwight D Eisenhower (in 1955)
4pm August 16th
SHAEF HQ - London
It was the phone call Eisenhower had been dreading and shifting his schedule to delay as long as possible. US Chief of Staff General George C Marshall was his boss and politically adept at getting military matters understood by politicians. Marshall should have been the one to command D-Day but Roosevelt had picked Eisenhower as a result of the Torch experience.
Marshall was not a person to let emotion show in his voice and the telephone line would have masked much of that anyway. Nevertheless Ike’s bad conscience was able to more than compensate. Taking a deep breath Eisenhower waved his aides out of the room and sat down. Marshall did not beat around the bush.
“Ike, would you care to update me on events in France, ALL of them. “
Bradley! It had to have been Bradley who tipped off the CiC. Eisenhower had mentally rehearsed his delaying story, the options of cutting Patton loose or endorsing his headstrong action. Kate had been a great sounding board but even she had not been certain, like all English women she had been supportive of anything that shortened the war and saved lives. “Well George, I am assuming you are referring to George Patton .. ? “
“Ike level with me what’s going on – Donovan’s men tell me that one of our corps is breaking ranks and charging off into Germany. The frogs are furious because they’re scared that Patton will take Paris before them.’
Dammit so the old man knew! Ike had hoped to keep things under wraps a bit longer. A few more days, maybe tomorrow even, and Patton would have in all likelihood reached his objective and cut the German Army in half. Then it would have been a fait accompli. He would need to buy Patton that time and protect America’s honour. But he could not and would not lie directly to Marshall.
“George, Patton has acted on his own. He’s taken a force of about a corps assembled from Third Army units who were sick of fighting a phoney war into the German lines to cut off their principal rail marshalling yard at Chalons. I believe he intends to shorten this war by forcing their hand and regaining the initiative.”
Ike … Marshall’s voice was halting, surprised “ you .. you knew ? Did Patton act on your orders? “
‘No Sir he did not! I believe he chose to interpret my instructions to pursue with vigour rather widely.’
‘So that headstrong bulldog went ahead and disobeyed orders….’ Marshall was clearly confused. It was clear he had expected a different story from Eisenhower. Political evasion maybe but not defiant factual endorsement.
‘It was not his decision to make’
‘Maybe not Sir but he chose to exercise command of the troops we entrusted to him. He was not disobeyed any orders. I know of no orders that forbade continued advance eastwards. George as usual is just more enthusiastic.’
‘He told you beforehand?’
‘Yes, though not any specifics.’
‘And you did not order him to desist?’
‘No but I pointed out that it would be on his head and he would have to live with the disgrace that would follow if things went wrong.’
‘And I am sure that man told you that he would also have to live with the glory if he won the war single-handedly.’
‘Yes Sir General George Patton did just that.’
‘Are you in contact with him?’
‘No, not immediately. He’s got 90th Infantry covering his flanks as he’s charging ahead. They’re a bit slow in passing things along that they believe might distract the General.‘
‘So what happens next?’
‘General, we wait, we wait for George Patton to get lucky.’
There was a long silence while Marshall mulled things over.
‘Ike this conversation did not take place. And I will talk to the President and he might choose to have
a non-existent communication with you very soon. In the meantime find out what the blazes in happening in your army.’
‘General Marshall,’ Eisenhower went formal in order to get his boss attention, ‘when you do, may I request that you remind him that there have been no formal orders for my army since July 21st other than let’s wait and see.’ If the line could have transmitted poison he would have dropped dead right there and then. Marshall cut the line with a curt ‘I’ll see what I can do Goodbye General Eisenhower.’
Eisenhower took a deep breath and replaced the receiver. ‘Good luck George go prove us all wrong!’
5pm August 16th
Warsaw airfield
Jan Zumbach wing commander in the K squadron could barely believe it – he was back in Poland, on sacred Polish soil and there were nearly 20 British planes manned by Poles around him. The Polish air force had returned to Warsaw. He watched uneasily as the German airfield flak crews manned the guns protecting the airfield, while the ground crews scrambled over the Hurricanes and Liberators painting large Polish red and white squares onto their wings and tails.
It was unreal, that night they slept underneath their planes, guns ready. In their hearts of hearts they knew that the outstanding issues with Germany would have to be settled one day. But tomorrow would hopefully not be that day.
The commander of the Home Army, General Bor, had come out to meet them. He had briefed them that their mission was not to provoke but simply to be here. Clearly the leadership in London hoped that would make a difference. In the meantime Jan and his comrades sat around and considered the enormity of their actions. Although they all agreed that they were under Polish command they had fought in British uniform and with British equipment so long that it was difficult to see how their objectives would be different. The envoy of the government, however had made it plain that England had refused to come to the Home Army’s assistance. After the first supply drops in which that chap Mioduchowski had been shot down and part of his crew killed, England had chosen to end the flights. It didn’t matter that the weather in Italy gave them a valid reason to do so. It didn’t matter that the Russians had massacred part of Mioduchowski’s crew, Britain would also not, on its own accord, take any steps to protect Poland from the advancing Red Army, bringing with it the puppet Lublin Committee.
The Valkyrie Option Page 33
