Since ensuring the invasion did not fail was the prime priority, securing the flanks of the lodgement area was essential. In the eastern end of the invasion front were the Caen Canal and River Orne, running almost perfectly north–south. There was then an area to the east around 6 miles wide before the valley of another river, the Dives, which also ran north–south. Although not particularly high, the Bréville Ridge dominated the eastern flank of the main assault area. If the British could capture intact the bridges over the Orne and the Caen Canal, and destroy the four bridges over the Dives and hold the high ground in between, that would stop any enemy forces attacking the flanks, which in turn would leave the British and Canadians to push directly south to Caen and beyond.
Initially, there were thoughts of possibly extending the invasion to the coast immediately to the east of the mouth of the River Orne – it was even given the code name ‘Band’ Beach – but lack of shipping and the strength of enemy guns further east dissuaded planners. Instead, back in February the task of capturing this area had been given to the 6th Airborne Division. Meanwhile, at the western end American airborne forces supporting the Utah Beach landings could sever the Cotentin Peninsula and isolate all German forces there. This would not only protect the western flank but help with the swift subsequent capture of Cherbourg. For this, one, and then eventually two, US airborne divisions would be used.
The intention was for British troops from Sword, the easternmost beach, to hurry inland and capture the key city of Caen on D-Day itself. The British and Canadians would then push on and capture the higher ground to the south and south-east of the city. This was open countryside, ideal for airfields but also a point from which the Allies could eventually pivot eastwards. It was assumed that most of the panzer divisions and reinforcements would arrive in Normandy from the east and south-east, so the British and Canadians were expected to hold them there while the American First Army, and later General George Patton’s Third Army, would swing south then east.
With the shipping and resources available, this was a good plan and no one attending THUNDERCLAP quibbled with the essence of what was being proposed. What was vital was, first, establishing the lodgement, and then building up forces quickly enough not only to defend against a concentrated counter-attack, but also to go on to the offensive as quickly as possible. Hand in hand with the build-up of ground forces was the establishment of forward air bases. Air power was critical: as extra fire-power, for taking out key targets, and especially for slowing down the enemy’s movement and ability to concentrate its forces.
Where there was some dissent, however, was over Montgomery’s large map on which had been drawn prospective phase lines. By D plus 17 – that is, two and a half weeks after the invasion – Montgomery reckoned they could realistically expect to have secured Cherbourg and the Cotentin Peninsula and be around 50 miles south of the coast; twenty-five days on, 100 miles south; and south of the River Loire and at the gates of Paris by D plus 90. General Bradley had objected to Monty showing such phase lines: he felt it made the plan seem too rigid and did not take into account the unexpected. ‘If projected phase lines were not met,’ noted Bradley, ‘it might appear that we were “failing”.’5 He certainly had a point, although, as he admitted, Montgomery’s briefing made a ‘profoundly favourable’ impression on all those attending, including Eisenhower and even Bradley himself, despite the phase lines.
Perhaps those lines should have been left off as Bradley suggested. On the other hand, from experience in North Africa, in Sicily and in southern Italy, advancing in stages, or rather expecting the enemy to retreat in stages, was an entirely valid assumption. And it was just that: an assumption. After all, no one was openly admitting to any doubts about the success of the invasion – and yet it was in those first few days, not at D plus 17 or D plus 30, where unquestionably the greatest risk lay. Furthermore, seeing a large map with phase lines and arrows of advancement helped give a picture of optimism and success. This was such a gargantuan exercise; the stakes could not have been higher and everyone was nervous, twitchy, even slightly overwhelmed by what lay before them. In their private thoughts, the spectre of failure loomed heavily, and yet here was a map that made the entire operation seem feasible. Montgomery was standing before them without betraying even the slightest hint of doubt. He might have been a difficult, cussed, obnoxious, arrogant, overly-controlling SOB, but he had lifted everyone in that room and they had all begun to believe. This was winnable. Paris in ninety days. What a great achievement that would be!
CHAPTER 4
Countdown
In Normandy, and all along the Atlantic Wall, the construction work continued: more bunkers, more mines, more offshore obstacles. For the most part, the work was carried out by the German labour service, the Organisation Todt, and specifically the Oberbauleitung Cherbourg – OBL, the Chief Construction Directorate, Cherbourg – which was mainly responsible for the fixed positions and which employed, amongst others, nearly 70,000 Frenchmen. By May, some 913 concrete emplacements of various kinds had been built in Normandy alone, although along the entire length of the Atlantic Wall a staggering 9,671 permanent concrete structures had been constructed, using a mind-boggling 13 million cubic metres of concrete as well as 5 per cent of Germany’s total steel production. It cost 3.7 billion Reichsmarks – around $45 billion today.
As Rommel was well aware, however, even this increased building fell some way short of what had been planned. The 380mm gun batteries at Cherbourg, for example, had not been put in place, nor had the major defensive complex covering Utah Beach been constructed. Also frustrating were shortages of concrete and other supplies as the Allied air forces continued to hit locomotives, blow up railways and bridges, and generally interrupt the flow of traffic. The result was increasingly low-grade concrete, with insufficient binder and additives for the amount of concrete. This meant it was more likely to crumble and so would be less able to withstand bombs and shells. But what was the alternative? A kind of manic fury had gripped not only Rommel and Meise but many of the engineers now employed along the continental coast.
In between these structures, yet more obstacles and mines were being laid. Meise had even reckoned a dense minefield of at least a kilometre was needed all the way from Holland and round the northern French coast, which would mean not 20 million mines but 200 million. Of course, this was pie in the sky. As May drew to a close only two of the four belts of offshore obstacles had been laid along the Normandy coast, for example, and gaps still remained in the more open areas where no anti-glider stakes had been installed.
While much of this feverish construction activity was in the hands of the Organisation Todt, an increased number of army engineers had been sent to swell the ranks of the coastal infantry divisions and they were now overseeing the building of a number of strongpoints and other defences using the sweat of their own troops. Near Colleville, for example, a few miles west of Ouistreham, a series of Widerstandsnester – WNs, or strongpoints – had been hastily built on the rising high ground that sloped gently for a couple of miles from the sea. These had been designed by the chief engineer of the 716. Infanterie-Division, Oberst Ludwig Krug, and was now the headquarters of Infanterie-Regiment 736, of which Krug had been handed command, and around 150 men. A series of bunkers and gun casements stood on the lower slopes, while on the crest had been built an elaborate series of gun positions, tank turrets – known as ‘Tobruks’ – ammunition stores, a water reservoir, medical facilities, food stores and command bunkers, each dug-in casement connected by an elaborate and reverted trench system, a mass of wire entanglements and, of course, a dense minefield. Widerstandsnester stretched all along the Normandy coast, numbered chronologically from the eastern end of 7. Armee’s boundary, with WN1 on the far eastern side of the River Orne. WN17 and the gun casements on the lower slopes – WN16 – were perfectly sited. Eight miles to the south lay the city of Caen, while to the north the position commanded views across miles of coastline. From here, the rada
r station Finkelstein could clearly be seen, as could the tiny city of Douvres with its twin-spired cathedral. Even if the enemy did manage to get ashore here, they would not be heading very far inland unless they neutralized this position. That would be no easy task.
Krug was not the only engineer assigned to his regiment. Another was Oberleutnant Cornelius Tauber, now based at Courseulles, where WN20 was sited, some 10 miles westwards along the coastline from WN17. Tauber had been given a quite specific task: to construct a series of beach defences that could then be exploited using ‘Goliaths’, mini-tracked vehicles about the size of a wheelbarrow that were controlled electrically by wires and packed with explosives. The idea was to build a series of bunkers in which the controllers could be protected but still see enough to send the Goliaths on to the beaches towards a tank, landing craft or concentration of troops, and then detonate them. Tauber had a store of some twenty-five of these weapons. He and his men had built quite a complex defensive network along the sea front at Courseulles, with the cellars and lower levels of villas strengthened and connected to bunkers built between. There were also casements armed with anti-tank guns firing not out to sea but down along the stretch of the beach.
Tauber was yet another young officer who had been transferred from the Eastern Front. All his colleagues in Russia had slapped him on the back and called him a lucky swine when he received his transfer orders. ‘And, you know, when I joined the 716th Infantry Division in France,’ he recalled, ‘I realised what a lucky swine I was.’1 Compared with just about everywhere else in the Reich, the food was excellent, he could buy pretty much anything on the black market, the weather was mild and his barracks comfortable as it was a requisitioned house with proper beds and running water; he had never had such luxuries in Russia. ‘Every morning I thought of my brother in combat in Russia,’ he added, ‘and I felt extremely guilty.’2 Tauber knew the invasion was coming – they all did – but tried simply to get on with his tasks. As May gave way to June, he was still overseeing the construction work. ‘The Atlantic Wall,’ he said, ‘was still unfinished.’3
On 30 May, Rommel paid a visit to 21. Panzer-Division at Saint-Pierre-sur-Dives on the Caen–Falaise road. He still hoped to persuade the Führer to give him tactical control of the panzer divisions in the west, but as matters stood 21. Panzer was still the only one in Normandy, with its headquarters at Falaise. Among those he visited that day was Major Hans von Luck. The two went back a long way, as von Luck had been in Rommel’s reconnaissance battalion when he commanded 7. Panzer for the invasion of France back in 1940. Von Luck had then been posted to the Eastern Front before rejoining Rommel in North Africa. Since the previous autumn, the 32-year-old had been based in Paris, where he had managed to bring his fiancée, Dagmar. He’d been happy enough there, although he was frustrated that, because of Dagmar’s one-eighth Jewish heritage, they were not allowed to marry. Then in May he had been posted to General Bayerlein’s Panzer-Lehr before at the last minute being transferred to 21. Panzer instead and given command of Panzergrenadier-Regiment 125. The division had been part of the Afrikakorps, but had been destroyed in Tunisia and since reconstituted. Its leadership and make-up once again revealed the extremes of the German Army in 1944. Composed mainly of veterans from the Eastern Front but also with plenty of new recruits, its commanding officer, Generalmajor Edgar Feuchtinger, was another good Nazi but had absolutely no experience of armoured operations nor any combat experience whatsoever. In fact, he had risen up the ranks through organizing the military aspects of the Nazi rallies back in the 1930s. It is hard to think of anyone less suitable to command a mobile all-arms division such as 21. Panzer.
On the other hand, his new commander of Panzergrenadier-Regiment 125 had bucketloads of combat experience, in multiple theatres; unit commanders like von Luck made up for a lot of Feuchtinger’s shortcomings. ‘Feuchtinger,’ noted von Luck, ‘had to delegate most things, that is, leave the execution of orders to us experienced commanders.’4 And von Luck wasn’t the only one with experience; men like Oberstleutnant Hermann Oppeln-Bronikowski, for example, the commander of Panzer-Regiment 22, was also a huge asset to the division. An Olympic gold medal-winning equestrian, he had been awarded a Knight’s Cross in Russia and had repeatedly proved himself to be a commander of high calibre. In terms of equipment, the division had been forced to scrape the barrel somewhat to make up the shortfall from Germany. One officer, Major Becker, a skilled engineer, had gathered a number of old French tanks and converted them into better-armoured and more effective assault guns – that is, tracked vehicles but with fixed heavy guns on them rather than a tank turret.
Now, on 30 May, Rommel was up near the coast at Lion-sur-Mer to inspect the division and some of Becker’s newly fashioned weapons. Several times they had to take cover from Allied aircraft roaring overhead. ‘Gentlemen,’ he told the assembled commanders and troops from both 21. Panzer and the 716. Infanterie-Division, ‘I know the English from Africa and Italy and I tell you they will choose a landing site where they think we do not expect them to land.5 And that will be right here, on this spot.’ Rommel then predicted the invasion would not happen for another three weeks, but General Marcks told those assembled he thought it would come sooner than that. ‘From my knowledge of the English,’ he said, ‘they will go to church again next Sunday and then come on Monday.’6 That would be Monday, 5 June.
Further along the coast, Gefreiter Franz Gockel, part of the 716. Division now attached to the 352., was one of just over forty men occupying WN62, near Colleville. There were thirteen such positions along this stretch of the coast, which differed from elsewhere because, while there was a long, 5-mile and slightly concave stretch of sand here, roughly between the two villages of Colleville and Vierville, the beach – which would become known to the Allies as Omaha – was overlooked by bluffs, some 70 feet high, which curved downwards offering the defenders clear views out to sea. Along this stretch there were five possible exit points, or draws, off the beach, with the two most developed tracks running off them pretty much at either end, with tracks running up to the two villages, which stood about three-quarters of a mile inland. These were the obvious weak spots for the defenders, as well as being the focus for any invaders trying to get inland from the beach, so a proportionally higher number of strongpoints had been built here. In between these exits, the defences overlooking the sea were quite light – in terms of fixed positions at any rate. All along the beach, though, offshore obstacles were in place, thick tanglements of wire, mines and an anti-tank ditch that ran its entire length.
At WN62, Franz Gockel and his comrades were now very alive to the rumours of a vast invasion fleet lying just across the sea. Would it come here? No one was sure. There had been more low-level passes by enemy reconnaissance aircraft recently, but Oberleutnant Bernhard Frerking, the officer in charge of the 1. Batterie, Artillerie-Regiment 352, felt sure their particular stretch of coastline was too formidable. Any troops landing here, he said, would be cut to pieces. It would be too costly for the enemy. Most of the older men, however, disagreed. In the meantime, there was more defence work to be done. Gockel was exhausted by it all, but his sergeant was insistent they finish a trench that connected their underground quarters to the forward bunkers; without it, they would have to cross open ground in full view of any enemy below or out to sea.
All things considered, by the start of June the 352. Division was in reasonable order. Its commander, Generalleutnant Dietrich Kraiss, reckoned his men were at last combat ready, although training had been necessarily hurried and ammunition remained short – so much so that the artillery and anti-tank units had been limited to just five rounds per month per crew. Other cracks had also been papered over. Many of the guns and vehicles they had been given were of different kinds, for example, salvaged from the four winds; this, of course, made obtaining spare parts difficult. They were all right when they worked, but the moment they broke down – perhaps during the stress of battle – they could become a major probl
em. Finally, the battle area given them, from the coast to the ridge either side of Saint-Lô, was now prepared for defence – not enough to withstand a major attack, but much improved since March. History has been generous to the calibre of the 352. They are often referred to as an ‘elite’ division. This was far from the truth. They had some experienced men, some good and capable commanders, and some half-decent weaponry, but they were far from elite.
On the Normandy coast there were now 130 guns of 100mm calibre or bigger. That sounded like quite a lot, but there were some 15,000 anti-aircraft guns, for example, in the Reich itself; what Rommel would have done for just a fraction of those. Nor were all the guns embalmed within casements – that work was still going on and, in any case, most of the coastal batteries had been so heavily bombed by the Allies already that on 17 May Rommel’s headquarters had recommended those not in casements should be moved to concealed positions a little further inland.
There were, however, still some very different opinions from Rommel’s subordinate commanders on how best to defeat the enemy – and not just over the use of mobile troops. On his tours of the front, Rommel always repeated the same message: that the coast was the main line of defence and that the enemy had to be destroyed before getting a firm foothold. Dollmann, by contrast, told troops he visited that this would be next to impossible. ‘In view of the thin line of coastal defence,’ he told senior staff of Fallschirmjäger-Regiment 6, ‘we will scarcely be able to prevent the enemy from establishing a beachhead.’7 Their task, Dollmann told them, was to bring forces into the fray as quickly as possible and then push them back.
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