Guderian: Panzer General Read online

  Naturally it was vitally important that I should be in possession of sound translations of many German books and documents. In this respect I was extremely fortunate to have the help and advice of Helga Ashworth, Reinhold Drepper, and Simon and Ursula Williams who spent long hours deciphering letters and documents.

  Thanks go to the Guderian family for access to their albums for many of the photographs in the picture section. I am also grateful to Peter Chamberlain and Brian Davis for their help with picture research.

  To the staff of the various museums and libraries, who provided me with so many essential documents and books, go my boundless thanks and admiration for their endless patience. I refer in particular to the Royal Armoured Corps Museum, the Royal Signals Museum, the Imperial War Museum, the Library of the British Ministry of Defence and the Office of the US National Archives. Finally, as so often before, I thank Margaret Dunn for her typing and criticism, Michael Haine for preparing the maps, and my wife for her constant support and encouragement.

  KM

  2003

  1 A Peculiar Fellow

  On 21st May 1940 a travel-stained German general, short in stature but powerful in enthusiasm, drove into Abbeville and gazed out across the English Channel. At the end of ‘this remarkable day’, as he described it, he basked momentarily in the realisation of a dream because, in and around the precincts of the town, the army corps of his creation, strong in armoured vehicles, held undisputed possession by right of conquest at the culmination of a performance which was unique in military history. With scarcely a pause the German tank force had fought its way through the intricate Ardennes, breached a fortified river-line and defeated a major portion of the enemy’s best troops as it cut a swathe through France. Still quite fresh, it had taken Abbeville practically unopposed because, at the end of an advance of nearly 220 miles in eleven days, it had, by the sheer speed of its progress, left the opposing forces far behind. The Anglo-French and Belgian armies, which the Germans had so comprehensively outpaced, lay broken in their trail: the rest of the Channel ports stood virtually undefended, ripe for seizing, and those out-manoeuvred allied forces which still retained a measure of cohesion could only look on, aghast in the realisation that they were on the verge of total envelopment.

  General der Panzertruppe Heinz Wilhelm Guderian had arrived at the zenith of his career. At negligible cost and by the employment of a mere three divisions, with occasional assistance from others helped spasmodically by air power, he had thrown the Anglo-French allies into chaos and accomplished in a matter of days what the entire German Army had failed to achieve at unprecedented cost in the four years of war preceding 1918. In the process this General Officer had elevated himself to the eminence of Gustavus Adolphus by creating a truly revolutionary concept and weapon in time of peace and pursuing the idea to a successful conclusion in war: the difference in authority between a monarch and a quite junior officer, however, made his achievement all the more outstanding. The force he had created was motivated by speed allied to armoured protection for the fighting men, and the panzer divisions he commanded were dominated by the tank, a weapon which had barely demonstrated its potentiality before 1918. Yet on 21st May 1940 the sheer pace of Guderian’s advance, which had stricken the Anglo-French armies by its dash and discreet selection of objectives, also baffled the conventionally minded strategists and tacticians of the Great German General Staff when they watched the unbelievable unfolding before them on their maps and heard the reports flooding back by radio from the panzer spearhead.

  Let it not be imagined that the officers of the General Staff were laggard in their search for military improvements; for generations their preoccupation had been the harnessing of the latest technology and techniques to the acquisition of swift decision in battle in pursuit of the aim of resolving political problems by means of short wars. Yet with the prospect of a short war in sight the finishing touches to the design etched by the panzer force were bedevilled by paradox. Cautious leaders restrained Guderian for fear of his becoming over-extended at a moment when one more quick advance would have completed the envelopment of the enemy. The Allies were allowed, eventually, to escape via Dunkirk. At the same time the reaction of the German hierarchy to Guderian’s success was euphoric. Generaloberst Alfred Jodl, the Chefdes Oberkommandos der Wehrmacht (OKW) Operations Staff, recorded how the Head of State and Supreme Commander, Adolf Hitler, was ‘… beside himself with joy and he already foresaw victory and peace’. France, it was true, would fall, but the triumph was incomplete. For the British, encouraged by their army’s escape, declined to give up the struggle: tanks could not easily cross the Channel and aircraft, unlike armies, would not bring a decision on their own. Guderian’s triumph of method now acted as a spur to disaster. With the seizure of such immense gains by the application of comparatively minimal force, Hitler and the uplifted members of his entourage came to believe that nothing was beyond the power of their tank and air forces. In due course German tanks would stamp their track marks across the rest of Europe, deep into Russia and along the North African shores. But never again would they wholly bring about the destruction of an entire major nation along with its army. The lessons which Guderian had learnt by studying the tactics employed against Germany in 1918 could themselves be copied. A colossal and unexpected military imbalance which had been revealed on the battlefield in 1940 was to be corrected.

  The road which led Guderian to Abbeville stretched back far beyond the point at which he joined it. As a Prussian he was identified with the tribe which, in medieval times, located itself between the Rivers Vistula and lower Niemen and whose gradual expansion after 1462 reflected the natural reaction of a people who for long had been under harsh Polish rule. Nevertheless, while the family of Guderian may well be either of Dutch or, far less likely, of Scottish descent, it is certain that it had little experience of military professionalism: they were landowners and professional people who, like the vast majority of Junkers, lacked great wealth. Such military ancestors as Guderian could claim came from the family of his grandmother, Emma Hiller von Gaertringen. The Hillers had produced a crop of Prussian generals who had fought under Frederick the Great and in the Revolutionary Wars against France. Rudolf Freiherr Hiller von Gaertringen had been a cavalry captain involved in the debacle of 1806 though later, as Commander of the Neumark Landwehr, he had served with distinction against the French in the campaign of 1813 and in the conclusive fight against Napoleon at Waterloo in 1815; and in 1861 a Hiller von Gaertringen had been a cavalry captain told to plan a march on Berlin in support of the General Staff against the Diet.

  The Guderian family found its early role as civilian supporters of burgeoning Prussian militarism, the cult which flourished as a modern Sparta under the urging of the saviour of the Army after 1806, Gerhard Scharnhorst, and his notable successors, Carl von Clausewitz, Albrecht von Roon and Helmuth von Moltke the Elder. These men dwelt amid the relative poverty of the Junker aristocracy and recognised military preparations alongside what a future Chief of Staff, Paul von Hindenburg, described as ‘wantlessness’. They felt a binding patriotism which traditionally permitted them, for example, to carry out a coup d’état against the government providing the monarch did not object.

  Heinz Guderian’s father, Friedrich, had recognised wantlessness only too well. His father had died young leaving a widow with six children and the widow had felt compelled to sell the family estate at Hansdorf Netz in the Warthegau in order to spend more time on the children (Guderians to this day form a closely knit family group) as part of a rationalisation of frugal effort for their well-being. But it was at his own wish that young Friedrich went to the Kadet Korps in 1872, though this was helpful to the family exchequer. He arrived there in the aftermath of Moltke’s greatest victorious campaign, at a moment when Prussian armed might was supreme and Moltke was engaged upon extending its technical innovations. This the old nobility had opposed and so Friedrich Guderian fitted neatly into Moltke’s scheme of diluting the
army nobility with healthy infusions of the middle classes to fill vacancies in the technical arms. By 1872 only two-thirds of the General Staff was titled and the proportion of middle class officers throughout the Army was steadily rising – particularly among the most technical branches, including the Engineers, of whom it was quipped, ‘A man sinks from step to step until he becomes an Engineer’.

  Yet Friedrich Guderian became a light infantryman, a Leutnant of the 9th Jäger Battalion in an army which rated the cavalry uppermost in social favour, followed by the Guards infantry, the light infantry and then the artillery. Light infantry, like cavalry, were the swiftest moving elements of a fighting force which was thoroughly imbued with von Moltke’s insistence that victory in war should be sought as a natural outcome through high mobility and offensive action. Coming fresh to the Army, untrammelled by traditional notions of how everything should be done, Friedrich welcomed each breath of change without rancour and was far from shocked by such typically Moltkesian dicta as ‘Build no more fortifications, build railways’. This sense of radical openmindedness he, in due course, passed on to his soldier sons.

  The year 1888 was of intrinsic importance to Friedrich Guderian, and to Germany too. In October 1887 he had married and on 17th June 1888 he and his wife Clara were blessed with the birth of their first son, Heinz. Two days before, on the 15th, a new monarch, Kaiser Wilhelm II, had come to the throne and soon he was to sponsor the brash Weltpolitik which was to replace the shrewd statesmanship of Chancellor Bismarck.

  It would be wrong to suggest that Germany lived in a war atmosphere in the 1890s even though France longed for revenge after 1871 and even though the attempt to challenge British naval supremacy was being formulated in the shipyards. Germany’s trade was expanding and busy industrial zones and outward signs of prosperity in the principal cities, along with advances in mass education, were beginning to replace the old austerity. Changes in government policy had scant effect upon the Guderians who indulged in routine garrison life in the manner of all newly wed couples who occupy a place in a privileged society. Fritz, a brother for Heinz, was born in October 1890 and the following year they moved to Colmar in Alsace, staying there until 1900 when they were posted to St Avoid in Lorraine.

  By this time both Heinz and Fritz had determined to become army officers, a choice fully endorsed by their father whose wishes in the matter can hardly ever have been in doubt since necessity also made demands. At St Avoid there were inadequate boarding school facilities whereas the cadet schools in Germany, like the Real Gymnasium, taught modern subjects (including French, English, Mathematics and History). From 1901 to 1903 Heinz and Fritz attended the Karlsruhe Cadet School at Baden and in 1903 Heinz was transferred to the Principal Cadet School at Gross Lichterfelde, Berlin, whence he was later followed by Fritz.

  Here they came under the spell of Prussian discipline in its most insistent and sophisticated form. In contrast to the absurdities of the external manifestations of its military regime – the rigid minutiae of drill, dress and formality – there was an inculcation of a definitive philosophy and attitude, a flexibility which is unfathomed by those who visualise Prussianism only in its unbending form. In parallel with uniformity of application went – chiefly for the officers’ benefit – a recognition of the right and desirability of expressing uncompromising opinions up to the moment of an order’s delivery. Thus a cadet’s mental processes were schooled to acknowledging ultimate authority, but only after argument had been exhausted. It may be remarked that this is not so very different from the methods employed in most other armies. Quite: most other armies had copied the Prussian system the difference between them being merely that of degree. It was the meticulous thoroughness applied by the Germans that caused their embarrassed enemies to fear and hate a superior type of execution. Outwardly, at first, Guderian acquiesced to the system: his reservations as to the spirit if not its letter would appear much later to suit the convenience of difficult situations. Flexibility of response was for ever close to his thoughts and actions. He did not immediately rebel and his reports improved as he progressed and began to develop the essential enthusiasm for those subjects which were for ever to enthral him. Usually he attained a good position in class. In Panzer Leader he recalled his instructors and teachers at Gross-Lichterfelde ‘… with emotions of deep gratitude and respect’. However, it was not so of the instructors at the War School in Metz: of them, in 1907, he wrote: The system is not for ambitious people – only for average persons. It is tedious’, and added that he found his seniors unsympathetic. Yet, from what was written of him at the end of the course, it would seem the seniors were rather impressed by a cadet whom, they said, was serious-minded and looked ahead; was ambitious, honourable, a good rider, a strong character with charm, one who was, ‘Intensely interested in his profession and very earnest’. Ironically, in the light of the future, he did poorly in his final examination on tactics by adopting a posture of defence instead of the prescribed solution of attack.

  To his immense satisfaction Guderian had been sent in February 1907 to Bitche as a Fähnrich to join the 10th Hannoverian Jäger Battalion, at that time under his father – a commander ‘who was both loved and feared by family and battalion alike. In January 1908 he became a Leutnant and immersed himself in the normal life of a typical young officer who liked animals, rode well, enjoyed hunting and shooting; and he also developed a delight in architecture and the countryside, and appreciated the theatre and dancing. But music defied him: he was dismally tone deaf and had to be dropped from a cadet choir when it was found that he sang different tunes from the others. There was perhaps something significant about this. Certainly his diary illustrates an awakening criticism of the system which possessed him and a healthy scepticism such as was shared by only a very small proportion of his contemporaries. It speaks of the study of military history: with an outstandingly good memory he could quote from the classical and military works by heart. It also tells of profitable battalion exercises under his father’s direction, from whom he learnt so much: ‘I try to copy him’, he wrote.

  There is, too, within the pages of a diary which records passing thoughts, the suggestion of an obsession with the meaning of enduring friendship. In July 1908 at a moment of loneliness he wrote: ‘Friends demand that I should spend more time with them. If they had been more careful there need not have been a rift. Now it is difficult to repair the damage. They have lost my respect. They accuse me of being an introvert … but to run with the mob is nothing to be proud of.’ And in November 1909: ‘If only I could find a real friend. My comrades are very good, but there is not one I can depend upon wholly … Everywhere mistrust reigns.’ A year later he finds a glimmer of hope when some new officers joined the battalion and he was no longer the most junior member: ‘Good friendships are developing … Our youngest officers, including [Bodewin] Keitel, are very pleasant. The most promising with the most aptitude as a soldier and in other ways is Keitel, I think.’ Already it was apparent that he was better with his juniors than with his seniors, another recurrent theme in later life. There were thus distinct similarities between Guderian and the men who, in many respects, were to play an equivalent role in the development of British armoured methods – Percy Hobart and J.F.C. Fuller. Hobart had an even keener appreciation of the arts and was quite as earnest in his professional dedication and bubbling sense of criticism – but much rougher and ruder in emphasising a point. Yet Hobart spent his early career in fairly tolerant agreement with the professional standards of his fellow officers; but he belonged to the Engineers, a corps d’elite in the British Army. Guderian, on the other hand, regarded many of his brother infantry officers as insufficiently interested in their profession. So, in this respect he echoed J.F.C. Fuller, a light infantry man too, who also found himself mentally isolated from his fellow officers, ‘… a monk in a Trappist monastery, because when everyone round you is talking about the same things (foxes, duck and trout) morning, noon and night, they might just as well be s
aying nothing at all.’ Fuller’s invective was thus as acid as Guderian’s was to become, their way of escape from mediocrity alike – by an application for a place at the Staff College.

  In October 1909 the 10th Jägers were transferred to Goslar in the Harz Mountains, one of the loveliest parts of Germany, and there Heinz Guderian met and fell in love with Margarete Goerne. Difficulties arose, however, when in December 1911 they decided to marry. Gretel, as he called her, was only eighteen, and her father felt she was too young. Heinz was persuaded to agree to a cooling off period of two years, although they became officially engaged in February 1912. He concluded that it was unfair for him to remain in Goslar. Moreover he felt the need to undertake some sort of technical training to broaden the basis of his professional knowledge. Two courses of attachment were available, either to learn about machine-guns or about signal communications. Friedrich, who had just been promoted Generalmajor in command of the 35th Infantry Brigade, advised against machine-guns ‘… because they have little future’, but he saw prospects in signalling, particularly the brand new wireless systems which had come to prominence at the turn of the century and with which German technology took a lead. His son was in accord. On 1st October Heinz joined the radio company of the 3rd Telegraph Battalion at Koblenz and there began the work which was to lead him to the peak of his achievements.

  The year to come – indeed the next decade – was packed tight with activity for Guderian. Time passed quickly because the new work taxed him hard. As he describes it himself:

  ‘Having had no previous experience with radio communications and being in addition in charge of recruit training for some time, I was heavily burdened by my military duties. According to directives issued by the Chief of Staff, VIII Corps … officers from the Koblenz garrison conducted the preparatory course for the Kriegsakademie [War Academy]. Preparation was very intensive … Moreover the instructors enlivened the class rooms with a spirit of comradeship, thus making our social relations also very pleasant. The curriculum covered tactics up to the level of a reinforced infantry brigade, field craft, engineering and instruction in arms … It was left to our discretion to choose our own method of studying languages, geography and history.’