ARMEEGRUPPE B HEADQUARTERS, DINANT, BELGIUM, 0529 HOURS GMT
Field Marshal Erwin Rommel had never thought that surrendering would prove to be so complicated. He had personally forced the capitulation of thousands of enemy soldiers in two wars and numerous campaigns, and it had always seemed like a straightforward procedure. He would call upon them to lay down their arms, they would do so, and he would detail sufficient guards to escort them to the nearest POW holding facility. Very quickly they would become the responsibility of some rear-echelon formation, and he would maintain his focus on the continuing battle.
But now there was no continuing battle, neither for him nor for his great army group. His head ached and his eye, the one that had been wounded in an Allied strafing attack the previous summer, watered constantly. This was annoying, but not unprecedented. Sometimes he thought he’d fought more of his battles sick than well. Of course, there was not only the pain and stress of this surrender, but the price for several sleepless nights finally catching up with him.
He took a sip of cold and somewhat stale coffee, and glanced out the window for a moment. It was still dark, new clouds coming in, harbinger of yet more dreary December weather in Belgium. The dark was penetrated by the headlamps of motor vehicles and guardpost lights, a monocolored illumination that gave everything it touched an eerie, unearthly look, as if he were looking at the surface of the moon. With all the fighting this poor city had taken, the resemblance to the lunar surface was even greater. Heaps of rubble were strewn everywhere. At the very limit of his vision, a single tree stood bare and unadorned, facing the elements.
Rommel turned back to the details of the order of battle. Armeegruppe B, consisting of the vast majority of German forces in the West, included three complete armies: the Fifth Panzer Army, under von Manteuffel, the Sixth Panzer Army, under Guderian, and the Seventh Army, under Brandenberger. Two more panzer armies had been relocated from the Eastern Front after the Soviet treaty had been signed; they were in reserve behind the Westwall and the Rhine River. While the Sixth Panzer Army was stopped at the Meuse, elements of the Fifth Panzer Army had already crossed the river at Dinant before the remaining bridges had been destroyed, and were trapped without hope of resupply or relief deep behind enemy lines.
His job was to arrange the surrender of all those forces, and looking at some of the individual divisions and their commanders, he knew that not all of them would surrender. What would happen then, he did not know.
He had another concern, for his wife Lucie and son Manfred. As soon as he realized that surrender was a necessity, he had telephoned Lucie at their home in Herrlingen. Quickly, using agreed-upon code words, he’d told her to grab Manfred and leave. There were people in Bitburg he trusted, and he had arranged a rendezvous there. He worried, but there was nothing more he could do.
The Desert Fox turned back from the window. He was not alone. Sitting at the conference table was his opposite number, General George S. Patton, who had driven in a jeep with a small escort to accept his surrender. Rommel had studied Patton for years, had been aware of Patton even before the war started, but of course they had never met. And while he would no doubt have appreciated a meeting with Patton after the war was over, two victorious generals comparing observations, this was not the meeting he had in mind. Rommel was determined to be gracious, but it was hard not to feel some bitterness as well. Patton and the Americans had such a matériel advantage that the campaign had been lopsided from the start.
Patton, though by all accounts a rather brusque and insensitive man, was obviously aware of the essential awkwardness of the situation. His first words to him had been “I thought
Infanterie Greift An
was a masterpiece. I’ve read it fourteen times.”
Infanterie Greift An
was Rommel’s first book, a study of infantry tactical operations based on analysis of Rommel’s own World War I campaigns. The book had first catapulted him to public recognition, and had set the stage for much of his later advancement. “Thank you,” he had replied. In an effort to return the compliment, he added, “I thought your advance to the Westwall was rather a masterpiece as well.”
Patton had laughed as soon as the remark was translated. His laugh was irresistible and hearty, much like the man himself. Rommel felt himself almost unwillingly put at ease. He rather liked the American general, even under the difficult and painful circumstances.
While the official surrender had first taken place at the more-or-less neutral setting of the Church of Notre Dame in the lower city of Dinant, the business end of the process had quickly led to the parties relocating to Armeegruppe B headquarters, just outside the city. Accompanying Patton was General Henry Wakefield of the U.S. Nineteenth Armored Division, which had successfully attacked Rommel’s flank and blown the final bridge at Dinant, and Lieutenant Colonel Reid Sanger, the Nineteenth Armored’s intelligence officer, who was acting as Patton’s translator. Initially, Rommel had used the translation services of Chuck Porter, a captured Associated Press reporter, but
Porter’s German was not up to the challenge of complex technical negotiations, so Sanger was shouldering the load for both sides.
“I believe the biggest immediate challenge is to arrange the surrender of Sixth Panzer Army. Their headquarters is here—” Rommel pointed to the map. “—near Namur. I have sent a radio message to Generaloberst Guderian. He sees the rationale in the same way I do, and has agreed.”
“Good,” said Patton, his incongruously high voice standing in contrast to his imposing physical demeanor. “I read his book, too. Our military people did translations of both his and yours. Brilliant. Used it a lot.”
Guderian’s
Achtung Panzer
was one of the seminal works on the use of armor. “I wonder if this means Guderian and I are both guilty as authors of the crime of giving aid and comfort to the enemy,” Rommel mused, only partly in jest. What he or Guderian could have accomplished, if only he had the resources of the Americans!
Sanger, the translator, laughed before he repeated the sentence in English. Patton grinned when he heard the statement. “Hell, Field Marshal, amateurs borrow, but professionals steal. I thought you knew that. I stole from the best. Haven’t you gotten an idea or two from our side?”
“A few,” Rommel admitted.
“So, we’re even. Right?”
Rommel smiled in agreement. Patton was rather like a tank himself, barreling through obstacles as if they were not there. He was what Rommel thought of as typically American, so cheerfully ignorant of the manners of the European gentry that it was almost charming—almost. “I shall take that under advisement.”
Patton was already onto the next item. His finger was pointing to the large operational map. “So, Sixth Panzer Army HQ is here. That’s good. I can ask Hodges to send the Ninety-ninth Infantry Division from First Army down to meet them. How about the two panzer divisions across the Meuse?”
“Now that they’re cut off from resupply, I don’t think there will be any problems. I note that you have the British XXX Corps near Waterloo that can make contact with those units.” Rommel placed his finger on the map. “I’ve radioed the necessary orders from this end.” He smiled internally. His intelligence about the Allied order of battle and location was good, and he hoped Patton would notice.
Patton did, and immediately riposted with evidence of his own intelligence. “Now, about half of Panzer Lehr managed to cross, and its leading elements are here.” He pointed to another spot on the map, grinning broadly. Patton’s boyish pleasure made it difficult for Rommel to resent the bragging.
“Closer to three-quarters of Panzer Lehr is actually across, but yes, the leading elements are here. I’ve spoken with General Bayerlein, and they are withdrawing back in the direction of Dinant.”
“They’ll hit Nineteenth Armored first, right, Henry?” asked Patton, turning to his subordinate general.
Henry Wakefield nodded. “Combat Command B is in the upper city. That’s Bob Jackson. I’ll let him know to expect contact shortly. By the way, General, I’d like to get my engineers up here. We need a pontoon bridge across the Meuse pronto. Plus, I’ve got some wounded I’d like to evac.”
“Good idea, Henry. And see if you can get your kitchens to ship up a hot meal for the boys.”
After the exchange was translated, Rommel interjected. “If my hospitals are more convenient, your wounded are more than welcome. I would offer my own engineers in support of the bridging, but I am in the position of a surrendered foe, so cannot. Officially, at least, we are still enemies.”
“I understand, and I appreciate the offer, Field Marshal. I’ll check with Ballard in Combat Command A—they got the brunt of the fighting down in the lower city.”
“Combat Command A. That was Colonel James Pulaski, correct?” Rommel asked. He had stopped Pulaski once at the Somme, heard him accused of barbaric war crimes in the massacre of Metz, and now was in his current position because of the daring and aggressiveness of that same Pulaski.
“Yes it was. He bought it in the attack. Lieutenant Colonel Ballard ran the tank battalion; he’s acting CO right now.”
Rommel nodded gravely. This was not an uncommon experience, hearing about brave men who were now dead. “Please convey my personal respects to Lieutenant Colonel Ballard. He and his men fought courageously and well.”
“I appreciate that as well, Field Marshal. I’ll pass it along. General Patton, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got some work to do.”
“Go ahead, Henry. Holler if you need me.”
“Yes, sir.” Wakefield left the conference room, pulling out a stogie as he went.
The two old adversaries looked across the table at one another. “General Patton, you understand my motives in this,” Rommel stated. “In fact, you have expressed similar thoughts.”
The American general grunted in response. “The Soviet Union. That’s right. I guess I’m about the only one who wasn’t shocked down to his boots when the separate peace deal broke. Those Red bastards won’t be satisfied with crushing Nazi Germany; they’ve got designs on all of Europe—hell, all the world!”
“I believe this to be true. Our führer was always surprised that the West didn’t understand that our attack on the Soviet Union was of benefit to them as well as to us.”
“The choice we had was either Commies or Nazis. And pardon me for saying so, but that wasn’t a hell of a choice.”
Rommel nodded. “I understand. But the Nazi threat is over. Kaput. So the choice is easier now, don’t you think?”
“And we pull your fat out of the fire at the same time?”
“We can help you.”
“You’ve surrendered. That means you’re out of the game.”
“I understand. But at least the way is clear for you. This surrender not only eliminates much of the forces that would oppose your advance, but also can deliver a safe crossing of the Rhine far ahead of any schedule you could have set for yourself.”
Rommel sat back. He needed to show Patton that, surrendered or not, he still had cards to play.
As Patton chewed on the idea, Rommel reinforced. “Armeegruppe B controls a significant section of the Westwall and numerous bridges across the Rhine. I suggest that the Waffen-SS and Wehrmacht troops still under Berlin’s control will want to retake and reinforce the areas I have left unguarded, but it will take some time to do this. General, I am not any longer a supporter of the Nazi government, but I am still a German. Work with me, and I can deliver Germany safely into the hands of the West, and save us all from Soviet domination.”
“It sounds like a good idea,” Patton said slowly. Rommel watched his body language, listened to the sound of his voice while the translator did his work. He was swaying the American armor general, just as he planned, just as he must.
“There’s only one question,” added Patton.
“And what is that?” replied Rommel.
“Will all of your forces surrender?”
“I wish I could be sure.”
SHAEF HEADQUARTERS, PARIS, FRANCE, 0720 HOURS GMT
“Can
anybody
tell me what the
hell
is going on?” demanded the Supreme Allied Commander. “I’ve had to make two calls to Washington and I’ve got to answer half their questions with ‘How in hell should I know?’”
“Ike, all I know is we got some crazy call from Nineteenth Armored Division HQ in Givet saying that Rommel has surrendered, and that George Patton and Henry Wakefield were driving into Dinant to accept the surrender,” replied General Omar Bradley. The mild-mannered man with the schoolteacher demeanor commanded an army of nearly 1,300,000 men, the largest field command in American history. And his failure to keep track of the whereabouts of one single man among them, General George S. Patton of Third Army, was giving his boss the Supreme Commander a king-sized pain in the butt.
“I know you’ve said this already, but
surrender?
Why would he surrender? Rommel’s breakout attack has failed, but he’s got plenty of troops left. He can go back where he came from not too much the worse.” General Eisenhower shook his head, perplexed.
“Hell, who knows what the crazy Germans are thinking? Or what George has been drinking?” Bradley was irritated with his subordinate. It was too easy for him to become overshadowed by his onetime boss, George Patton, and he wanted to remind his CO that he worked hard to keep Patton from running amok and hurting himself and the mission.
“God damn it, he should at least have called one of us before driving God knows where in the middle of the goddamn night,” Eisenhower growled. “I suppose it never occurred to him it could be some sort of ambush? What the hell am I going to say? ‘George Patton ran off on a midnight wild-goose chase and got himself shot’? How will that look on the front page of the
New York Times?
”
“Ike—I’ve got people looking for George right now. Nineteenth Armored says they’re in contact with their combat commands in Dinant, and they’ve got a cease-fire in place right now. Evidently they still believe there’s going to be a surrender, and word is that Wakefield and Patton drove in through their lines in a jeep around midnight.”
Eisenhower looked out the window at the Paris skyline. A predawn fog turned all the famous landmarks into shadows in the haze. “You don’t suppose Rommel really is surrendering to George, do you?”
Bradley thought about it. That would be the ultimate headline, and he and Ike would be lucky to get a mention on page 4. But knowing Patton’s luck … “I guess stranger things have happened in this man’s war. But not many.”
“Mmm,” Eisenhower replied noncommittally. “It’d sure make my life easier.”
“Now that you mention it, mine, too,” replied Bradley.
It was then that the telephone rang in the outer office. Kay Summersby came in, her eyes wide. “General Patton is on the phone, General,” she told her boss, the Supreme Commander. “He says he’s got Field Marshal Rommel with him, and he sounds … well, he sounds pretty happy.”