Rommel saluted. “Very well, Colonel Müller. I shall follow them. I presume, Colonel Reinhardt, that the colonel’s orders have been properly implemented?”
“Of course, Herr Feldmarschall,” replied Reinhardt, a slight smile playing over his lips. “All Colonel Müller’s orders are implemented with top priority and at once.”
“Good,” nodded the Desert Fox. “I always appreciate decisiveness in the orders I receive.” He smiled as he took a sip of coffee. “I’ve read the first set of planning documents,” he said.
Again, Reinhardt was amazed at the stamina and focus of his commanding officer. He knew that Rommel had not only read them, but marked them with detailed comments that missed nothing. He was able to keep the whole complex endeavor in his head, which Reinhardt found remarkable in anyone, and especially in one who had suffered such wounds.
Rommel’s health had made an astounding recovery; the rumor mill ensured that every bit of medical information made the rounds of the senior officers. Personally, Reinhardt watched Carl-Heinz, the stocky driver and personal aide. When Carl-Heinz fussed over Rommel, Reinhardt suspected poor health; when Carl-Heinz seemed more relaxed and devoted to his engines, Reinhardt suspected Rommel was doing well.
Still, the scars and damage from the attack were permanent. Rommel carried a cane, though he used it seldom. He had given up the black eye patch he had worn for several months, though Reinhardt had seen Rommel on more than one occasion moving a piece of paper back and forth to bring it into focus. There were moments of sitting and standing where there was obvious pain and discomfort.
Nevertheless, no matter how many late nights Reinhardt worked, he had never known Rommel to go to bed before he did or to wake up any later than 0500. While there was a little evidence of fatigue in the face, there was clearly none in the intellect. Reinhardt wished that were always true of himself.
“I see, Colonel Reinhardt, that you have assigned yourself some forward duties in this operation. You’ll be with the... First SS Panzers, if I recall?”
“Yes, sir,” replied Reinhardt. He felt vulnerable under Rommel’s calm stare. “At first I saw my primary role as necessarily being at headquarters to process intelligence updates, but there will be a particularly tough ‘fog of war’ situation in the opening moves of this campaign. By reducing the lag time of information and being able to make some on-the-spot analysis of the opening moves, I believe I can reduce some of the inevitable uncertainties.”
Rommel regarded him quietly. Reinhardt had thought a lot about this. He wanted to do the right thing for the campaign and not be inappropriately influenced by Rommel’s suggestion that he take a more active role, and when it became clear to him that this would be strategically useful, he kept checking to see if his decision was flawed and personal. But it was too complex; he couldn’t be certain. Rommel, on the other hand, would be certain, and Reinhardt waited for the response.
“While intelligence officers normally should remain at headquarters,” Rommel said thoughtfully, “I think this is one of the special situations where a forward perspective will be useful and appropriate. I look forward to your reports, Colonel. And now, gentlemen,” he said as he stood up, “I believe that well-rested officers make better decisions. I plan to follow my own advice, and I suggest you do the same. We will be briefing the senior officers at 0800, and I will see you then.”
Reinhardt looked at Müller. The supply officer removed his glasses and polished them with his napkin. “You know,” Müller said, “that’s the most intense coffee break I’ve ever experienced in my life.”
Carl-Heinz pulled the cloth over the boot one last time, ensuring that the leather was polished to a black, mirrorlike sheen.
“All finished, Herr Feldmarschall,” he said, straightening and regarding Rommel with a critical eye. “Everything is in place. But are you sure you won’t eat more breakfast? You’ve only had four hours of sleep.”
“No... thank you, Carl-Heinz. I am well rested, and as well fed as I can be, and I am, as always, grateful for your thoughtfulness and care.” The stocky feldwebel understood the dismissal and nodded. Rommel knew his cheerful aide would find another way to ensure his charge was well fed and rested. Eggs would appear on a plate before him in his office, a coffee cup would magically remain warm and filled. Carl-Heinz had enlisted all of the staff and most of the officers in a conspiracy to take care of the Desert Fox. The man had enormous natural leadership gifts; he was a man people wanted to please. He would make an outstanding commander, Rommel thought.
The commander of the German army in the west drew a deep breath and studied himself in the small mirror, the one concession to vanity he allowed in his office. The glass was framed by a branch of oak that had been struck by lightning, and ancient superstition proclaimed this as a portent of good luck. Idle superstition, he knew... but then, he would take all the luck that he could get.
“The generals are assembling in the hall,” his driver added. “The mood is good. General Dietrich is in the anteroom as you requested. He, on the other hand, seems rather annoyed and nervous, according to the orderly.”
“And he doesn’t even know why I want to see him, yet.” Rommel muttered ironically to himself. “Well, I mustn’t allow the esteemed panzer general of the SS to fall even more out of sorts... thank you, Carl-Heinz. That will be all for now.”
This was another minor thorn in Rommel’s side. How he hated having to deal with office politics! General Sepp Dietrich had arrived late last night with a letter from Himmler assigning him as commander of the newly formed Sixth SS Panzer Army. Rommel, however, had other plans for the Sixth Panzer Army, and those didn’t include having it under the command of men in black uniforms if he could help it. Dietrich posed quite a delicate personnel problem. A man whose route to military command came from being a friend (and personal bodyguard) to Adolf Hitler back in the Beer Hall days, the kindest thing one could say about him was that he was a capable division CO.
Rommel did not dislike him personally but felt certain that command of an entire panzerarmee was well beyond the man’s abilities. Dietrich owed his newest assignment to Himmler’s mistrust of the Army--and of Rommel. Rommel was learning to understand Himmler’s messages; now it was time to send one of his own in return.
Dietrich was pacing back and forth. “Heil Himmler!” he said with enthusiasm as Rommel entered. Dietrich looked like what he was: an old man fond of the bottle, a tough man, a bully boy gone to seed in a position beyond his skills. He would be overwhelmed by responsibilities, and his failures would end up costing the lives of good German soldiers. Rommel put a smile on his face and reached out to shake his hand.
“Good to see you, Sepp,” he said. “I have an important job for you.”
The SS general was momentarily taken off guard. “But Field Marshal, I have a job--after working with you in Normandy, the führer said--”
Rommel cut him off with a hand on his shoulder. “I know. But I can’t spare you on a minor field job. I need someone I can trust.”
“A minor field job?” Dietrich asked, puzzled.
Rommel smiled. “I need for you to serve as my executive liaison between Führer Himmler and my own headquarters during the upcoming campaign. I need a man I can trust, someone who knows the complexities of Berlin...”
“But Herr Feldmarschall!” Dietrich’s objection was immediate, and was reflected by his interruption. “I am a fighting soldier! Besides, my assignment was given to me directly by the führer himself. My loyalty and service is unquestioned!”
“That’s exactly why I need you in Berlin. This is the most important campaign in the war, and the führer deserves the best coordination and liaison possible. No one else can do that role. It has to be you.”
Flattered in spite of himself, Dietrich wavered only slightly before returning to the offensive. “But I have fought in Russia, in France, for years! All my life’s work has brought me to this point!” He was moving into pleading now. Time for Rommel to administer the coup de grace.
“There is something else, Sepp. Something that has to remain between you and me for now.”
Dietrich paused, suspicious. Rommel lowered his voice almost to a whisper. “Upon victory, I have a special assignment for you.”
Another pause. “What--what is it?” asked Dietrich in a tremulous voice. Rommel let the suspense build. The fish was chasing the bait now.
“I need a military governor for Antwerp, someone who can crush the resistance and hold the port for me against all comers. I believe only you can do this.”
Dietrich’s rheumy eyes looked at Rommel. “But why can’t I command the panzerarmee and then transfer to be military governor?” he objected.
“While you are in Berlin, you need to gather your own forces to come in and begin the new occupation,” Rommel said in a conspiratorial voice. “The Sixth will be moving out almost immediately, and you have to be ready to move in right behind us. There won’t be time otherwise. Of course, if you feel being military governor is too low of an assignment for you...”
“No, no, of course not!” said Dietrich hastily. “So you want me to maintain liaison and at the same time arrange for an SS occupation force?”
“Exactly!” said Rommel. “Can you do it for me?”
“Of course I can,” said Dietrich proudly. The men shook hands. “By the way, have you decided who gets the Sixth?” This was a delicate moment. “I think so. A panzer general who was shuffled aside after Moscow, ’41.”
“Guderian?” Dietrich’s face registered surprise and, perhaps, a hint of understanding. After all, Colonel General “Hurrying Heinz” Guderian was the godfather of German Blitzkrieg operations and had commanded some of the most brilliant dashes through Poland, France, and Russia during the early years of the war. He had fallen from favor with Hitler because of his failure to capture Moscow at the end of 1941, but military men understood that the real fault for that failure lay with the conflicting orders issued by Hitler himself.
Eventually Guderian had been appointed as the inspector general of panzer troops for the Third Reich, a mostly honorary job. He might have become chief of the General Staff, but Hitler’s death had frozen the senior command structure, and so Guderian had been forced to sit out the rest of the war, until now. Even Dietrich could see that there was no man better suited to the current task. His face betrayed his feeling that he had been conned, but still--military governor of Antwerp...
Rommel continued, “You’ll need to stay for the initial planning work and then return to do the briefings. You’ll stay in constant contact with my headquarters and be on the move with your new units as soon as Antwerp falls.”
Dietrich was smart enough to realize he’d been outmaneuvered, but a military governorship would be more than acceptable as a consolation prize. “Very well, Herr Feldmarschall,” he said with a salute.
“Good man,” said the Desert Fox, as he left his office and walked toward the conference room--the former dining room of the converted hotel that served as his headquarters--where his officers awaited. He was relieved things had gone that easily with Dietrich; it could have been messy, especially if the SS panzers refused to accept his choice of leader. He had put a lot of thought into the right choice of bribe.
Perhaps I will learn to play politics eventually
, he thought ruefully.
Rommel was well satisfied with his choice of replacements for Dietrich. Guderian’s presence at the conference table had excited the other officers. Rommel had kept Guderian’s appointment a secret until this moment, because he suspected that Himmler would have opposed it.
It is better to seek forgiveness than permission
, he thought, wondering what military man had first realized that concept. Sometimes Rommel thought he’d run his entire career on that well-worn principle. The relationship between Himmler and his SS forces, which were personally loyal to the Führer, and the regular Wehrmacht forces, always delicate, were particularly fragile at this critical juncture in the war because Himmler, no matter how hard he had tried, had not quite gotten the same level of control that was held by his predecessor. Rommel knew he did not actually possess the authority to reassign Dietrich and appoint Guderian in his place, much less to preappoint Dietrich as military governor of Antwerp, but by the time the lines of command sorted themselves out, the campaign would be over, for better or worse.
The other reason for keeping Guderian’s appointment secret was for just the reaction he was getting now. His plan would only work if all of these generals, and through them all the colonels and captains, all the sergeants and soldaten, believed that it would work. And for that to happen, the Desert Fox had to appear utterly confident, supremely capable, and completely in command. A few well-timed surprises, such as the return of the highly respected Guderian, would do a lot toward getting the attitude he required from his team.
The officers rose in unison as Rommel entered. He returned their salute, dipped his head in a slight, gracious gesture of acknowledgment. “Please, be seated,” he said.
He looked over the group as the high-ranking officers quickly settled into their chairs. The attending officers included generals commanding more than a dozen panzer divisions, and twice that many infantry formations. General Fritz Bayerlein, commander of the Panzer Lehr division, and longtime friend and ex-chief of staff to Rommel in Africa, and General Hanz Speidel, Rommel’s current chief of staff, were with Rommel on the stage, while the rest of the men were gathered in the hotel’s former dining room. Crystal chandeliers illuminated the room with an incongruously pastoral glow. He noted with satisfaction that General Guderian had taken a seat in the front, and that a parade of officers had come forward in turn to shake his hand. Under other circumstances Guderian would have been on the podium with Bayerlein and Speidel, but the surprise and morale value of his presence in the audience made that a better location.
“Good morning, gentlemen,” Rommel said, moving to the lectern. “As you know, our strategy for the past several months has been first, to retreat to the fortified positions in the Westwall; second, to reinforce the line with the Russian Front units; third, to defend firmly against the advancing enemy. Meanwhile, the Luftwaffe has managed to stop the strategic bombing campaign against the Fatherland with its new jet fighters, at least for the time being. We have been highly successful in achieving our strategic goals. We can now delay the enemy’s advance for quite a long time to come. In the final analysis, however, we cannot stop them forever.”