THE LAST GOOD WAR: A Novel (37 page)

Rather stiffly, Kaz responded that he wished them luck. In spite of his years in Britain, he still didn't feel his English was up to the sort of banter that lightened the worries of soldiers.

Swann continued. “We're going to need all the help we can get. We're up against two of the best panzer divisions—Panzer Lehr and the Hitlerjungend SS.”

Kaz had heard horror stories about these two elite divisions, but he wanted to hear about them directly from someone with firsthand experience. He encouraged Swann to go on. “The Panzer Lehr?”

“Yeah,” replied Swann. “They're tough. The best battle-tested veterans, brought together in a demonstration division. Originally used to train other panzers. Not a surprising name—'Lehrer' is the German word for teacher.

“The Hitlerjungend may be even worse,” continued Swann. “Perhaps the worst of the SS storm troopers. A bunch of fanatics. A gang of teenage thugs with heavy weapons. Leaders in the Hitler Youth back in Germany. Don't take many prisoners. When they do, they shoot 'em.”

Jan was about to say something, but held back.

Swann began sipping his third beer. “Of course,” he glanced around the empty room, “we don't take many of them prisoner, either.”

Kaz didn't know how to interpret that; he felt a real culture gap. He decided not to say anything. Swann apparently noticed his hesitation, and added:

“They're too fanatic to surrender. Just like the Japs.”

Kaz thought back to his early contact with Germans in the Polish churchyard. He wondered: Was Swann simply preventing a nasty misinterpretation, or was he putting a gloss on a horrible story? Bloody-mindedness seemed strangely out of keeping with his boyish face and floppy blond hair. Kaz's thoughts were interrupted as Swann got back to his main topic.

“We have a big problem: how do you press an attack against hardened defenses? We expect German tanks to come out and meet us in the fields. But behind them are dug-in 88 field guns. If you get within a mile of one of them, you're dead. They can hit a small, moving target. They were originally designed as an antiaircraft gun, but proved their effectiveness against tanks in North Africa.

“I'm not sure we've really cracked the fundamental puzzle. We want to follow standard tank tactics, pushing rapidly forward to exploit any enemy weakness; we want to get our tanks behind his lines and create havoc. But we have to guard against the tactic Rommel used so effectively in North Africa—having his tanks appear to be defeated and retreat, drawing the British tanks towards his deadly 88s.”

Kaz couldn't help but notice the disturbing trend in Swann's tone as he worked through his three beers—starting with an optimistic statement about a decisive breakthrough, but now talking about how dangerous it would be to exploit any advantage. Worse was to come.

“I'm afraid that the last six weeks have taken a toll on our morale. In some ways, the Sherman tanks are great—fast, rugged, and easy to repair. They've introduced a whole new stage into armored warfare. Now, we don't have to worry that we'll lose more tanks to breakdowns than to enemy fire. And we don't have to nag our tankers endlessly about maintenance.

“But we were told that Shermans were the best tank in the world, and they're not. In one-on-one engagements, their 75 mm guns are simply no match for the new Tigers with their high-velocity 88s, or even the Panthers. And some idiot designed the Sherman with a gas rather than diesel engine. When they're hit, there's likely to be a flash fire and explosion. Some of the guys call them cigarette lighters.”

Jan was looking increasingly uncomfortable. Swann continued:

“I should know. I made the bad mistake of tangling with a Tiger two days ago. I was the only one to get out alive. Fortunately, the Boche don't have very many.” His voice tailed off.

They sat there, not knowing what to say—perhaps two or three minutes. Finally, Kaz broke the silence.

“So what will we be doing tomorrow?”

“I haven't got a new tank or crew yet, so I'll be sitting out the big one. It'll be a British, not Canadian, show anyway. I've picked a spot near the top of a hill, where we can get a view for several miles over the fields. If you have any questions, now's the time to ask. It may be too noisy tomorrow, with the artillery firing over our heads.”

They spent a leisurely hour talking about tank warfare. Then they retired early, hoping for a good night's sleep before they were awakened at 5 a.m. by the artillery barrage and aerial bombardment. The attacking force even had help from the single monstrous turret of the ancient
HMS Roberts
. It was a symbol of how little progress had been made in the six grueling weeks since D-Day, that the enemy was still within range of naval guns.

As the air attack ended and the British tanks began to roll forward, Kaz noticed that they were clustered in three narrow columns. He was puzzled; this made them vulnerable to enemy artillery. Deafened by the British guns, he mouthed his question to Swann, who fumbled for a piece of paper and scribbled the answer. Only three corridors had been cleared through the minefield laid by the British as protection against a German attack.

Somebody had, however, slipped up; not every mine had been cleared. Kaz was appalled to see explosions under the treads of several tanks. By the time the procession was beginning to form up abreast on the other side of the minefield, they had left four of their tanks behind, victims of the mines.

As the tanks were proceeding through the minefield, the artillery bombardment had slackened. Now, as the tanks began their advance, the artillery recommenced with full fury, this time firing much shorter. The gunners were laying down a rolling barrage that crept forward several hundred yards in front of the advancing tanks. The tactic was successful. As far as Kaz could tell, there was little or no incoming fire from the Germans. Survivors were too busy keeping their heads down.

As the attack moved off into the distance, it began to disappear into the haze, smoke, and dust of battle. The show was over. Swann nudged Kaz gently on the shoulder, signaling him to follow. Soon they were in the communications hut, where they could hear sounds of battle over the radios.

Unfortunately, the reception was full of static, and eight or ten channels were being received at the same time, in a language still unfamiliar to Kaz. He couldn't tell what was going on. But soon, from the grim faces, he realized that the attackers were running into trouble. He gradually figured out the problem. As tanks proceeded beyond their supporting artillery, they began to meet stiff resistance. The rolling, apparently tank-friendly countryside was dotted with villages, which the Germans were defending tenaciously. Then, as a group of British tanks moved through a large grove of fruit trees—without infantry protection—they were attacked in their vulnerable flank by surviving 88s.

So ended
Operation Goodwood,
at best a partial victory. The British had moved their lines forward, and accomplished one of their goals: to keep the pressure on, and thus encourage the Germans to transfer reserves away from the western end of the front where they were blocking an American breakout. But they had not achieved a breakout themselves. And they could ill afford a war of attrition. British manpower was being stretched to its limits. Montgomery could no longer count on reinforcements, or even full replacements for his casualties. He would now command a dwindling number of troops.

Nor was it clear that Canadians were in much better shape. To Kaz's astonishment, Swann explained the inflamed debate within Canada: whether “zombies”—draftees who had been training for years for home defense—would be sent to Europe against their wishes. If not, the Canadian Army would have to depend on raw, half-trained new volunteers to replace their casualties.

It was becoming increasingly obvious that the Poles would have a much greater role than he had anticipated.

He looked forward to the prospect with mixed emotions.

It was only later that, courtesy of German prisoners, Kaz learned details of British tank losses in the orchard. The tanks had been passing a hidden group of antiaircraft 88s when an aggressive German Colonel, Hans von Luck, arrived from furlough in Paris. As befitting his name, he had the good fortune to miss the bombing, and appeared on the scene at a critical moment. The Colonel ordered the crews to lower their barrels, which were still pointed skyward, and to fire at the tanks. Not my department, replied the battery commander; my job is to shoot down enemy planes. Von Luck thereupon drew his Luger and suggested that the commander might prefer to be a live hero rather than a dead coward. The 88s were soon in action.

Once again, over beers, Kaz, Jan, and Swann tackled the tough problems of breaking through, particularly those posed by Tiger tanks. They could be destroyed and even turned over by bombing, in spite of their 60-ton mass. They were also vulnerable to a direct hit from artillery. But if the allied tanks couldn't deal with them face-to-face, it was going to be a grim business. How, they wondered, could they beat the Tigers on the ground?

Jan: “They must be vulnerable
somewhere
. What about trying to hit them in the joint, where the turret meets the rest of the tank?”

Swann: “Not very practical. It's an awfully small target. When they're shooting back, it will seem even smaller—minuscule.”

Kaz: “Treads are a bigger target. The best way to attack them may be from the side.”

Jan: “Or better yet, get around behind, where the armor is thinner.”

Swann: “Easier said than done. While we're sneaking around the back, Jerry will presumably be turning his tank, or at least his turret. That means that, unless we get lucky and come upon a Tiger from the side or behind, it won't work.”

Kaz: “In other words, if you come upon a Tiger, watch out for its claws. The best thing to do is run. Sounds like the jungle.” He paused. “Doesn't seem like a very promising way to keep an offensive going.”

Jan: “You need at least two Shermans—coming from different directions—to even dream of attacking a single Tiger. But how would you coordinate them?

Swann: They wouldn't have to approach from completely different directions. If they were spread out—proceeding in a line....

Jan: “But what would stop the Tiger, with its much longer range, from picking off the whole line, one by one?”

Swann: “We might do it if we have something to hide behind.”

Kaz: “In other words, what we really want is something like an orchard, to help you maneuver and sneak up on a Tiger.”

Jan: “So we should send the word to Jerry: Keep all your tanks in the woods. Not near the edge of the woods, where they can fire at us. In the center, where we can sneak up on them. I suppose we should say, 'please.'”

Swann: “That may not be so impossible. The bombing encourages the Germans to keep their Tigers hidden in the woods.”

Kaz: “So how many Shermans do we need? Are two enough?”

Swann: “Five would be ideal. You want the Tiger surrounded. But not so many that we start knocking one another off. Circular firing squads aren't such a great idea.”

Kaz: “So what we want is five tanks—say, in the 1 o'clock, 4, 6, 8 and 11 positions—with six o'clock representing the position directly in front of the Tiger.”

Swann: “Sounds promising. Spread out like that, in a starburst formation, we might kill a Tiger. The real trouble is, how do you get into position without the Tiger knocking off our tanks as they try to circle around to the back? Let's sleep on it, and decide tomorrow whether it's worth trying.”

20 July 1944. Headquarters, Army Group West.

K
urt Dietrich—now Oberst (Colonel) Dietrich—still felt nagging pain from his many injuries, particularly his stomach, arm, and hip wounds from the Russian campaign. His facial wound, received in Poland on that first day of the war, had long since ceased to hurt, but he was still self-conscious, occasionally rubbing the nasty, slashing scar across his left cheek.

With the demands of battle, he could no longer be spared. Pressed back into active duty, he reported for his new assignment as chief of staff to Field Marshal Günther von Kluge, commander of all the German armies in France. Von Kluge had specifically asked for him; he had served with distinction under von Kluge in Russia. In spite of the grim military situation, Dietrich was looking forward to being in the middle of things.

When he reported for service, about noon, his new boss was out at the front. The scene in the headquarters was tense; generals were debating whether to move two armored divisions eastward, to face the new British threat near Caen. Rommel had recently ordered these two Panzer divisions into reserve in the west, fearing a major American attack. But now, Rommel was gone from the scene. Just three days earlier, a low-flying Typhoon had strafed his staff car, wounding him in the head so severely that he was not expected to live through the night.

In the absence of von Kluge, Dietrich decided to remain in the background as a relatively junior officer. The scene quickly reminded him of his last days in Russia—generals desperately trying to patch together a defense in the face of overwhelming enemy power. Under the pressures, they began to snap at one another. Dietrich wondered why they could not put off the decision, leaving it to their commander, von Kluge. But Dietrich soon sensed that his new boss inspired little confidence in his generals; they considered him a conniver who would go whichever way the wind blew strongest. The two sides were competing to see who could create the stronger wind.

“Der kluge Hans,” observed one of the generals sourly—“the clever Hans.” Dietrich winced at the play on von Kluge's name; der kluge Hans was a bumbler in German folklore. But, after an exhausting debate, the generals could not reach agreement. The decision would in fact have to be left up to von Kluge.

At 16:30, the generals broke for air. Gen. Kurt Student, commander of the First Airborne Army, motioned to Dietrich to join him in an adjacent room. Dietrich suspected that, in the light of his close position with von Kluge, Student would try to enlist him as an ally in the debate over the two armored divisions. But Student was just trying to be helpful; he wanted to fill Dietrich in on the battles that had been grinding down the German army.