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Chapter III: Part L

Chapter III: The Lion’s Den

Part L


December 10, 1936

Just after eleven o’clock in the morning, the Fieseler Storch carrying Oberst Fridolin von Senger und Etterlin and his adjutant touched down outside Harwich. The improvised aerodrome was choked with Ju-52s, and a snowplow was chuffing black smoke clearing another runway. Looking eastward, he could see more black smoke. Out to sea, a roiling plume stretched high into the sky before the cold North Sea winds leveled it off.

Their pilot saw where the panzer officer was looking. “One of the tankers carrying invasion fuel got hit by some old fisherman, they say, Herr Oberst. An old fisherman with a load of dynamite in his hold. Imagine that: running the corridor safely. No battleships, no cruisers, no submarines. Then boom! Some little suicide-boat blows them to heaven. They got most of the crew off, but the tanker’s just drifting. No one wants to go near it in case the rest of the fuel goes off at once, but no one has the heart to just torpedo the thing.”

“That’s my fuel,” von Senger said grimly. The crossing conditions had now been wholly reversed from earlier in the campaign. Invasion shipping crossed only during the day, with Luftwaffe escort. Woe betide the poor straggler that couldn’t put into port before dark. The Royal Navy owned the dark. U-boat losses had been mounting, and the Kriegsmarine’s surface fleet was fraying. Between the ranges of the coastal guns on both sides of the Channel, there was little help against the nighttime enemy.

von Senger and his adjutant climbed down into the bright cold morning, where a staff car was waiting. Ten minutes later, they rolled up to the Harwich town hall, where 2. Armee had its headquarters. Originally built as the Great Eastern Hotel, the town hall was a four-story Italianate edifice nestled garishly amidst the unassuming English seaside architecture of the past two centuries. Long swastika flags hung down in front of the doors. Gorgetted military police showed them in.

“Herr Oberst, the Oberleutnant is to wait here in the foyer.” The Major of Feldgendarmes held an upraised palm in warning.

“Major, you know Oberleutnant Kolter personally. He has accompanied me here before.”

“General von Bock’s orders, Herr Oberst.”

Sighing, von Senger gestured to his adjutant, who seated himself on a bench. The day before, three British assassins had appeared at the town hall dressed as German officers, asking to see Generalleutnant von Weichs. III Armeekorps’ commander was elsewhere in the city, so they were received by his deputy, Oberst Karl Burdach. Generalmajor von Heineccius had entered the room shortly afterward, and one of the assassins had mistaken him for von Weichs and drawn his gun. Burdach had cried out in surprise. When the shooting was over, von Heineccius, Burdach, and another colonel, Oberst Denecke, had all been shot dead. Four Feldgendarmes were killed, too, and all three assassins.

That night, 2. Armee’s commander, General von Infanterie Fedor von Bock, had arrived from France at last to take personal command of the mature beachhead. He had immediately instituted maximum security procedures, and the Great Eastern building now had the feel of an armed camp.

Feldgendarmes opened and searched von Senger’s briefcase from top to bottom. He was permitted to keep his sidearm, but his adjutant Kolter was forced to surrender his own Luger.

“This way, Herr Oberst.”

The Major led von Senger down a hallway, and knocked on a guarded door, announcing the presence of 6. Panzer-Regiment’s commander.

von Senger entered the large parlor. It had been Generalleutnant von Weichs’ office, but now he was seated in front of the desk, in deference to his superior, General von Bock. Both men’s faces were cold and grave. They both returned his salute mechanically, and von Bock paced out from behind the desk, and directed him to an empty metal folding chair.

Fedor von Bock was a force of nature. von Senger knew that his arrival had been ordained far in advance -- he was to arrive with the second wave of the invasion -- but his presence seemed to personify Berlin’s growing anxiety. He was a spare, sharp-featured, cheerless man -- a thoroughgoing Prussian of the old school. His head and eyes were ever darting and scanning -- like a falcon that had just had its hood removed, other officers sometimes said.

“Well,” von Bock said. “How did this happen?”

von Senger sighed deeply. “Herr General, the 6. Panzer moved aggressively and with swiftness into the interior. My aim was, as I stated to General von Rundstedt, to pass through the area of least resistance. Doing this would allow the bulk of the corps’ armored force to contact the weakest enemy units with minimal losses, penetrate as deeply as possible into the enemy’s rear, and cut lines of communication, supply and reinforcement to the ring around London. This would allow the --”

The Falcon held up a gloved hand. “I am familiar with the justifications, Oberst. I do not dispute the logic behind your move. I ask, rather, after the reason of the most recent failure.”

“Yes, certainly. As you know, we found success repeatedly during the thrust inland. The enemy forces we encountered at Marks Tey, Braintree, Bishop’s Stortford and elsewhere did not present a serious challenge once the regiment’s force came to bear, nor did the enemy significantly delay us. In this way, we were able to swiftly cut important rail lines and highways -- most notably the A10 and A1, two days ago. This encouraged me that a rapid push westward the following day might allow us to sever the A5 as well.”

von Bock’s eyes flickered to von Weichs, and he scowled. “And?”

“Yesterday morning, we began the advance before dawn, and proceeded about 10 kilometers southwest toward Luton. Two important rail lines run through Luton, and the Luftwaffe reported that both were still open, shuttling troops, supplies and matériel into London from the north during the night after track repairs.

“6. Panzer encountered no resistance until we contacted the enemy outside Luton at around 0930. The town was defended by a whole battalion, but because they were mostly volunteers, the regiment was able to capture the Luton in less than an hour. From there, it was a short way over open ground to reach the A5, which was the day’s objective.

“Because the advance had proceeded so swiftly, and there were several hours of daylight remaining, I decided to push on over the chalk downs to Aylesbury, in order to cut another active rail line there.”

800px-Hauptmann_Herbert_Stemmer_in_front_of_a_PzKpfw_I.jpg

German armor from 6. Panzer-Regiment rolls westward. Near Luton, December 9, 1936.


“What went wrong?” von Bock asked.

“The regiment proceeded southwest toward Aylesbury without notable enemy resistance. We could hear church bells ringing in the distance around us, and our forward units reported skirmishes with irregulars, but no serious resistance. Then, our first echelon of panzers reported that they were mired in mud. As we soon learned, the British had opened a reservoir into a wide stretch of low ground in anticipation of our advance. There had been snow in the night, and the danger was hidden beneath a thin layer of snow and ice.

“And so, I had no choice but to halt the advance, while sending out units to find a path to safe ground. Yet even as we tried to extricate the mired panzers, we learned that the higher, safe ground was mined. Unseen artillery opened fire on us, and very shortly, I received warning from reconnaissance planes of a large enemy force of mixed infantry and armor coming down on our position from the north.

“I considered ordering a retreat to ground better suited to armor, but -- I failed to recognize the seriousness of the situation, and did not want to abandon a dozen of my best machines in the mud.

“The enemy engaged us strongly shortly after noon. The ground was, as I said, downs, as they call them -- hills, with much forestation. This made it very difficult to use the panzers in combat. Our own infantry rallied to the defense, and was able to repel the initial assault.

“However, a passable road ran across the downs, and the concentrated British armor was able to move in force down that road.”

von Bock’s eyes flickered over a fine-scale map on which he was following the Oberst’s report. “What kind of armor did they have?”

“There were Vickers medium tanks, along with several heavier tanks of French origin. They outclassed ours, but our field guns were able to provide defensive support. Around 1230, the commander of my forward battalion informed me by radiotelephone that the British armor had succeeded in cutting him off.”

“And where were you at that time, Oberst?”

“I was observing with my staff from a high point along the Dunstable downs -- I believe they are on your map. A low cloud bank parted, and we could see more English armored forces coming out of the north over the snow-dusted fields. I decided that I had perhaps less than half an hour to extricate II. Bataillon from its encirclement before it fell into mortal danger.”

“He informed me of this by radio,” von Weichs volunteered. “Although not present, I concurred with his assessment of the tactical situation.”

von Senger continued: “I ordered an immediate assault against the armored column that had cut off II. Bataillon. Simultaneously, I ordered II. Bataillon to attempt a breakout toward the rest of 6. Panzer. The ground was rolling and unfavorable, though. The French tanks had guns heavy enough to disable even the Panzer IIs. Infantry fights broke out at close quarters in the woods, and the situation became confused.

“It quickly became clear that these were not emergency volunteers, but rather regulars of quality. Losses were significant, but at last, the trapped battalion was able to break out to the north, and we began to fall back toward the A5 highway.

“As the afternoon continued, I found that the enemy force was too large, and its attacks too vigorous, to hold the A5. I requested Luftwaffe support several times throughout this period, but foul weather along the coast made this impossible.

“Our forces were forced to engage in a fighting retreat toward Luton, as the country opened northeast of the highway. 6. Panzer was unable to find purchase on defensible ground until Luton itself, where our right flank was protected by two mined roads and broken, wooded country.”

“And you remain in possession of the city?” von Bock’s upper lip wrinkled uneasily.

“Yes.”

“What were your losses in these engagements?”

“12 panzerkampfwagen destroyed by enemy action. However, mobility damage, combined with difficult terrain during the retreat, dictated that an additional 47 panzers be abandoned. This leaves me with just 99 panzers fit for combat. Additionally, pressure on my supply line from the north has bled off at least a quarter of that number to protect my fuel and supplies. This has diluted my effective maneuver force to approximately 70 panzers.”

von Bock’s eyes bored into the map. “What is the present danger to your position around Luton?”

“Moderate, for the moment, but with the enemy massing in force to the north and west on defensible ground, 6. Panzer is no longer in a position to be an effective offensive force. Indeed, if my supply line is threatened more from the north in the next 24 hours, I will find myself wholly unable to carry out offensive battle.”

“I understand,” von Bock said, “but that is not an acceptable response. Your reverse has made Berlin exceedingly nervous. It appears the aim is to convert tactical gains into political leverage to force a favorable peace before we lose control of the Channel. This could be happening over a timeline of several days. If the British government gets to believe that our powder has been spent, so to speak, and that we are on the defensive, they will certainly rebuff negotiations in hopes of a long, grinding battle. Eventually, the Channel will close, and when that happens, everything shall be lost. I say this to impress upon you the urgency of sacrificing operational or strategic concerns for immediate material gain in a tactical sense.”

“I am not certain what you mean,” von Senger said, all too certain.

“I mean that you shouldn’t worry about the danger to your regiment a week from now. Pound forward, despite even heavy losses. We shall provide whatever support we can. If you can penetrate deeper behind London, the pressure on the capital will become unbearable.”

“If I may,” the courtly baron von Weichs coughed. “Substantial pressure could be applied if we were to draw back, and refocus on a frontal push toward London. At this point, we stand to face significant losses either way. The last thing we want, though, is to risk the armored mass being cut off and destroyed so far inland. Certainly Oberst von Senger’s engineers can ensure that the roads and rail lines he has cut so far are wrecked beyond any hope of repair.”

“Perhaps that is so. Perhaps that is so. But HKK is convinced of the need to threaten London by encirclement. Unless the city is cut off from the north, and the defenders far inland thrown into disarray -- as they have been -- the British government will surely see its chances of waiting out the Channel battle as favorable.”

von Senger sensed that the Falcon was interpreting Berlin’s instructions rather liberally, but there was nothing he could do. From Calais, Generaloberst von Rundstedt trusted the commander of his 2. Armee implicitly. Even if -- and the idea evaporated into impossibility even as he thought of it -- von Senger could go over von Bock’s head to protest, he would find his protests falling on unsympathetic ears.

Rising to his feet, von Senger saluted. “I shall renew my offensive as soon as my crews are ready. Until then, if I have satisfied your questions, I should return to the front at once.”

von Bock returned the salute crisply. “Your concern for your men is commendable, Oberst. But do not forget your concern for your men’s duty.”
 
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Future looks dark for the Germans in Britain...
 
Kurt_Steiner - Indeed it does. Stay tuned!

Dr. Gonzo - Welcome aboard as a reader! Have you gotten all caught up yet? At any rate, thanks for following. To answer your question, Hull remains relatively undamaged, and supports operations against the eastern side of the beachhead, although Royal Navy ships have also been simply withdrawing deeper into the North Sea during daylight hours. Portsmouth has been the target of significant air raids, but is still servicing the (primarily destroyer-based) forces attacking the western side of the transit corridor. These ports are too far away to attack effectively. Further, the glider/parachute arm will not be ready for more large scale operations for several more weeks, as casualties are replaced, more gliders are produced, and snow testing takes place.
 
Chapter III: Part LI

Chapter III: The Lion’s Den

Part LI


December 11, 1936

The Führersonderzug chuffed along the freshly-plowed tracks at high speed, winding its way west and north through snow-dusted Bavaria. The Führer’s Special Train had departed Berchtesgaden at noon, after Bayerlein had finally convinced Hitler to return to Berlin. Foreign Minister von Neurath was awaiting reply from the British on Germany’s discreet offer of a negotiated peace, and HKK was on pins and needles listening to radio reports about its desperate all-out offensive toward London.

For the past thirty-six hours, foul weather in the Channel had thwarted the Royal Navy’s attempts to disrupt invasion shipping, but the meteorologists said that the cold front sweeping over Western Europe would pass by the morning of December twelfth. Unless General von Bock’s forces could sweep into the Houses of Parliament by then, the Kriegsmarine feared that the dearly defended supply corridor would be collapsed for good. The mood at HKK was grim, and at the Chancellery those in the know were nothing short of despondent in the Warlord’s absence. For all the ways the generals chafed at Hitler’s command -- his meddling, his grandiosity and his emotional volatility -- even the old Prussians had to admit that he infused men with fanatical energy. So in what were shaping up to be the war’s decisive hours, the Führer’s place was in the capital, Bayerlein insisted. At last, he had consented to return.

In one of the train’s staff railcars, Cristoph Scholl and Hitler’s other adjutants read, napped, or played bridge as their mood allowed. Scholl had tried to sleep, anticipating the long night ahead, but the car was rocking too much. He abandoned sleep, and started catching up on his paperwork.

He must have begun to doze, though, because his eyes opened with a start as the car lurched abruptly forward, and his hand darted instinctively forward to catch the reports on his lap. The train’s brakes whined shrilly. The locomotives whistled several times, and the Führersonderzug clattered to a sudden stop.

There was nervous chatter in the car for several minutes. Staffers craned their necks to look out the windows and see where they were. No one could tell.

The compartment door was thrown open. It was Standartenführer Junge of the Leibstandarte-SS bodyguards. “The Führer has been called into the station. Scholl, he asks for you. Everybody else, keep sitting. I’ll call if you’re needed.”

This was most unusual. The staffers all began to ask questions. “Where are we?”

“Holzkirchen.”

It was a small market town just south of Munich. It was hard to imagine anything so urgent that they couldn’t have waited to hold up the train until it passed through the big metropolitan station there.

Scholl followed the Standartenführer out onto a platform, and into the station house, where Hitler, Bayerlein, and a gaggle of top aides huddled closely. The Führer, in his field-gray greatcoat, sat on a bench at the center of them, with a telephone receiver to his ear, and a hungry gleam in his eye.

“Yes ... Yes, yes,” he said. “Is it not Providence? Yes, indeed. ... What did they say?”

Scholl nudged one of the Leibstandarte men, and whispered. “What is it?”

“I’m not right sure, but I think there’s been a putsch in London.”

“Truly? A putsch in London?”

“I don’t know,” he hissed back. “Something like that.”

It was ten minutes before the Führer was off the phone. At last, he stood, and heaved a great, theatrical sigh. “The King has abdicated. He wants peace with us, but the fanatics in his government insist on war. They forced out Baldwin this morning, too.”

Bayerlein scowled. “Who has become king, then? Anyone?”

“His brother, the Duke of York,” Hitler said, not sounding like he had heard the name before.

“And the Prime Minister?” asked Bayerlein.

“Chamberlain.”

“He is their First Lord of the Admiralty,” said Korvettenkapitän Schuyler, one of the naval adjutants.

“One may ask,” Hitler said, “why this is providential. According to Admiral Canaris, not everyone in the British government believes that it was truly an abdication. He says there are many others like King Edward who want peace. And so, there is chaos. Total chaos.”

With that, the Führer sent away most of the onlookers. He made and received several more telephone calls, then re-boarded the Special Train with the remainder of his aides. The locomotives chugged to life, and the frosted eaves of Holzkirchen were soon far behind. The stop in Munich was brief -- again more telephone calls -- and then it was north on to Berlin with maximum priority.

That night in the Chancellery, Scholl heard Edward VIII’s last speech rebroadcast over the radio. His aristocratic voice was stilted, halting, and mild. Hollow, even, in a way that seemed to exceed all the usual thinness of radio.

“On the evening of this Wednesday last, the ninth of December, the German ambassador in Stockholm made an offer of peace to representatives of Mr. Baldwin, the Prime Minister. It was a reasonable and fair offer, and one which I should have very much liked the Government to accept. However, it was not constitutionally possible for me to urge such a thing publicly.

“In recent hours, the invaders of this country brought military forces into the outer neighborhoods of London. The ministers of the Crown urged me to evacuate, and go into the country to carry on a long and terrible resistance throughout the winter. Or, if this island should fall altogether, some members of the Government urged me to go to Canada, from whence I was to carry on the war indefinitely. Yet my conscience does not allow me to leave my country at this time of crisis, but rather compels me to share in the struggle of the the British people. Yesterday evening, I informed the Prime Minister that I would not be evacuated, but would remain in London to play what part I could in its defense.

“I made this decision for personal reasons of conscience alone. For these same reasons, I privately urged members of the government to accept an honorable and equitable peace, rather than allow the war to visit further suffering upon all classes of people. Yet the Prime Minister did not feel that my decision was constitutional, and resigned his office.

“Mr. Baldwin and other Ministers of the Crown counseled me that my staying in London as king was a risk to the war effort. Should the capital fall to the enemy, I have no wish to become an aid to him, nor to be used against the best interests of the nation and empire. Yet I was torn by conscience, which demanded that I stay with the people who have served me so loyally throughout the short and turbulent time during which I occupied the throne.

“For this reason, I made the difficult decision to renounce that throne. I must emphasize that this decision was mine and mine alone. But I could not carry on as King in the way I would have wished, and in the way my father would have wished, with my conscience so torn.

“Just before speaking to you, I have discharged my last duty as King and Emperor, and have now been succeeded by my brother, the Duke of York. In honor of our late father, he has chosen to rule as George VI, and I was the first to declare my allegiance to him. This I do with all my heart.

“A new government has formed around our new King, and Mr. Chamberlain, the Chancellor of the Exchequer, has agreed to become the new Prime Minister. And so I wish His Majesty, and you, his people, fortitude and strength in this hour of supreme crisis. May God bless you all, and watch over this nation and its empire all through the long trial of war. God save the King!”

The address set staffers scurrying. The Chancellor of the Exchequer was not Austen Chamberlain but his younger brother Neville. And who was Albert, the Duke of York -- now sovereign of the empire on which the sun never set? And how would the two of them carry on the war?

For Cristoph Scholl and the others in the ministries that night, there was no sleep to be had. Nor was there sleep the next day, when even more electric news rocked Berlin.
 
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Poor old Chamberlain... and poor Eddie... fated to abdicate, with or without Wallis :D
 
A very Merry Christmas to those loyal readers who have stuck around! And a Happy New Year! Next update in January!
 
A very Merry Christmas to those loyal readers who have stuck around! And a Happy New Year! Next update in January!

And a Merry Christmas to you! Hope you had a great day!

And so I took time to read the latest update, too.... Wow. Lots to think about with a change of government... And not the change of government which so many of these AARs hinge upon. What will George do, with all this responsibility thrown into his lap at exactly the wrong moment?

...and will it even matter?

Renss
 
For the past thirty-six hours, foul weather in the Channel had thwarted the Royal Navy’s attempts to disrupt invasion shipping, but the meteorologists said that the cold front sweeping over Western Europe would pass by the morning of December twelfth. Unless General von Bock’s forces could sweep into the Houses of Parliament by then, the Kriegsmarine feared that the dearly defended supply corridor would be collapsed for good.
I'm now imagining a scene like this somewhere in the Admiralty;

"I say Carruthers, the Germans are awfully close to London. Shall we send the battleships in to close their supply lines?"

"No Fothrington, it's a bit choppy out and so we've ordered everyone to stay in port. Remember we can't possibly risk any ships at all as the entire fleet is being saved for some possible future threat that is somehow worse than a foreign army marching on London."

"Of course! Well at least if it's bit breezy the German supply lines must have collapsed?"

"No Fothrington, their supply corridor is fine."

"So the weather is too rough for battleships, but at the same time calm enough that Rhine river barges that fall over and sink in Sea State 2 or above AND are crewed by basically untrained landmen are completely fine?"

"Correct Fothrington, the weather is exactly like that. Frankly it's a bit of a bugger."
 
Kurt_Steiner - Yes, indeed! Some events are hard-coded ;-)

Rensslaer - Thank you kindly, and likewise to you! Glad to have you reading again!

El Pip - The central issue is visibility. Capital ships have a hard time wreaking havoc when everything's a sleety soup. And (as I have addressed more than once before) Rhine river barges are not in play here at all. What barges there were only made a one-way trip. Invasion shipping is at this point almost entirely regular seagoing ships from the German, French, Belgian, and Dutch merchant marines.

But your larger criticism that the British leadership has been largely shortsighted and ineffectual is quite accurate, and one that I will, at least in the main thrust of the matter, happily concede. My job as a writer is not to conjure Baldwin into a Bonaparte. Indeed, while we can quibble over just how accurately the AI's shortcomings match the historical deficiencies of real Interwar premierships, I consider myself on firm ground in saying that Baldwin wouldn't have handled a war on his watch nearly so well as Churchill handled the real one. Take heart, though -- abler foes await, even some loyal to His Majesty.
 
Hello All - Just ducking in to say, with regret, that the next update is delayed. I had hoped to have it up by the end of January, but I've been on deadline for several other projects, and have been unable to finish it. But I am still progressing, and hope to have it up in February. Thanks for your patience!
 
One thing which I have forgotten to mention while reading your amazing AAR.
You have said one page 83 “No need,” Hitler said, his black eyes glittering. “He’s across the street and will be with us presently.”
Actually he was having blue eyes.
 
Blue King - Thank you very kindly for reading and commenting! I will indeed continue it. Unfortunately, I am still working to meet a deadline for a publisher, so the next update will not be out in February, as I had hoped.

And thank you for your astute observation about Hitler's eye color. I should clarify that this is a metaphorical reference to the intensity of his eyes prominence of his black pupils in the scene's lighting conditions. In fact, (very nearly) nobody has irises that are truly black. You are quite correct that Hitler's irises were some shade of dark blue.
 
Hello all, and thanks for the continued patience. I have not forgotten this. I'm still on deadline for my publisher, and unable to finish the next installment - but I'll be back with Part LII just as soon as I'm able!

EDIT: While I was away, Weltkriegschaft turned FIVE YEARS OLD! That's all thanks to you, the readers.
 
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We'll keep waiting!
 

This week marking the TENTH birthday of Weltkriegschaft, I just wanted to step in much belatedly to thank all its very kind readers. I unfortunately lost access to my Paradox account years ago, sadly halting the narrative, but have since recovered it. Please accept my apologies for the abrupt silence.


With so much time passed, I cannot say with certainty when, where, or in what form this story might be resumed — but I do intend to provide, whenever I’m able, some closure to what was started here back in 2008. Until then, you all have my best wishes and highest appreciation.


Yours,

TH1
 
This week marking the TENTH birthday of Weltkriegschaft, I just wanted to step in much belatedly to thank all its very kind readers. I unfortunately lost access to my Paradox account years ago, sadly halting the narrative, but have since recovered it. Please accept my apologies for the abrupt silence.


With so much time passed, I cannot say with certainty when, where, or in what form this story might be resumed — but I do intend to provide, whenever I’m able, some closure to what was started here back in 2008. Until then, you all have my best wishes and highest appreciation.


Yours,

TH1
Welcome back.
 
This week marking the TENTH birthday of Weltkriegschaft, I just wanted to step in much belatedly to thank all its very kind readers. I unfortunately lost access to my Paradox account years ago, sadly halting the narrative, but have since recovered it. Please accept my apologies for the abrupt silence.


With so much time passed, I cannot say with certainty when, where, or in what form this story might be resumed — but I do intend to provide, whenever I’m able, some closure to what was started here back in 2008. Until then, you all have my best wishes and highest appreciation.


Yours,

TH1

Yes!! Welcome back !