Chapter III: Part XXX
Chapter III: The Lion’s Den
Part XXX
November 9, 1936
This was it. Following weeks of speculation, 1. Panzer Regiment, 2. Panzer-Division had been mustered from its quarters outside Brugge, Free Belgium, and onto waiting northbound trains that hissed white steam as hundreds of men poured onto them.
Günther Taubert stood on the crowded platform with his rucksack over his shoulder. A major was standing at the door of one of the railroad cars, calling out orders to the black-uniformed panzer men as they listened expectantly for their units to be called. The wooden cars were windowless, with faded, peeling paint -- one yellow, another brown, two more russet. They looked like they had once served as cattle cars. An officer had said that this was for secrecy, so that any British reconnaissance planes wouldn’t realize the trains’ true purpose.
Cars bound to take German soldiers north.
“2. Panzer Kompanie, I. Abteilung,” called the major, reading from a clipboard, “third car!”
“Second Company,” roared Hauptmann Bruckelt with his cigar still clenched between his teeth, “out!”
The men surged forward, squeezing through the open doors of a battered brown car, until Bruckelt came on, followed by the Hauptfeldwebel. Pulling out his own list, the Hauptfeldwebel -- called “The Horse” by all the men -- called roll. When he had finished, the men of the company spread out as much as was possible in the cramped car and tried to find comfortable positions. There was still a loud rumble of chatter from the men outside waiting to board the train, but this diminished in increments as the other companies boarded. At last, a military conductor came aboard, and after conferring with Bruckelt briefly, closed and locked the car’s sliding doors. The men could hear clatter after clatter as the conductor closed the doors on the cars behind them. And then, the conductor’s shrill whistle.
The locomotive’s deeper two-tone whistle sounded twice in reply, and then came the sound of the pistons. The car lurched forward, sending a cheer through the company. The men listened eagerly -- the chugs of the engine grew louder and faster as the train picked up speed. After some minutes, the novelty had worn off, and a clear voice at the back of the car began to sing.
“A call roars like thunderbolt,
Like clashing swords and splashing waves:
To the Rhine, the Rhine, to the German Rhine,
Who guards tonight my stream divine?”
The other men joined him, filling the car with the swelling melody of
Die Wacht am Rhein.
“Dear fatherland, put your mind at rest,
Dear fatherland, put your mind at rest,
Fast stands, and true, the Watch, the Watch at the Rhine!
Fast stands, and true, the Watch, the Watch at the Rhine!”
The men swung lustily into the
Panzerlied, and two repetitions of the national anthem. This was followed by folk songs, and soon drinking songs, but as these wore on, the number of voices dwindled, until there was again silence. Taubert sat placidly on his pack. It was afternoon, and an unusually warm sun was making the air in the car uncomfortable.
“Do you believe that we will be the tip of the invasion?”
Taubert turned to find Oberleutnant Bauer close to his ear. “Maybe. It’s hard to say.”
“From the radio, I’m absolutely certain that the invasion will begin within forty-eight hours.”
It indeed seemed almost inevitable. After threats and hysteria ever since the fire in Berlin, German buildup for an invasion of Denmark had now reached a crescendo. Leave had been cancelled since the first of November, and the tanks had all undergone special maintenance. And then, the Reich had issued a final ultimatum: hand over those responsible for the Leopoldplatz Fire to German authorities and expel all British warships from territorial waters within forty-eight hours or the Wehrmacht will be called upon to enforce Danish neutrality. It was clear, though, to all the men what this meant. Hitler wanted war with the pro-British Danes before they could lend their country to the British as a staging ground for invading Germany. The demands were obviously unreasonable, and there now seemed nothing standing in the way of war. Taubert could feel the taut, coiling energy of the Armed Forces, so strong that it surely could not be held back for more than another day.
Low talk resumed as the train wound its way north -- about home, mostly. Men stared at tiny photographs or reread folded letters. The company was confident, though. It was considered unlikely that the Danes had any working tanks, and so whatever combat they faced would likely be safer than that in France months before. Still, though, they had suffered losses on the drive into Amsterdam. British naval guns. Would they come again? Each man had his own certainties about that question.
More attention was spent on the start date of the invasion. That morning, there had been a broadcast from Munich -- the Führer was to make his annual visit to the Bürgerbräukeller, from which he had staged a failed Putsch exactly thirteen years before. Five years before that, the radio didn’t have to remind listeners, the Kaiser’s monarchy had fallen in disgrace, bringing devastating defeat upon Germany. Perhaps, some men ventured, the invasion would begin that very night, to coincide with the two anniversaries. Whatever it was, the senior officers were acting exceedingly strangely, and it was clear to everyone that something big was afoot. Hauptmann Bruckelt, Taubert was sure, knew little more than his men, but Bruckelt’s superiors had been continually locked in a sort of conspiratorial buzzing for the past two days.
Maybe tonight.
The sunlight began to redden and then to fade, and soon deep gloom descended upon the unlit car. Taubert saw that other men were curling up on the dusty floor -- the lucky ones sat with their backs to the walls -- trying to catch some sleep. He softened a hollow in his rucksack, and laid down his head. The last thing he saw was The Horse standing at the front of the car, reading reports by a dim flashlight.
A keening wail from the locomotive’s whistle jarred him back awake. For a moment he was confused about where he was, and whether it was still the same day. Memory washed back into his mind. It was too dark to see his wristwatch, but it was night. He could now hear the whine of the brakes being gently applied, and the train noticeably slowed. The other men were waking up too -- standing, shouldering their rucksacks and conversing quietly.
The train clattered over a short trestle, and then slowed to a crawl, making several winding turns. At last, the whistle blew again, the brakes screeched and the whole train shuddered to a stop. Taubert could hear the doors of other cars being thrown open, and within seconds, their own car’s door was opened. Bruckelt ordered everyone out.
They poured out under the starry sky, and onto a concrete platform that was adjacent to a wide stretch of docks. The company came to formation.
“Where are we?” The whisper spread quickly among the assembled men. The murmured answer came quickly -- Wilhelmshaven.
Gorgeted Feldgendarmes stood vigilantly at the periphery of the platform with submachine guns drawn. Taubert saw one of them, an officer, approach Hauptmann Bruckelt. Moments later, Bruckelt ordered them to move out. They followed the Feldgendarme officer off the platform -- Taubert could see that other companies were being led similarly -- and along an asphalt path that ran beside the docks. The column passed a large warehouse which had been blocking their view of the water, and they saw it.
A colossal dark shape sat in the water to their right. Taubert craned his head upward -- it had two low funnels and unusually short masts. It looked like a liner, but was much larger than anything he had seen in his life. Several gangplanks were crowded with men boarding the great vessel, and as the Feldgendarme led 2. Panzer Kompanie towards the nearest of these, Taubert could make out what appeared to be heavy gun emplacements both fore and aft.
Soon, the gangplank was beneath his boots, and he felt himself ascending high into the air. With pounding heart, he came at last onto the deck, where the men of the company were herded toward the stern to make way for other men streaming onto the ship from the trains.
Taubert looked out over the railing. Two other large vessels were receiving troops at the other side of the naval base, and a clutch of warships that appeared to be destroyers were already out in the harbor. The waiting out on the exposed deck bored the men, but the air wasn’t cold, and so an hour passed quickly before they were sent below and assigned quarters. No sooner had they thrown down their rucksacks when a major came down to summon them.
The junior officers with whom Taubert was sharing quarters saw the named fittings and informed him that they were aboard the SS
Europa. “The sister ship of the
Bremen,” one said, “the one that the British captured.”
By the time they reached the promenade deck of the great liner, they could see that the sailors were casting off the lines, lowering the gangplanks and locking their gates. A few tugs could be seen puttering in the dark below the ship. The
Europa seemed to be making ready for departure. “This way,” Major Gaertner said, leading them down a passageway and into what had once been the grand dining room. The furniture and paneling where all gone now, though.
It took some time for the regiment’s 2,960 men to muster in the vast space. Taubert’s company was positioned toward the front, where he could see, as the hubbub died down, the man emerge who was to address them.
The regiment’s commander, Oberst Harpe, was not a man with a soldierly face, but normally compensated for this with soldierly dress and appearance. He was commonly seen in his dress uniform, World War One medals pinned to his chest to vouch for cheeks that had grown soft in the Interbellum; commonly seen with crisp cap and cheerful eyes -- but not tonight. He stood, preparing to address the regiment, in a rumpled uniform and with a standard soldier’s helmet with the strap cinched tight under his chin. He was holding a scrap of paper. Stabsfeldwebel Kutz, the blackened old hero of the Somme, stepped forward in his braided uniform. He growled the assembled tankers to attention, and Oberst Harpe walked slowly to the front of the stage to address the regiment.
“Soldiers, we have had two weeks of rest and leisure in Belgium. The time has again come for the Armed Forces to defend Germany. We, as a regiment, have been selected for a high honor, as part of the small armored force which now prepares to do battle. We have been transported in speed and secrecy to these docks and this ship at the direct orders of our Führer, Adolf Hitler, and the Head War Command. Soldiers, tonight we sail for Ireland.”