Prelude – The Advisors
Prague, January 1st, 1936
In their imagination, the entire towering mass of Hradcany Castle shuddered ever so slightly with each and every one detonation of the Red Army artillery, even though it was still only pounding the outskirts of the city, where the battered 7. Infanteriedivision of the Austrian Army had dug in. As for the Imperial Austro-Hungarian Army and the Royal Hungarian Army, they had all but dissolved along ethnic lines during the last few months, leaving the Austrian Army the last loyal element out of the chaotic but charmingly quaint hodgepodge of armed formations that had been the armed forces of the Habsburg Emperors in Vienna. Never since the days of Napoleon had their Empire been in such dire straits.
The two men were walking through the stately corridors of the castle at a brisk pace, with the measured and self-assured step of professional high-ranking officers. They wore the new
Feldgrau uniforms of the Imperial army, with visored caps instead of the venerable old
pickelhaube and gold trim rank insignia which indicated they were a
Generalmajor and an
Oberst of the Imperial General Staff, the OHL (
Oberste Heeresleitung). They were both in their mid- to late forties, although few would have guessed that the
Generalmajor was actually the younger, by three years. They hurried on, unmindful of the distant shelling, because they had been summoned by the Kaiser. Not their Kaiser, to be sure, but a Kaiser nonetheless, and one they had been ordered to advise to the best of their abilities.
He was waiting for them in the map room – a stuffy place filled with polished oak shelves and dark wall panels. Austrian general-officers in garish uniforms, tabbed and sleeved in the most varied colours, were forming a circle around the map table. White-jacketed lackeys, looking for the entire world like waiters, circulated like satellites around the group, offering refreshments and taking away the empty glasses. To the Germans, they were as out of place in a war room as a ballet troupe. But the Austrians did things differently.
The Kaiser, in a white-and-gold Field Marshall’s uniform stood hunched over the large scale map of his Empire (or rather, what had been his Empire), his whole demeanour indicating weariness, sadness, if not outright despair. He was twenty-six. Seeing the officers sent by his Hohenzollern ally, the Kaiser rose, calling for attention.
‘Gentlemen!’ Otto I shouted, commanding the silence of his mob of walrus-moustached and grizzled old warriors. ‘Let me introduce Major-General Erwin Rommel and his aide, Colonel Heinz Guderian of the German Imperial General Staff! They have been sent by our old friend, Kaiser Wilhelm, to assist us in any way they can – I’m sure all of you have heard of General Rommel’s heroics at Caporetto back in 1917, and I’m assured Colonel Guderian is a very gifted operational thinker. Welcome, Gentlemen, and please take your place at our table!’
There were not many friendly stares as the circle of glittering uniforms parted to make room for the grey Germans. Would these juniors presume to advice the Generals and Field Marshals of the Empire of Austria?
They would. Rommel studied the map for a few moments, then spoke to the Kaiser.
‘Your Highness, your situation is very difficult indeed. What is the state of these divisions?’
‘Battered, battle-weary, hungry and exhausted!’ exploded one particularly fierce-looking old boar of a General. ‘Any thing else you need to know?’
The Emperor made a placating gesture. ‘General, please… Our divisions have been in constant action for the last three months, against a foe three or four times stronger. They have been pushed back across the Empire, most of them have had to fight their way out of encirclement on more than one occasion because elements of the Imperial Army went over to the enemy. Most are down around 30% from establishment strength and running low on provisions.’
‘They’re experienced then.’ Guderian said with a nod of apparent satisfaction.
‘I guess you could say that,’ Rommel conceded. ’30% is not bad, considering the adverse circumstances. And are they holding?’
Otto I nodded. ‘For the moment yes. Our retreat has led us to areas that are either still loyal to the Empire – like Austria proper, the Sudeten or the Budapest area, or are easily defendable because of rivers, mountains and other natural obstacles. And the enemy has advanced so quickly his supply system is in complete disarray, so for the moment we have a respite.’
Rommel nodded. ‘I see. And when the respite is over, can you hold?’
There was generalized murmur across the table. The young Kaiser ferried the question over to the Chief of his General Staff. ‘Well, Field Marshall von Zweienstamm, can we hold?’
The balding Field Marshall considered the question for a bare instant before answering. ‘No, Highness, we can not. Our troops are spread too thin – there is no cohesion to our line. We have single divisions holding entire provinces, and the enemy is just too numerous. When they resume the offensive, we will be cut to pieces and crushed piecemeal.’
The Emperor looked at the German advisors with a sad smile on his lips. ‘Well, there you have it. What advice can you offer in a situation like this?’
Guderian seemed to fail to grasp the rhetoric nature of the question. ‘Well, you’d think that would be obvious? If you really are too weak to defend…’
‘We are!’ the Kaiser exclaimed with just a hint of irritation. At some level, he suspected the Germans got a kick out of his plight.
‘…well, in that case, Highness, you must attack. It’s simple logic; at this point in time you’re not being slaughtered, at some point in the near future you will almost certainly be, so clearly your situation grows gradually worse for each moment of delay. Also, only by choosing the time and place for battle can you, at least locally, reverse your numerical handicap. Attack I say, the sooner the better!’
There was an explosion of laughter from the assembled Austrian officers. ‘Is this the wisdom of the German General Staff? When too weak to defend, ATTACK! What a joke!’
Rommel smiled. ‘Colonel Guderian is quite serious, Gentlemen, and he is also absolutely right. Your only hope at this point lies with swift offensive action.’
‘Outrageous!’
Rommel nodded. ‘No, it’s not. When he talks Panzers, then Colonel Guderian easily gets outrageous, but –thankfully- we’re dealing with infantry here and this is common sense. If a continued defence means certain defeat, then offence is the only viable option.’