Panzer Leader Read online

  1. The struggle to create and develop the Panzertruppe and panzer formations, including the acquisition of good equipment.

  2. The brilliant campaigns of 1939, 1940, and 1941.

  3. The attempt to rebuild the Panzertruppe and the army after the disasters in Russia and North Africa at the start of 1943.

  4. The efforts to save Germany, when on the brink of defeat in 1944, by attempting to create conditions for peace on reasonable terms.

  Until August 23, 1941, when he was suggested for Army Commander in Chief in place of the weak Field Marshal Werner von Brauchitsch, Guderian’s star was very much in the ascendant. He was his own man. When in 1929 he became convinced that tanks in combination with other weapons would revolutionize land warfare, it was from deep studies of history, recent British experiments, and the writings chiefly of British General J. F. C. Fuller; not to the same extent as those of B. H. Liddell Hart, regardless of the third paragraph on page 20 (inserted in the English-language edition of Panzer Leader at Liddell Hart’s own dogged suggestion) where Guderian acknowledges his “debt” to Liddell Hart.

  Throughout the 1930s Guderian worked skillfully and with considerable success, both as a staff officer and a commander, to modernize the army. It was a struggle against conservatism within an organization divided by factions. There were those who could not visualize the psychological and physical effects created by fast-moving armored forces, coordinated by radio and led by a commander from the front. Others feared that an almost defenseless Germany might again be drawn into war and defeated by old enemies from both east and west. Interwoven with the military factions was that other insidious force with which but few generals knew how to cope: the Nazi Party with all its evil militias and ideologies, led by the criminally-minded Adolf Hitler.

  From 1933 onwards, the dilemmas posed by that war-loving demagogue dominated Guderian’s career. As one among many Germans who yearned for a savior for a nation whose power and influence had lain in the doldrums since 1919, he believed Hitler was the right politician for the job. From 1934 Guderian supported him with special enthusiasm after the demonstration at Kummersdorf, when he managed to convince the Führer of the revolutionary potential of armored forces in battle.

  Yet his letters revealed misgivings about a politician who cleverly managed to be all things to all men. Along with the rest of the army, he was compelled to swear a personal oath of allegiance to Hitler on August 2, 1934. Nobody refused (at a mere 48 hours notice were they likely to?), though in a letter to his wife he entered a thoughtful caveat: “The army is accustomed to keep its oath. May the army be able, in honor, to do so this time.” Unfortunately, the army’s leaders, caught off balance by Hitler’s craftiness, had already sold out to him by forfeiting the decisive political power they had once wielded.

  The oath posed the most intractable dilemma in the years to come as he contributed strongly to rebuilding an army which, almost unprecedented by 1940, was perfectly designed and trained to overcome every other army in the world. How could he satisfy honor while conducting unprovoked campaigns of aggression with the knowledge that, in the aftermath of each victory, the people of Poland, Yugoslavia, and Soviet Russia were to be treated as inferior and exterminated? Guderian never was comfortable with this problem, so he chose to ignore it. Presented with an opportunity to defy Hitler over a crisis of opinion in Russia in August 1941, he chose to obey on the excuse that it was wrong, by tradition, to oppose a superior officer’s resolved decision. Not even after he was sacked for disobeying Hitler’s unsound orders in December 1941 would he join the handful of resisters plotting against the Head of State. But, after all, those few Germans who eventually did rebel still held back until it became evident in 1942 that Germany might lose the war.

  The third part of the story, the rebuilding of the Panzertruppe and the army after Stalingrad, must be seen in the context of the fourth—the attempt to save Germany, on the brink of defeat, from her own excesses. There is very little doubt that by then Guderian saw no hope of victory and had already formulated a resolve to do all he could, within the meaning of the oath of allegiance, to save the nation from extinction. His fortuitous recall in February 1943 to serve as Inspector of Armored Forces, reporting directly to Hitler, presented unique opportunities to pursue that aim.

  With that in mind, the remainder of the book should be read as the description of a long, drawn-out, psychological, as well as military, withdrawal, phased to win time for a miraculous salvation—rather in the way Prussia had been saved from defeat in the Seven Years War by the fortuitous withdrawal of Russia in 1762.

  How he attempted the virtually impossible is perhaps among the most fascinating passages of Panzer Leader. Crisis by crisis, until July 20, 1944, when a handful of blundering plotters failed to blow up Hitler and seize power, he skillfully, but mostly unavailingly, endeavored to divert Hitler from perpetrating heinous errors. He continued deftly to sidestep involvement with the plotters, whom he neither approved of nor had confidence in. Without admitting knowledge of the assassination’s imminence, Guderian managed, most uncharacteristically, to be out of contact while taking a long walk around his estate; thus, again without admitting it, he was poised either to side with the plotters if successful or fill a gap if they failed. This is a gray area. Nowhere else in Panzer Leader is he so evasive or so far below his normal standards of behavior.

  The outcome of this sleight of hand, for which he was later maligned by some Germans, was elevation to Chief of Staff (acting), the one post which, so he hoped, might make possible the achievement of his aim. Might he not “with the Führer’s close confidence” be able to tackle the dreaded task of ending the war that Guderian and his wife often discussed as a possibility, even as the enemy drew close to Germany’s frontiers on two fronts? Rumors that he had betrayed the plotters were bandied about, but easily disposed of, if only because no general was likely to relish the dangerous nightmare of becoming Chief of Staff to a Commander in Chief who was ferociously hunting down, torturing, and killing generals, or anybody else, remotely suspected of disloyalty.

  Throughout the ensuing eight dramatic months Guderian rose to his greatest heights of patriotism and courage by daily opposing Hitler’s outrageous decisions. Official records, besides his own testimony, make clear his struggle until in early February 1945 he did what no general had done before—outface Hitler in a (literally) stand-up row over yet another ludicrous order. The unimaginable had happened! With admiration Albert Speer watched Hitler, “with flashing eyes and the hairs on his moustache literally standing on end,” being intimidated by Guderian’s assault.

  Prior to that, however, Guderian had taken his life in his hands by collaborating with Speer in attempting to limit further damage to German industry and by trying to persuade Foreign Minister Joachim von Ribbentrop to end the war by diplomacy before the rest of the country was destroyed. But a terrified Ribbentrop failed him, as did the equally frightened head of the SS, Heinrich Himmler. It was all far too late, of course. But at least Guderian had shown what might have been done if in the early 1930s a general of commanding stature had stood up to Hitler and stopped the Nazi rot before it took hold.

  For even at this late hour, one or two among Hitler’s sycophants drew courage from Guderian’s example, belatedly preventing the last of Hitler’s wild excesses. On March 28 a belligerent and still-protesting Guderian escaped with his life when sent on four weeks convalescent leave. It was a clear sign that the last Chief of Staff of the German Army had achieved what no other surviving general had managed. Guderian had actually fought and won the respect of a thoroughly anti-general Supreme Commander, and then outlived the monster to tell his tale with dignity, honesty, and insight.

  KENNETH MACKSEY

  Dorset, England

  April 1996

  Kenneth Macksey served as an officer in the Royal Tank Regiment during World War II. The author of more than forty books on military history, including biographies of Field Marshals Kesselring and
Rommel and Generals Guderian and Hobart, Macksey has also edited The Penguin Encyclopedia of Modern War, The Penguin Encyclopedia of Weapons and Military Technology, and The Hitler Options.

  FOREWORD

  by

  CAPTAIN B. H. LIDDELL HART

  In this book a man who has made history—on a great scale—gives us his own story of how he shaped it by means of a new idea, and how it led to an end he had not foreseen. Guderian had a tremendous impact on the course of events in our time. Without him, it is probable that Hitler would have met early frustration in his offensive efforts when he embarked on war. For in 1939-40 Germany’s forces in general were not sufficient to overcome any major Power. Her opening run of victory in the Second World War was only made possible by the panzer forces that Guderian had created and trained, and by his audacious leading of those forces in disregard of his superiors’ caution as well as Hitler’s fears. Guderian’s break-through at Sedan and lightning drive to the Channel coast virtually decided the issue of the Battle of France.

  A year later, the drive he led into the East came close to producing the complete collapse of Russia’s armies, but this time renewed hesitancy on top imposed a delay that spun out the campaign until winter intervened, and gave the Russians a breathing-space for recovery. Stalin was able to raise fresh armies and develop new arms factories to replace those that had been captured. Russia’s strength went on increasing, while Germany was never again as strong as in that first campaign. Hitler’s 1942 effort, though dangerous, was a more limited one than in the previous year. After the failure at Stalingrad the decline of the Germans’ power became manifest to all, while America’s entry into the war definitely ensured their downfall.

  Thus the victories that Guderian had made possible proved more fatal than if no victory had been gained. Early blossom turned into bitter fruit.

  He himself had an early foretaste of its juice, since at the end of 1941 he was dismissed for taking a timely step-back instead of pandering to Hitler’s illusions. He was recalled to service only when Germany’s situation had become desperate, and was eventually made Chief of the General Staff when it had become hopeless. So he was doomed to swallow the full bitterness of the dregs.

  That retributive sequel to his work, however, does not affect his historical significance—in the moulding of history by the application of a new idea, of which he was both the exponent and executant. The conquest of the West did not last, but it changed the shape of Europe and has profoundly affected the future of the whole world. That is clear, although we cannot yet tell what will emerge.

  Guderian’s book is also of great interest as a self-exposition of the specialist mind and how it works. He had far more imagination than most specialists, but it was exercised almost entirely within the bounds of his professional subject, and burning enthusiasm increased the intensity of his concentration.

  Guderian was a single-minded soldier, professional in the truest sense—the quintessence of the craftsman in the way he devoted himself to the progress of a technique. In that pursuit he showed as little regard for careerist ambition, and the tact which it requires, as for the purpose such technical progress might serve. To understand him one must be capable of understanding the passion of pure craftsmanship. There one can find a natural explanation of his attitude to Hitler—clearly more favourable than that of most of the generals brought up in the old tradition. Hitler manifested a liking for new military ideas, and for the tank idea in particular, so Guderian was naturally disposed to like him. Hitler showed an inclination to back that revolutionary idea, so Guderian was inclined to back him. Hitler was in conflict with the General Staff and with established conventions; so was Guderian in his sphere—and thus the more ready to think well of Hitler, until disillusioned by what he saw for himself when he eventually came into close contact with the Führer.

  It will be apparent to those who read his memoirs that he did not question the cause which he and his troops were serving, or the duty of fighting for their country. It was sufficient for him that she was at war, and thus in danger, however it had come about. The fulfilment of duty was not compatible with doubts. As a dutiful soldier he had to assume that his country’s cause was just, and that she was defending herself against would-be conquerors. His evident assumptions on that score may jar on readers outside Germany—conscious of the menace that their countries had to meet, from Germany. But his assumptions are similar to those of most soldiers of any country at any time. Few qualms of conscience are to be found in the memoirs of those who exercised command in the wars for highly questionable causes that Britain and the U.S.A. waged in the nineteenth century. There is a markedly ‘Victorian’ flavour about Guderian’s turn of phrase and thought.

  Moreover, soldiers everywhere are accustomed to accept the time-honoured dictum that ‘attack is the best defence,’ so that they become apt to regard the difference between attack and defence as a tactical distinction between two interchangeable forms of action, with little or no bearing on the question of aggression. The greatest experts in the field of international law have found it difficult to frame an irrefutable definition of aggression, and aggressively minded statesmen have always found it easy to shift the blame on to the shoulders of their foreign opponents. An appeal to patriotism can befog the clearest issue, and those who are most imbued with the sense of duty to country are, and are bound to be, the easiest to deceive and to silence. Soldiers are not trained to explore the truth behind international disputes, and if they try to wrestle with the resulting questions they are likely to become incapable of performing their task. There is a place, and a need, for the military philosopher in the study and guidance of war, but a profoundly reflective mind does not fit easily into the service itself.

  As a practical necessity a commander in the field often has to take action without reflection, and, even when he has the time for it, a habit of reflecting on the remote consequences of the action ordered would tend to induce paralysis—save in a man with the most uncommon power of detachment (Wellington was one of these rare exceptions). So long as fighting services continue, it is essential for the performance of their task that they should be composed of those who confine their thinking to the effective execution of that task. ‘Theirs not to reason why, theirs but to do and die.’ No nation that maintains fighting services can afford to revoke that rule of experience. Where soldiers begin to question the rightness of the cause for which they are fighting, armies soon collapse.

  It is easy to condemn Guderian’s attitude as evidence of ‘unrepentant militarism’—but wiser to recognise that his basic assumptions were a necessity of military service. That he makes no pretence of discarding them now, to court favour, is typical of his brusque honesty—which so often brought him in conflict with his superiors, and with Hitler—as well as of the pugnacity that made him such a dynamic military reformer and commander.

  Anyone who is ‘put off’ Guderian’s memoirs by dislike of his attitude will be foolish—as were those superiors who let irritation prejudice them against the value of his military ideas. This book is the fullest, most factual, and most revealing personal account of the war from the German side that has yet emerged. The fullness of detail, which is valuable for the record, is lightened in the reading by the vigour and frankness of the comment.

  Guderian’s revelations, in the opening chapters, about the opposition he met in developing the panzer forces and the blitzkrieg technique will come as a surprise to many readers here who have a picture of the German General Staff as a far-sighted and united body of planners ceaselessly seeking to get a march ahead in preparation for the next war. (What he reveals will be less unexpected to those who know the nature of armies and their halting course throughout history.)

  His story of the 1940 campaign not only brings out the hazards and uncertainties of the assault on the Meuse near Sedan, but conveys the pace and tempo of the follow-up drive to the Channel coast. It is almost like having a seat in Guderian’s car in that breathless race
, and being able to watch him handling his panzer divisions. For me it was like the repetition of a dream, as it was just the way that in pre-war years I had pictured such a force being handled by a leader who grasped the new idea—only to be told, then, that the picture was unrealistic. When Hobart gave a demonstration of it in the 1934 exercises on Salisbury Plain, orthodox soldiers retorted that such a method would not work in war.

  Guderian’s account of the 1941 advance into Russia provides by far the most detailed account yet available of that invasion. If the detail tends to slow down the tempo, his revelations about the conflicts within the German Command are very illuminating, and his picture of the ghastly final stages of the winter push for Moscow in mud and snow is extraordinarily vivid. Then comes the story of his own dismissal, and recall in 1943 to reorganise the panzer forces after the Stalingrad disaster. In the later chapters he throws new light on the breakdown of the plans to meet the Allied landing in Normandy.

  When the situation became desperate he was summoned to take over the post of Chief of the General Staff, a post which was by that time limited to dealing with the Eastern Front, and further restricted by Hitler’s desire to control everything himself. While these limitations of function left Guderian little scope for effective influence, his appointment gave him ample opportunity for close observation of Hitler’s mind and emotions during the last stage of the war. Nothing could be more dramatic than his sober account of the disintegration of a demented dictator and a demoralised entourage. Guderian completes the story with character-sketches of Hitler and the other ‘Leading Personalities of the Third Reich’—and that chapter is the most interesting of all.

  The acuteness and balance of these character sketches is notable. Those qualities may owe much to a characteristic of his which does not often appear directly in the book, but which strikes anyone who meets him—his sense of humour. It is the more refreshing because it is uncommon in his circle.