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  The appointment of General von Blomberg as War Minister and of General von Reichenau as Chief of the Ministerial Office (Chef des Ministeramtes) was to have an immediate effect on my work. Both these generals favoured modern ideas, and so I now found considerable sympathy for the ideas of the armoured force, at least at the highest levels of the Wehrmacht (the Armed Forces). In addition, it soon became apparent that Hitler himself was interested in the problem of motorisation and armour. The first proof I had of this was at Kummersdorf, where a meeting was held under the aegis of the Army Ordnance Office to demonstrate recent weapon development: I was allotted half an hour in which to show the Chancellor the position as far as motorised troops were concerned. I was able to demonstrate a motor-cycle platoon, an anti-tank platoon, a platoon of Panzer I’s in the experimental form of the time, and one platoon of light and one of heavy armoured reconnaissance cars. Hitler was much impressed by the speed and precision of movement of our units, and said repeatedly: ‘That’s what I need! That’s what I want to have!’ As a result of this demonstration I was convinced that the head of the government would approve my proposals for the organisation of an up-to-date Wehrmacht, if only I could manage to lay my views before him. The rigidity of procedure in our army, and the opposition of the persons in authority over me—the General Staff Officers who stood between Blomberg and me—were the principal obstacle to this plan.

  Incidentally, it is an interesting sidelight on German politics since 1890 that Prince Bismarck was the last Chancellor who had shown sufficient interest in the development of military equipment to pay a visit to Kummersdorf; from then, until this visit of Hitler’s, no Chancellor had ever taken the trouble to set foot inside the place. The visitors’ book of the Army Ordnance Office proved this when the Head of that Office, General Becker, asked Hitler for his signature. This surely makes it plain that German policy had not been ‘militaristic.’

  On the 21st of March, 1933, the Reichstag was opened with a religious service in the Garrison Church at Potsdam.

  The state ceremony in the Garrison Church was followed, on the 23rd of March, 1933, by the notorious Authorisation Act, which was passed with the approval of the ‘National Front’ and the Central Party and which gave the new Chancellor full dictatorial powers. With laudable courage the Social-Democrat Party voted against this bill; few politicians realised at the time what misfortunes the Act was to cause in years to come. The politicians who voted for the Authorisation Act cannot escape the responsibility for what was later to happen.

  In the summer of 1933 the head of the National-Socialist Motor Corps, Adolf Hühnlein, invited me to a festive meeting of the leaders of his organisation at which Adolf Hitler had promised to be present. I thought that it might be interesting to see Hitler among his faithful followers. Since Hühnlein was also a decent, upright man with whom it was easy to work, I accepted. Hitler made a speech dealing with the history of revolutions; the speaker showed considerable knowledge of history, and in a speech lasting for several hours he demonstrated how any revolution must, after a certain time and when it has achieved its aims, become a process of evolution. That point in its history had now been reached by the National-Socialist revolution. He urged his followers to bear this thought in mind for the future. It was only to be hoped and prayed that these indications of his would be fulfilled.

  An armoured force was now in process of being created, and the year 1933 was one of considerable progress. A series of experimental and training exercises with dummy tanks did much to clarify the relationship between various weapons and served to strengthen me in my convictions that tanks would only be able to play their full part within the framework of a modern army when they were treated as that army’s principal weapon and were supplied with fully motorised supporting arms.

  If the tactical developments were not unsatisfactory, the equipment side was by contrast all the more worrying. One of the results of our disarmament after the Versailles Treaty was that for many years our industry had produced no war materials; consequently it lacked not only the skilled labour but also the very machines with which to turn our intentions into facts. In particular the production of a sufficiently tough armour plating proved very difficult. The first sheets delivered splintered like glass. It similarly took a considerable time before our requirements in the wireless and optical field—which, it must be admitted, were technically very advanced—could be filled. However, I have never regretted my insistence at that time on our tanks being equipped with first-class visual and command facilities. So far as the latter is concerned, we were at all times superior to our enemies and this was to compensate for many other subsequent inferiorities that necessarily arose.

  In the autumn of 1933 General Freiherr von Fritsch became Commander-in-Chief of the Army (Chef der Heeresleitung). In him the army had at its head a soldier in whom the officer corps had complete confidence. His was a fine, chivalrous nature, and he was a clever, careful soldier with sound tactical and operational views. He had not a great deal of technical knowledge, but he was always ready to try out new ideas without prejudice and, if they seemed to him good, to adopt them. As a result of this my official dealings with him concerning the development of the armoured force were easier and more agreeable than with any of the other members of the Army High Command. As head of the 1st Department of the Truppenamt in the 100,000-man army he had already been interested in the questions of motorisation and of armour, and had devoted a period of detached service to the study of the Panzer Division. In the high office which he now filled he continued to show the same interest in our doings. The following little incident is typical of the way he used to do things. I had laid some technical question before him concerning tank development. He seemed doubtful, and he said to me: ‘You should realise that all technicians are liars.’ I replied: ‘I admit they do tell lies, but their lies are generally found out after a year or two when their technical ideas can’t be put into concrete shape. Tacticians tell lies too, but in their case the lies only become evident after the next war has been lost and by then it’s too late to do anything about it.’ Fritsch, as was his custom, twisted his monocle in his fingers before replying: ‘You may be right.’ Though he was extremely reserved and even shy at large gatherings, when he was among friends whom he trusted he proved himself to be open-hearted and affable. He was possessed of a fine wit when he wished to use it and of a most attractively charming manner.

  A more difficult personality was that of the new Chief of the General Staff, General Beck. His was an upright character, a calm, almost too calm, and thoughtful man of the old school, a disciple of Moltke; it was Beck’s intention to form a General Staff for the new army of the Third Reich of which Moltke would have approved. He had no understanding for modern technical matters. Since he inevitably chose men with much of his own attitude to fill the more important General Staff posts, and even more so to form his own close circle, as time went on he erected—without wishing to do so—a barrier of reaction at the very centre of the army which was to prove very difficult to overcome. He disapproved of the plans of the armoured force: he wanted the tanks to be employed primarily as infantry support weapons, and the largest tank unit that he would agree to was the Panzer Brigade. He was not interested in the formation of Panzer Divisions.

  I had to win a long-drawn-out fight with General Beck before he would agree to the setting up of the Panzer Divisions and to the publication of the training manuals for armoured troops. Finally he went so far as to agree to the establishment of two Panzer Divisions, while I was already insisting on three. I described the advantages of these new formations to him in the most glowing terms, and in particular their operational significance. He replied: ‘No, no, I don’t want to have anything to do with you people. You move too fast for me.’ When I maintained that, thanks to the recent developments of wireless, command could still be maintained despite great speed of advance, he did not believe me. It was frequently repeated in our training manuals that all unit commanders s
hould be as far forward as possible, and he did not like this at all. ‘But you can’t command without maps and telephones. Haven’t you ever read Schlieffen?’ That even a divisional commander should be as far forward as ever he could without actually bumping into the enemy was too much for him.

  Leaving the whole argument of armoured troops aside, however, Beck was above all a procrastinator in military as in political matters. He was a paralysing element wherever he appeared. He always foresaw all the difficulties and required time to think everything over. Significant of his way of thought was his much-boosted method of fighting which he called ‘delaying defence.’ Even before the First World War we had heard in our manuals of ‘the delaying battle’: in the 100,000-man army this delaying defence became the cardinal principle. Beck’s ‘delaying defence’ was envisaged and practised down to and including rifle sections. This method of fighting a battle is invariably marked by extreme confusion, and I have never seen an example of it that was anything but unsatisfactory. After the formation of the Panzer Divisions Fritsch scrapped the whole concept.

  In the spring of 1934 a Motorised Troops Command Staff was set up: General Lutz was appointed head of this office and I took over the duties of his Chief of Staff. Lutz remained, in addition, Inspector of Motorised Troops and also Chief of Weapon Department 6 in the General Army Office of the Defence Ministry (Waffenabteilung In 6 im Allgemeinen Heeresamt des RWM.)

  At the same period Hitler paid his first visit to Mussolini, in Venice, with results that were apparently not very satisfactory. After his return he addressed a meeting of generals, party chiefs and SA leaders in Berlin. The response of the SA leaders to his oratory was noticeably cool. As I was leaving the hall I overheard remarks such as: ‘Adolf’s got quite a bit to unlearn.’ It amazed me to discover in this way that there were grave differences of opinion within the Party itself. On the 30th of June the riddle was solved. Roehm, the Chief of Staff of the SA, and a large number of SA leaders were shot out of hand, and not only they, but also numerous men and women who had had nothing to do with the SA and whose only crime—as we know now—was at some time or other in some way to have opposed the Party. Among those murdered was the former Defence Minister and Chancellor, General von Schleicher, together with his wife and his friend and colleague, General von Bredow. Attempts to secure an open vindication of the two generals led to no satisfactory results. Only old Field-Marshal von Mackensen made it clear, on the occasion of the Schlieffen Dinner of 1935 (a yearly reunion of active and retired General Staff Corps Officers), that the honour of the two men was unsullied. Hitler’s statement to the Reichstag concerning these events was insufficient. It was hoped at that time that the Party would soon get over its growing pains. Looking back now, it is to be regretted that the leaders of the army did not insist on receiving full satisfaction. Had they only done so they would have rendered a great service not only to themselves but also to the armed forces and to the German people.

  On the 2nd of August, 1934, Germany suffered a grievous loss. Field-Marshal von Hindenburg died, leaving his people in the midst of an internal revolution, the outcome of which no man could foresee. I wrote on that day to my wife:

  ‘The old gentleman is no more. We are all saddened by this irreplaceable loss. He was like a father to the whole nation and particularly to the armed forces, and it will be a long and hard time before the great gap that he leaves in our national life can be filled. His existence alone meant more to foreign powers than any numbers of written agreements and fine words. He possessed the confidence of the world. We, who loved and honoured him, are become much poorer for his death.

  ‘To-morrow we swear the oath to Hitler. An oath heavy with consequence! Pray God that both sides may abide by it equally for the welfare of Germany. The army is accustomed to keep its oaths. May the army be able, in honour, to do so this time.

  ‘You are right. It would be a fine thing if the leaders of all the various organisations were to make use of this opportunity to postpone all ceremonies and celebrations indefinitely and to stop making speeches…. What is needed now is honest hard work and modest talk.’

  These words, written on the 2nd of August, 1934, show the mood, not only of myself, but also of many of my comrades and of a huge section of our people at this time.

  On the 7th of August, 1934, German soldiers carried the mortal remains of the immortal Field-Marshal and President to be laid to rest in the Tannenberg Memorial. Hitler’s final words rang out: ‘Dead warrior! Go now to Valhalla!’

  Already on August 1st, on the strength of the Authorisation Bill, the Chancellor and his Cabinet had declared that in the event of Hindenburg’s death the office of President would be merged in that of Chancellor. As a result Hitler, on August 2nd, became simultaneously Head of the State and Commander-in-Chief of its armed forces. Since he retained his position as Chancellor he thus united all the power in Germany in his own hand. From now on the dictatorship was for all intents and purposes unlimited.

  After a winter of hard work we learned in March of 1935 that our right to military self-determination was to be re-established. Every soldier greeted this news, which meant the cancelling of a humiliating portion of the Versailles Treaty, with delight. On Heroes’ Memorial Day, which opened with a march past in Field-Marshal von Mackensen’s presence of units from all arms of the services, there were to be seen for the first time a few battalions of the new panzer troops, mostly, it is true, without their equipment—since this was a foot parade. In the preparations for the parade the participation of panzer troops was originally looked on rather askance, because—as the responsible staff officer explained to me—‘with those short carbines of theirs they won’t be able to present arms properly.’ Despite this ‘serious’ disadvantage I managed to arrange for quite a number of our men to take part in the ceremony.

  On the 16th of March of that year the English Military Attaché had invited me to his house for the evening. Shortly before I left my own home I switched on the wireless and heard the broadcast of a government announcement. This was the order for the reintroduction of universal military service in Germany. The conversation with my English friend, and with his Swedish colleague who was also present, took a lively turn that evening. Both those gentlemen showed understanding for the satisfaction that I felt at hearing this excellent news for the German Army.

  Our theoretical aim in the accelerated rearmament that ensued was to achieve equality with our highly armed neighbours. Practically speaking—at least so far as the panzer troops were concerned—there could be no question for the time being of even approaching their standard of equipment either in quality or in quantity. We had therefore to attempt to make up those deficiencies by means of superior organisation and leadership. A tight concentration of our limited forces in large units, in divisions to be precise, and the organisation of those units as a Panzer Corps would, we hoped, compensate for our numerical inferiority.

  First of all we had to convince our military superiors that our way was not only feasible but also the correct one. With this end in view the Motorised Troops Command, set up in June 1934 under the leadership of General Lutz, had arranged for four weeks’ training of a panzer division improvised from the units then available: this was to take place during the summer of 1935. The training division was to be commanded by General Freiherr von Weichs. It was to be assembled at the military training area Munster-Lager, and was to be systematically exercised in four distinct tactical roles. It was not our intention on this occasion to instruct the subordinate unit commanders in the appreciation of and reaction to their individual tactical problems, but rather simply to demonstrate that the movement and commitment in action of large masses of tanks, together with supporting weapons, was in fact possible. Generals von Blomberg and Freiherr von Fritsch followed these exercises with great interest. The attendance of Hitler, whom General Lutz had also invited to be present, was prevented by the passive resistance of his military adjutant.

  The results of the exp
erimental exercises and the demonstrations there carried out were highly satisfactory. When the yellow balloon that marked the end of the exercises floated upwards, Colonel-General von Fritsch remarked jokingly: ‘There’s only one thing missing. The balloon should have Guderian’s Panzers are Best marked on it.’ General Lutz was appointed Commander of the new Armoured Troops Command. We expected this command to have the authority of a General Command (Generalkommando), analogous to those in existence for the other major arms, but this was prevented by the Chief of the Army General Staff, General Beck.

  On the 15th of October, 1935, three Panzer Divisions were formed:

  1st Panzer Division under General Freiherr von Weichs at Weimar;

  2nd Panzer Division under Colonel Guderian at Würzburg;

  3rd Panzer Division under General Fessmann at Berlin.

  For the establishment of a Panzer Division in 1935, see Appendix XXIV.

  At the beginning of October I left Berlin, exchanging my position at the centre of activities for practical service with troops. I knew that I was leaving the Armoured Troops Command in the safe hands of General Lutz. All the same we could rely on growing opposition from certain elements within the General Staff, and it was not certain whether my successor as Chief of Staff would be tough enough to withstand their pressure.1 Similarly it was doubtful whether the Inspectorate for Armoured Troops at the Army High Command (OKH), which was responsible for looking after our interests with the chief of the General Army Office (Chef des Allgemeinen Heeresamt), would be able to carry on with our plans along the original lines laid down. In both these offices what I had feared soon came about: the Chief of the General Staff won the day, and Panzer Brigades were formed for the purpose of providing close support for the infantry. As early as 1936 the 4th Panzer Brigade was set up to carry out this role. Next, owing to agitation on the part of the cavalry for greater control over motorised troops, three so-called Light Divisions were formed in place of further Panzer Divisions envisaged: these Light Divisions consisted each of two Motorised Rifle Regiments, a Reconnaissance Regiment, an Artillery Regiment, a Tank Battalion and numerous supporting units.