Rommel: In his own words

INDEX

Introduction

Field Marshal Erwin Rommel (1891–1944) is one of the few German generals of World War II who is still widely remembered. Whether directing a battle from the top of his command vehicle in the North African desert or sitting rather self-consciously in a studio, his weather-beaten face, with its calculating eyes and firm jaw, immediately conjures up images of the ‘Desert Fox’, capable of defeating superior forces with consummate ease.

In pictures he appears invincible, commanding all-powerful mobile units against rather plodding, unimaginative enemies who depend for their eventual success on superior equipment rather than operational skill. Even the manner of his death – taking poison rather than risk a public trial that would endanger his family as Adolf Hitler took revenge against any officer implicated in the July 1944 Bomb Plot – seems romantic, leaving an impression of military professionalism hopelessly compromised in the service of the Führer.

Like all legends, it contains a measure of truth. Rommel was, first and foremost, a fighting soldier. He was undeniably brave – his Pour le Merité, or ‘Blue Max’, was earned in the heat of battle and is, deservedly, regarded as the equivalent of the Victoria Cross or Medal of Honour – and his qualities of leadership were high. He cared about his men and was determined from the start of his fighting career to master the tactical skills that would enable them to survive and win, even amidst the horrors of trench warfare on the Western Front in 1914–15.

But there was much more to it than that, for it was obvious from the start that Rommel was a cut above the majority of his contemporaries. His transfer to a mountain battalion in October 1915 and his subsequent experiences in Romania and northern Italy gave him the opportunity to perfect techniques of mobile warfare that he would use to such devastating effect in later years. Leading small groups of fast-moving infantry, he surprised the Italians and drove deep into their rear areas. Such tactics demanded he be fit and inherently flexible to grasp the opportunities presented to him. He was undoubtedly helped by the prevailing German system of command known as Auftragstaktik, or ‘mission command’, whereby officers were expected to achieve objectives free from interference from above. During the inter-war years he analysed the battles he had fought and passed his wisdom on to officer cadets. Despite his lack of experience in armoured warfare, his emphasis on flexibility and initiative in mobile operations enabled him to transfer his ideas easily.

He led from the front so that he could grasp ever opportunity, he appreciated the value of all-arms cooperation – the tanks for ‘punch’ and mobility, mechanised infantry for protection, artillery for firepower, anti-aircraft and anti-tank tasks, the engineers for clearing a way across the battlefield – and was aware of the advantages of air power. His aim was to keep moving, to sever the links between the enemy command ‘brain’ and his front-line ‘muscles’.

These were techniques that were to be refined and exploited in North Africa in 1941–42, with the added advantage that the battle area was ideal for manoeuvre operations. Rommel’s wide right-flanking attacks, designed to cut behind British defensive positions and sever the command links, worked on a number of occasions, not least in the Battle of Gazala in May–June 1942.

However, in North Africa he came up against things he could not control: his unreliable supply chain and poorly equipped Italian allies. In addition, he took risks, which proved his undoing against the cautious but calculating Montgomery. And Montgomery got the measure of Rommel again in Normandy in 1944, denying the Germans the type of mobility Rommel was keen to use.

The overall impression of Rommel is of a quick-thinking and swift-moving commander, at his best in situations in which he could exploit his advantage. He was prepared to take risks – indeed, it was an integral part of his command style – and if they worked the rewards were often enormous. However, if they failed, he was forced onto the defensive and became frustrated. The battlefield was his arena, but it was a battlefield that he preferred to control and shape. He was not always able to do so.

A war hero with his family. The ‘Desert Fox’, wife and son photographed during one of their rare times together.

Chapter I

Young Rommel

Born into a strict, typically middle-class southern German family, the young Erwin Rommel showed no early signs of military genius. A pale and sometimes sickly child, he nonetheless enjoyed physical challenges, and had youthful ambitions of becoming an aeronautical engineer. However, his future was to be in another profession…

Erwin Johannes Eugen Rommel was born on Sunday 15th November 1891 at Heidenheim, near Ulm in Württemberg. His father, after whom he was named, was a schoolmaster and a mathematician of some distinction; his mother, Helene, was the eldest daughter of Karl von Luz, President of the Government (Regierungs-Praesident) of Württemberg. Erwin was therefore assured of a comfortable upbringing; as he was later to recall: ‘my early years passed very pleasantly as I was able to romp around our yard and big garden all day long’. He had an elder sister, Helena, and two younger brothers, Karl and Gerhardt; an elder brother, Manfred, died while still an infant.

Officer Cadet Rommel photographed in 1911, an official portrait he gave to his mother at the beginning of his military career.

There was no indication in his early years that he would pursue a military career. As a child, Erwin was so pale and sickly that, according to Helene, he was known in the family as the ‘white bear’. He also displayed little intellectual capacity. In 1898 his father was appointed headmaster of the secondary school (Realgymnasium) at Aalen, but as there was no primary school in the town, Erwin had to be educated by private tuition. Although this proved sufficient to gain him a place in his father’s school in 1900, he had clearly not kept up with his contemporaries. Aware of this, he became even more pale and sickly, falling so far behind in his work that he gained a reputation for being lazy and inattentive.

But he did have potential. According to an anecdote recalled to Desmond Young when he was researching his book Rommel (Collins, London, 1950), he was so careless that it became a standing joke, leading his teacher to declare that ‘if Rommel ever shows up [with] a dictation without a mistake, we will hire a band and go off for a day in the country’. On hearing this, the youngster woke up and produced a perfect piece of work. When the day in the country did not materialise, however, he soon reverted to his former character. Erwin suddenly changed when he was in his teens, showing a flair for mathematics, taking an interest in sport and, with a friend, building a glider in the countryside near his home. Indeed, at this stage he seems to have wanted to be an engineer, with particular reference to the new and exciting field of aeronautics.

He was stopped from doing this by his father, however, who had a reputation for being strict and insistent. Instead, the young Erwin changed his mind and declared that he wanted to join the Württemberg Army. Erwin senior, who had served in the artillery as a young man, accepted this and did all he could to help his son, even though he would probably have preferred him to further his education. In March 1910, young Rommel was ordered to report to his local garrison for a medical; although he was found to be suffering from an inguinal hernia, this was rectified by a small operation and, on 19th July, he was told to report to the 124th Württemberg Infantry Regiment as a lowly Fahnenjunker (officer candidate).

After rudimentary recruit training, he was posted to the Royal Officer Cadet School in Danzig. His career had begun. Just before he joined the school, he was asked to produce a short account of his early life.

Aalen, March 1910 – I was born on 15th November 1891 at Heidenheim on the Brenz as the second son of the schoolmaster Erwin Rommel and his wife Helene, née Luz, both of the Protestant faith…

I was supposed to start primary school in the autumn when I was seven; but as my father was promoted to headmaster at Aalen that year and there is no primary school there, I had to acquire the necessary knowledge by private tuition in order to be able to get into the elementary school at Aalen. Two years later I entered the Latin School, and stayed there five years…

Kaiser Wilhelm II (smoking cigarette) and von Moltke peer suspiciously at the camera during a pre-war military ceremony. Moltke succeeded General von Schlieffen as Chief of the German General Staff, and also largely succeeded in dismantling Schlieffen’s inspired plan for the rapid defeat of France.

In the autumn vacation of 1907 1 had the misfortune to break my right ankle jumping over a stream. But the foot was well set and it has healed satisfactorily, so that despite even the most strenuous activities I have never noticed any after effects. In the autumn of 1908 1 started the fifth grade of the Royal Secondary Modern school at Gmund and a year later the sixth grade, to which I still belong…

I have occupied my spare time with homework and reading, and apart from that with physical exercises like cycling, tennis, skating, rowing, skiing, etcetera. (From David Irving, The Trail of the Fox: The Life of Field Marshal Erwin Rommel, Weidenfeld and Nicolson, London, 1977.)

Cadet Rommel did well. According to a report by the commandant of the cadet school in March 1911, he was ‘quite good’ at rifle and drill work, ‘adequate’ at gymnastics, fencing and riding, and ‘a useful soldier’. He was duly commissioned as a lieutenant in January 1912 and posted back to the 124th Infantry at Weingarten, spending the next two years learning his trade and training recruits. As a young officer, he was unusual in that he was virtually teetotal and a non-smoker, but he showed great interest in even the most mundane of military matters. He was also deeply in love with Lucie Mollin, whom he had met in Danzig where she was studying languages. They were to get married in 1916. Meanwhile, in March 1914, Rommel was attached to the 49th Field Artillery Regiment to gain experience, and he was with that unit in July, when the war clouds began to gather. He described the atmosphere of the time in his book Infanterie Greift an (Infantry Attacks), published in 1937:

Ulm, 31st July 1914

The danger of war hung ominously over the German nation. Everywhere, serious, troubled faces! Unbelievable rumours which spread with the greatest of rapidity filled the air. Since dawn all public bulletin boards had been surrounded. One extra edition of the papers followed the other.

At an early hour the 4th Battery of the 49th Field Artillery Regiment hurried through the old imperial city. Die Wacht am Rhein [‘Watch on the Rhine’] resounded in the narrow streets.

German military manoeuvres towards the end of the nineteenth century. Serried ranks of riflemen waiting to fire and advance were a far cry from the reality of trench warfare and artillery barrage characterising the war when it finally came.

I rode as an infantry lieutenant and platoon commander in the smart Fuchs Battery to which I had been assigned since March. We trotted along in the bright morning sunshine, did our normal exercises, and then returned to our quarters accompanied by an enthusiastic crowd whose numbers ran into thousands.

During the afternoon, while horses were being purchased in the barrack yard, I obtained relief from my assignment. Since the situation appeared most serious, I longed for my own regiment, the Kaiser Wilhelm I, to be back with the men whose last two years of training I had supervised in the 7th Company, 124th Infantry (6th Württemberger).

Along with Private Haenle [Rommel’s orderly], I hurriedly packed my belongings; and late in the evening we reached Weingarten, our garrison town.

On 1st August 1914, there was much activity in the regimental barracks, the big old cloister building in Weingarten. Field equipment was being tried on! I reported back to headquarters and greeted the men of the 7th Company whom I was to accompany into the field. All the young faces radiated joy and anticipation. Is there anything finer than marching against an enemy at the head of such soldiers?

At 1800hrs, regimental inspection, Colonel Haas followed his thorough inspection of the field-grey-clad regiment with a vigorous talk. Just as we fell out, the mobilisation order came. Now the decision had been made. The shout of German youths eager for battle rang through the ancient grey cloister buildings. The 2nd August, a portentous Sabbath! In the evening the proud Württemberger Regiment marched out to resounding band music and entrained for Ravensburg. (Transcript from General Field Marshal Erwin Rommel, Infantry Attacks, Greenhill Books, London, 1990.)

IMPERIAL GERMANY

Rommel grew up in an atmosphere of German nationalism and political confidence. Until 1871 Germany had consisted of a collection of loosely associated states, but in that year Wilhelm I of Prussia was elected Kaiser (Emperor) of a united Germany. This coincided with victory over the French, out of which the Germans gained control of Alsace-Lorraine and planted the seeds of future enmity with their western neighbour. But this did nothing to prevent a surge of German nationalism, based on people associating themselves with an entity greater than their local states. Thus, although the young Rommel would have felt loyalty towards Württemberg – shown by his decision to join the Württemberg Army – he would also have been aware, through his education, of its place in a powerful and influential European country. By 1914 Germany, now under Kaiser Wilhelm II, was dominating the affairs of central Europe and looking beyond the continent for colonies and trade. To its neighbours – France and Britain in the west and Russia in the east – a strong Germany, allied to Austria-Hungary to create a solid bloc of territory from the Baltic to the Balkans, threatened to upset the balance of power. By the same token, German awareness that the country was surrounded by opponents fuelled fears about territorial security. When those fears seemed to become reality with the assassination by Serbian nationalists of Archduke Franz Ferdinand of Austria in Sarajevo on 28 June 1914, followed swiftly by Russian mobilisation in support of the Serbs, war became inevitable. As Rommel bears witness, it was a very popular move throughout Germany.

Chapter II

Mountain Warrior

It was on St Vitus’ Day, 28th June 1914, that the opening shots of World War I rang out in the Balkan capital, Sarajevo. The assassination of Archduke Franz Ferdinand, heir to the Austro-Hungarian throne, and his wife Sophie by a Serbian student activist set the armies of Europe on the march. For the young Erwin Rommel, it was the beginning of an illustrious career.

In August 1914, as Europe stood poised on the brink of war, Erwin Rommel was a junior officer in the 124th Infantry Regiment, having recently completed an attachment to the artillery. By November 1918, when the war ended, he was a captain on the staff with wide experience of active service on many fronts. He was also holder of the highest Prussian award for bravery, the Pour le Merité, gained for operations in the mountains of northern Italy. During those operations he had learnt much about the style of mobile warfare that was to become his hallmark in later years.

Rommel first saw action on 22nd August 1914, when he was ordered to lead his platoon towards the French village of Bleid. He was tired, having been on mounted patrol for 24 hours, and was suffering from a stomach upset.

Rommel (left), and comrade as young officers in the Württemberg 124th Infantry Regiment. Note Rommel's Iron Cross.

August 1914

At dawn, the 2nd Battalion moved out east of Bleid. Thick fog clung to the ground. Visibility barely 50m (164ft). The battalion commander, Major Bayer, sent me ahead to recce the route to Hill 325. 1 had been on the go for 20 hours non-stop, and could hardly keep in the saddle. Added to this, a gnawing hunger. I rode through a countryside of hedgerows and enclosed pastures. I found Hill 325 by map and compass. The battalion soon followed and took up positions on the northeast slope. Shortly after, the advance guard on our south and west flanks came up against enemy positions in the fog. A brief exchange of fire ensued – I saw and spoke briefly to my friend Bayer (9th Company); it was to be for the last time!

Occasional rifle rounds whined back and forth overhead. Lieutenant Schneckenburger, who had ridden some 100m (330ft) towards the enemy, was shot at from close range. Immediately our troops ran forward and succeeded in capturing a fleeing Frenchman in red breeches.

Then we heard German commands coming from behind us to the left: ‘Half-left, March! Dress five paces apart!’ The right flank of the 1st Battalion emerged, in line-advance. I was ordered by my company commander to deploy my platoon with the right flank of the 1st Battalion, and advance towards the southeast boundary of the village of Bleid.

I handed Rappen [Rommel’s horse] over to Haenle, swapped my automatic pistol for his bayonet, and deployed my platoon. In loose formation we moved out of our hillside positions and advanced on Bleid with fixed bayonets. A thick ground fog battled with the ever-rising sun as we advanced through potato and vegetable plots in 50–80m (165–260ft) visibility.

Suddenly a salvo of shots rang out from close by. We dropped to the ground. Further rounds whistled overhead. Vainly I searched for the nearby enemy with my binoculars. They could not be far away, so I charged forward with my platoon. They fled before we could see them, their tracks clearly visible in the surrounding vegetable plots. We followed them towards Bleid. In the heat of the moment we had lost contact with the 1st Battalion.

More shots were fired at the platoon from behind the dense fog. Each time we charged, the enemy rapidly retreated. For 600–800m (2000–2600ft) we then advanced unopposed. A fence with a tall hedge loomed out of the mist in front of us, while the outline of farm buildings and large trees appeared to our left. Here the enemy footprints we had been following swung right, and disappeared uphill. Had we reached Bleid? I positioned the platoon by the hedge, and sent a detachment ahead to make contact with our neighbours on the left and our own company. So far the platoon had suffered no casualties.

To reconnoitre the farmyard before us, I went ahead with the deputy platoon leader, Sergeant Ostertag, and a pair of artillery rangefinders. Neither sight nor sound of the enemy. We reached the east side of the farm. A track led from here to a road. On the other side, we could make out another farm through the fog. Clearly we were at Mussy la Ville on the outskirts of Bleid. We cautiously advanced towards the road. I looked around the corner of the farm building. There – barely 20 paces to the right – some 15–20 Frenchmen were standing in the middle of the road chatting, drinking coffee, and with their rifles slung. They didn’t see me.

FIRST BLOOD

The 124th Infantry Regiment, within which Rommel was a junior officer, left its peacetime garrison at Weingarten late on 2nd August 1914, to be transported by rail to the German–Luxembourg border. Its role was to advance from Diedenhofen (Thionville) towards the Belgian border fortress of Longwy. Skirting the fortress, the regiment would then, in company with other elements of the German Fifth Army, wheel south to outflank French fortifications around Verdun.

This was an important part of the Schlieffen Plan, designed to knock France out of the war in six weeks so that the bulk of German forces could be transferred east to face the more ponderous but numerically much larger Russian Army. The German First Army would advance through Belgium and northern France to outflank Paris to the west and south. Other armies, to the right of the First, would execute shallower advances. The whole campaign would hinge on the Fifth Army which, by definition, had only a short distance to cover. However, in the process it was to prevent the movement of French reserves further south.

The four of us fired. The column again disappeared for a moment, then split into several sections and fled west towards the Gevimont–Bleid road. We chased the fleeing enemy with rapid fire. Strangely, we had not received any return of fire despite standing upright and surely being in fill view of the enemy. Fleeing Frenchmen came running down the road on our left, beyond the bushes where we stood. It was easy to shoot them down at a distance of about 10m (33ft) through a break in the bushes. We divided our fire among the enemy elements. Our four rifles put dozens of Frenchmen out of the fight.

Now the 123rd Grenadiers started up the hill. I signalled my platoon, and with them charged towards the bushes on each side of the Gévimont–Bleid road. Here we found a number of Frenchmen, who had escaped the firefight but who took a long time to come out and surrender their arms. Apparently they had been told that all prisoners would be beheaded by the Germans. From the bushes and cornfields came over 50 men. These included two French officers, an unwounded captain and a lieutenant with a slight arm wound. We found out they were from sections of the 6th and 7th Company, 101st French Infantry Regiment. My men offered the prisoners cigarettes, which made them much calmer.

German infantry men set up a searchlight by a newly-dug trench in the Argonne forest. Away from the plains of Flanders, much of Rommel’s war was to be spent in hilly woodlands and mountain regions.

On the hill to the right, the 123rd Grenadiers had now reached the Gévimont–Bleid road as well. Rifle fire came at us from the direction of the high woods at Le Mat, 1500m (4950ft) north west of Bleid. I quickly ordered my platoon under cover of a defile, with the intention to mount an assault on Le Mat from there. But suddenly, everything went black and I lost consciousness. The exertions of the day and night before, the battle at Bleid, the fight for the hill to the north and, not least, the state of my stomach, had robbed me of all strength.

I must have remained unconscious for some time. As I came to, Sergeant Bentele was attending to me. Occasional French grenades and shrapnel landed nearby. Our infantry were withdrawing quickly from the Le Mat woodland back towards Hill 325. I took command of an advance formation, and occupied the rise on the Gévimont–Bleid road. From these men I learnt that they had sustained heavy casualties in the wood, had lost their commander and then been ordered to retreat. They had been severely mauled by French artillery as well. Buglers sounded the regimental call and ‘Assembly’. Shortly the various sections began to make their way to positions west of Bleid. From where I stood I watched the various companies trudge in. Their ranks were severely depleted. The 124th Regiment had lost a quarter of its officer complement and a seventh of its men dead or wounded during the action. For me it was especially distressing to learn that my friends Bayer and Hotz were among the fallen. Soon the battalions headed off toward Gomery through the southern outskirts of Bleid.

Bleid was an horrendous sight. Dead soldiers and civilians lay among the smoking ruins. In gardens and fields lay numerous cattle and horses, victims of the firefight. The troops were told that the enemy had been pushed back all along the line, and were in retreat. Our joy at victory was tempered by sorrow at the loss of so many comrades. We marched on south. The march was frequently interrupted! Far in the distance enemy columns could be seen. Batteries of the 49th Artillery Regiment trotted ahead and took up positions to the right of our march route. Exhausted, we finally arrived at Ruette around 22.00hrs. The village was already full of our troops. We bivouacked in the open. Straw couldn’t be found, and our troops were too tired to look for any. The damp, cold ground forbade refreshing sleep. During the night the temperature dropped sharply, and we were all wretchedly cold by morning. In the latter part of the night, my troubled stomach began to play up once more, keeping me awake. At last day came. Once again, thick fog clung to the fields.

By September, Rommel’s unit had been moved to the hills around Varennes, close to the Argonne Forest. The advance was continuing, but casualties were beginning to mount.

During this period, the battlefield itself was still relatively fluid, with infantry charges and counter-charges supported by artillery and cavalry. The machine gun had yet to bring about static warfare and force the soldiers on both sides to dig in. It was in one such machine-gun encounter, in woodland on the edge of the Argonne, that Rommel himself narrowly escaped with his life.

September 1914

To get the company moving, Major Salzman and I went into the front line. A wounded soldier gave me his rifle and some ammunition, and I commandeered a couple of squads. Several times we charged the undergrowth on the next hill with a whoop, assuming the enemy to be close by. We missed him every time. Again and again his rapid fire forced us to the ground. Casualties increased minute by minute as we heard the wounded calling for stretcher-bearers. Flat on the ground or behind thick oak trees we waited for the enemy fire to abate, before making the next attempt to reach his position. It was becoming increasingly difficult to coax the men forward under the relentless fire. Thus we gained ground slowly. The sound of battle suggested our neighbours were close by on the same hill.

German officers look on as their men set about shoring up a trench on the