World Battlefronts: The Wehrmacht

On the coast and in concentrations among northwest Europe’s interlaced highways and railroads, the Wehrmacht was as ready for invasion as it ever would be. Germans could take comfort in the thought that never, except in the last crushing moments of ultimate defeat, had they had to apologize for the professional performance of their army. Even in retreat it was soldierly, resourceful, self-possessed.

So far as the outside world could tell the Wehrmacht permitted itself none of the frenetic speculation that occupied German civilians. It and the Luftwaffe, which sometimes avoided the Allied raiders, sometimes whipped into them with fury and accuracy, had sterner work to occupy them.

Disposition of the Forces. According to best accounts available, there were between 65 and 70 divisions of ground troops on the coast—around 750,000 frontline men, backed up presumably by a similar or greater number in the services of supply.

Of these, 40 divisions appeared to be in France, Belgium, Holland and Denmark; twelve in Norway. Fifteen more, including five to seven armored divisions, constitute Rommel’s force, which will use the rear-area transportation system to get into the fight where the going is hottest.

Even Germans must know that, with 195 divisions still on the Russian front, the force in western Europe is slim. Only smart guessing by their generals, plus quick, accurate transfers of force to the main Allied attack areas, can stave off defeat. Five of the Wehrmacht’s best carry this responsibility:

Field Marshal Karl Rudolf Gerd von Rundstedt, frosty, amoral beau ideal of Prussian militarism, is the head man. Rundstedt, no longer slim but still straight-backed at 68, is Supreme Commander of anti-invasion forces in France and the Low Countries.

Field Marshal Erwin Rommel, the flashy plug-ugly who became one of the war’s great soldiers, is Inspector General of Western Defenses. At 52 Rommel still enjoys a home reputation little tarnished by the thrashing he finally took in Africa. His command, the mobile task force, is the ideal instrument for his attributes of daring and ingenuity, if he still has them.

General Friedrich Christiansen, 64, is chief for Holland. A World War I flying ace and no Junker, chunky, weather-beaten Christiansen is also a mariner, went back to sea after the last war and captained the liner Rio Bravo on the Hamburg-Mexico run. Later, returning to the air, he piloted Germany’s Do-X flying boat, ultimately stepped in behind Göring to build up the Luftwaffe.

General Alexander von Falkenhausen, 64, chief for Belgium, is rated a keen, well-tested strategist. Tall, spare, pince-nezed, Junker Falkenhausen has served around the world, was once a $10,000-a-year military adviser to Chiang Kaishek. He likes to read U.S. and British whodunits, play with his prize dachshunds. In action Allied commanders rate him a keen, dangerous opponent.

General Nikolaus von Falkenhorst, 59, chief for Norway, is a plodding but competent professional plucked from obscurity by World War II. Popular with his command (which calls him Der alte Herr—the Old Man), Falkenhorst is renowned for his huge appetite for food and beer, his expert horsemanship. He is a crack supply and organization man, no more to be discounted for his lack of a brilliant fighting record than Rommel was because of his antisocial, unmilitary background.