Chapter 12
Atlantikwall
Fixed fortifications are a monument
to the stupidity of man.
- General George S. Patton
The Normandy Coast, 1941
The waiter looked up from wiping the small table as the German officer stepped into the restaurant.
“Bonjour, Oberleutnant Reiner. DŽjeuner d’aujourd’hui?” The captain looked disdainfully in his direction, and sat down. Each day that the captain was in the small French commune of Bruneval on the channel coast he took lunch at Domaine St-Clair. Each day the waiter would ask the same question, “Lunch today?” The young officer was annoyed.
Oberleutnant Reiner, a company adjutant with the equivalent rank of lieutenant, wore the insignia of the coastal defense communications company. On a junior officer’s pay he could not afford the luxury of eating in a local restaurant every day, but he let it be known he would “favor” an establishment that accommodated a German army officer. So the owner of Domaine St. Clair kept a running tab for the German officer who promised to pay at some future date or otherwise reward the owner in some manner.
The tab conveniently formed a record of when Oberleutnant Reiner’s commander was in the area. Whenever the regional commander Hauptmann (Captain) Fleischer was at the reserve headquarters, located about an hours deployment northeast of Bruneval, Reiner would be called to headquarters. He would take his lunch at the headquarters mess. A lunch at Domaine St-Clair meant his commanding officer was away on routine business and Reiner was back on duty at a nearby villa. This was useful information to the local resistance.
Bruneval was a small village that sat on a bluff overlooking the English Channel, just north of the port of Le Havre. A routine British reconnaissance flight had photographed an oddly shaped but distinct German installation near a villa that sat prominently isolated on the broad Norman plain. Air Intelligence suspected it was a new form of German radar.
On December 5, 1941, a lone Spitfire piloted by Flight Lieutenant Tony Hill flew towards the French coast some 100 km north of Bruneval, along a line where previous reconnaissance and pathfinder aircraft had been mapping German coastal defenses. German ME 109 fighters would routinely rise to intercept these flights from a base just north of the point of coastal interception. Anticipating just such a reaction, the pilot entered German-controlled airspace at 35,000 feet, nearly its service ceiling, and abruptly banked his fighter to the right. He powered at a shallow angle down and away to gain maximum speed to elude any pursuing fighters, flying along the coast. The maneuver caught the German coastal defense by surprise, delaying a reaction just long enough to permit Hill to photograph the obvious shape of a large radar array at Bruneval.
It was a WŸrzburg radar, the cornerstone of the German early defense system. It had a shorter wavelength than earlier German radar systems. Intelligence decryption had revealed to the British that the new radar was less effective at long distances, but more precise for short range detection and control, especially of gun positioning. Analysis by intelligence back in Britain confirmed it was a new radar system, called the FuMG 65 WŸrzburg-Riese.
It was placed strategically at the northern approach to the Normandy coast, one of the primary coastlines being considered by the Allies for the inevitable invasion of Europe. Its location on the coast, while making it convenient for directing fire against an invasion fleet, also placed it within reach of British forces. Most of the other main German radar systems were landlocked, deep inside German territory.
The discovery set in motion a bold plan. It would have been relatively easy to mount a bombing raid on the installation, but British intelligence wanted to examine the new radar. It was essential that it be recovered, relatively intact, to assess its capabilities to detect ships, planes, and direct coastal gunfire. German defenses in and around Bruneval had to be ascertained. It fell to the French resistance to provide the details.
R
The meeting was held in a small office deep within the Air Intelligence headquarters at Adastral House in the Kingsway area of London. Three officers stood around a large scale model of the Bruneval plain with distinct German positions clearly identified.
“Gentlemen, it is clear that a frontal assault would be ill-advised,” the senior officer said, pointing to the landing beach directly in front of the radar location. Major John Frost, who led C Company of the 2nd Battalion of the 1st Parachute Brigade, had meticulously reviewed the intelligence gathered by members of a local resistance cell and provided by an operative known to the British as “Colonel Remy.”
“The installation is composed of two areas. The villa is approximately 90 meters from the edge of the cliff, and the WŸrzburg apparatus is here between the villa and the cliff,” Frost said pointing to a location approximately midway between the cliff and the villa. “These smaller buildings house a small garrison of coastal infantry - about 100 soldiers. Guard posts ... here, and here, and ... here,” as he pointed out the positions on the model, “are manned by approximately thirty guards, making a total force of about 130. The installation is operated by a detachment of signalers.
“North of the village is a platoon of infantry guarding the beach approaches. A fortified strong point ... here ... is supported by pillboxes and machine-gun nests on the top of the cliff overlooking the beach. The beach is not mined and as you can see has only sporadic barbed-wire. However, it is patrolled regularly, and a mobile reserve of infantry is believed to be available at one hour’s notice, stationed some distance inland.
“Our contacts in the area have been monitoring the mobile reserves for some time. The unit is responsible for a number of support areas along the coast. The command unit routinely reviews the general preparedness of all these units. Communication while in transit between response areas can be easily disrupted. We will plan our attack when the commandant of the mobile reserves will be off on one of his routine inspections.”
“How will we know he will be out of position?” asked one of the contingency planners.
Major Frost looked up and acknowledged the planning officer, a man known for his meticulous attention to detail that others might overlook.
“The local resistance has the routines of the German officers clearly defined. The regional commander’s movements are predictable based on the locations and movements of his subordinates.”
Frost continued his briefing as the planner made a series of notes.
“The mission, gentlemen, is to drop a team of paratroopers here,” pointing to an area marked with a large red circle, “and photograph the radar in detail. We will have a technical specialist on the drop team, and he will oversee the dismantling of the radar. They will bring back whatever components they can move to the beach for analysis. A small naval task force will rendezvous here,” he finished, “and remove the drop team.”
“And what of these coastal defense gun positions?”
“No. 12 Commando will provide covering fire against German coastal positions. As long as we can execute the attack and removal before the mobile reserves can act, losses should be at a minimum. The operation is set for a window between February 25 and 28, and will be referenced by the code name BITING.”
R
In Le Havre a shop owner had just closed up for the evening. After locking the doors, and securing the back supply entrance, he slipped into a small room behind a movable wall. Inside the room, lined with old mattress stuffing to muffle any sound, was a small radio. He tuned every night to the BBC, listening for a message that would be coded in the regular broadcast. He waited every night for an hour, one-half hour after closing. He had repeated this every night for several weeks. Tonight he would be rewarded for his efforts.
It was a routine report, news about a football player, that caught his attention.
In football news, Chelsea reported today that midfielder Angus Herbert would not play in this week’s match at Stamford Bridge due to a sore knee. He would be out of action at least through the end of February.
A SORE KNEE. That was the code word. The raid at Bruneval was on, set for the end of February. He shut off the radio, secured the door, and quietly, routinely, left the shop for the short walk home. He stopped for a glass of white wine at the corner bistro. He usually ordered the local merlot.
“How is your sister, Jean?”
“She is well. She writes that she will be visiting us at the end of February for a week. It will be good to see her again. It has been too long.”
With that, he read the newspaper and relaxed after the days work. A routine evening, or so it appeared. He would never know what plans would be set in motion by the glass of white wine, and all the better.
R
On the afternoon of February 27, 1942, Oberleutnant Reiner had lunch at Domaine St-Clair. As midnight approached, the resistance group Le ConfrŽrie Notre-Dame (CND) was ready. Paratroopers executed a low-level drop at a series of locations and quickly formed to advance on the villa. On a whistle they attacked, catching the Germans by surprise. At the same time, some distance away, communication lines leading from the villa to the headquarters of the mobile reserve had been cut by members of CND. Two small bridges between the reserve units and Bruneval were also destroyed.
German troops reformed and began to lay heavy fire on the commandos, now quickly disassembling the radar unit. Vehicles carrying a mortar unit arrived and began to assemble for a counterattack. Other paratroop units engaged the German pillbox and secured the beach after a brief encounter with a patrol. The commandos set up a defensive position, awaiting the navy to pull them off the beach, as the German infantry units began their counterattack. The navy, however, was nowhere to be seen.
By now radio communication had been established with the mobile reserve commander Hauptmann Fleischer who was further north along the coast. It took him almost an hour to establish contact with his reserve unit company commanders and order them to counterattack. By the time they detoured around the two destroyed bridges, it was too late. The presence of a German destroyer and two E-boats that coincidentally crossed their path had delayed but failed to spot the small support force. Despite the delay, three LCAs (Landing Craft) supported by three gunboats arrived offshore in time to evacuate the men and the components of the WŸrzburg radar unit. By the time the mobile reserves arrived, the fighting was over.
The raid was an unqualified success. The British lost two men killed, six wounded, and six missing, however these men would survive the war. They also brought back two prisoners, including one of the radar operators. The Germans suffered five killed and three missing. The loss of the radar installation was a serious blow to the German command in the area.
Oberleutnant Reiner would never pay his tab. He was shot by his own headquarters firing squad two days after the raid. Colonel Remy had passed information on to the Germans through a trusted village official, himself a member of CND, that he had overheard several locals discussing the radar installation at a corner restaurant. The Gestapo rounded up several of these suspected resistance and they disappeared without a trace. They were known collaborators - a ‘fait accompli.’
R
Colonel Remy met with two of his most trusted operatives in the root cellar of a small abandoned cottage on the outskirts of Cordemais, a village on the Loire near Nantes. The cottage was strategically isolated, near where the Loire enters into the Bay of Biscay. The lands around the small stone cottage were worked to benefit the priests of the Temple de Bretagne, so it was normal for an irregular assortment of people to be seen occasionally in the area. The Gestapo kept a keen eye for irregularity as an indicator of suspicious activity. However, irregularity at the farm was a normal occurrence that could be easily overlooked.
“This is the next target,” he explained as he rolled out a small map. “Saint-Nazaire.”
“Mon Dieu,” exclaimed the taller of the two, codenamed “Gapeau.” “It is one thing to attack a relatively undefended coast like Bruneval, but a major port?”
“There will not be a major assault, at least not like one would expect. I have been briefed on a small part of the plan, but the details will not be sent to anyone on French soil. Surprise and deception are necessary.”
The resistance was a loose confederation of French nationalists, some of whom could operate with military precision, most whom could not be counted on to follow directions, and others who were simply not to be trusted. The Gestapo was ruthless in rooting out resistance members and sympathizers, and would attempt to infiltrate the cells wherever possible. Plans were seldom shared with more than a critical few. Colonel Remy was one of those few.
“The target is the dry dock. It is the only facility on the coast of France where large ships such as the Tirpitz can be docked for repairs. It cannot be seized, but it can be damaged and put out of action. That is all you need to know.”
These were the words communicated to Remy by British intelligence operatives who comprised the Jedburgh team - code named “Harry” - who would organize the maquis for the mission against Saint-Nazaire. The Jedburgh was the British code name for a three-man intelligence team used to coordinate activities of the French resistance, or Maquis. “Harry” had been flown to coastal France by glider, then disappeared into the French countryside, only to reappear for strategic meetings with Remy when necessary. Harry would eventually make its way back to England if successful. Nothing was on paper, and nothing but the capture of Remy and his torture could reveal the objective. That is how it would remain. Harry would wait in France long enough to ensure that the operation remained undetected. Remy knew all too well that if he were captured, Harry would stop at nothing to ensure he were not interrogated. Remy knew that meant killing him.
Remy continued with the briefing.
“Our role is twofold. First, we will gather intelligence on the disposition of German forces defending Saint-Nazaire. Specifically, the routines of the reserve garrison located here,” as he pointed to a spot marked in blue on the map. “Just before the raid, we will sever the communication lines and try to delay communication between the port garrison and reserve forces dispersed in the villages spread between St. Nazaire and Lorient.”
“We could help in the attack, Colonel,” the smaller of the men remarked. He was always itching for a fight with the Germans, and a bit of a “loose cannon” as British intelligence officers would characterize him. “If we move in along this road, we can blow up this bridge and attack the guard posts here at the entrance of the dry dock. That would give us a commanding attack point to disrupt a German counterattack.”
Remy did not like improvising, but he all too keenly understood the man’s hatred of the Germans, and his penchant for action. His son had become a victim of “Nacht und Nebel” - and simply disappeared into the “night and fog” of occupied Europe. By war’s end as many as 7,000 French citizens ended up as such in concentration camps, like Natzweiler-Struthof.
Remy reluctantly agreed to consider a diversionary attack against the guard houses as a part of the operation, but would not divulge this information to Harry. The relationship between Britain’s Special Operations Executive (SOE) and the French resistance was at best strained, at times downright distrustful.
R
Combined Operations Executive Headquarters (COE) reviewed the report based on intelligence gathered from numerous sources, including MI6, air and naval intelligence, and Harry, prior to the operation.
Germans troops in the immediate vicinity - 5,000
The port is defended by the 280th Naval Artillery Battalion under the command of KapitŠn zur See Edo Dieckmann. The battalion is composed of 28 guns of various calibres from 75 mm to 280 mm railway guns. These are positioned to guard the coastal approaches.
These heavy guns are supplemented by the guns and searchlights of the 22nd Naval Flak Brigade under the command of KapitŠn zur See Karl-Konrad Mecke.
The brigade is equipped with 43 anti-aircraft guns ranging in calibre from 20 to 40 mm, performing both anti-aircraft and coastal defense duty.
Concrete emplacements on top of the submarine pens and other dockside installations provide defensive cover for these guns.
Local defense and the security of the ships and submarines moored in the harbour are under the command of Harbour Commander KorvettenkapitŠn Kellerman. The 333rd Infantry Division is responsible for the defense of the coast between St Nazaire and Lorient. Troops are based in the town itself as well as dispersed in villages nearby. Estimated deployment times are between 30 and 60 minutes.
The German Navy has at least 3 surface ships in the Loire estuary: a destroyer, an armed trawler, and a minesweeper, the latter being the guard ship for the port. We can expect a high probability of additional vessels in port.
The 6th and 7th U-boat flotillas are permanently based in harbor. They are commanded by KapitŠnleutnant Georg-Wilhelm Schulz and KorvettenkapitŠn Herbert Sohler respectively.
After reviewing the operation plans, COE approved the raid. It was codenamed “Operation Chariot.”
Vice Admiral Louis Mountbatten, chief of Combined Operations, addressed the raid’s co-commander, Lieutenant Colonel A.C. Newman.
“I’m confident that you can get in and do the job, but we cannot hold out much hope of you getting out again. Even if you are all lost, the results of the operation will have been worth it. For that reason I want to tell you to tell all the men who have family responsibilities, or who think they should stand down for any reason, that they are free to do so, and nobody will think any worse of them.”
Newman passed on Mountbatten’s offer to his commandos, but not a single man backed away.
R
March 27, 1942
The port of Saint-Nazaire was buzzing with activity. Vice Admiral Karl Dšnitz, commander of the German U-boat offensive, had arrived to conduct a surprise inspection of the base that controlled the entrance to the Bay of Biscay and the southern approaches to the English Channel. He walked the quay of the massive Normandie dock with KorvettenkapitŠn Herbert Sohler, in command of the 7th U-boat flotilla.
“We have made extensive preparations in the event of an attack. Our air defenses are the finest on the coast. We have sufficient heavy guns and infantry reserves to repel any significant force.” Sohler walked stiffly upright, seeking to convey an air of supreme confidence and superiority. Dšnitz was not so certain.
“The British are like fleas on a hound,” he chided Sohler. “They have been pricking us at strategic points all along the coast. The rumors you have heard of our successful defense at Bruneval are just so much nonsense, Sohler. I cannot protect my U-boats from the British commandos with empty boasts and hyperbole.”
Sohler considered a commando attack an absurdity.
“Herr Vizeadmiral, with all due respect, an attack on the base would be hazardous and highly improbable. We will be prepared for any commando attack.”
“I hope you are right, Sohler.”
R
March 28, 1942; 01:20 hours
The British convey approached the Biscay coast, 21 vessels strong, carrying 246 commandos among a force of 611 soldiers and sailors. The commandos disembarked and stole across the sandy shallows until challenged by German call signs. The attack force had pretended to be a German convoy returning to port using call signs provided by decrypted German Ultra intercepts, and was able to approach close to the port before the ruse was discovered.
German shore batteries opened up, raining murderous fire on the flotilla. The HMS Campbeltown, an obsolete destroyer modified to float high in the water to navigate the shallows, was packed with high explosives in its bow. Despite blistering fire and mounting casualties, the suicide ship ran full at 19 knots and rammed headlong through the protective submarine net into the massive gates of the Normandie dock, driving her explosive-filled bow 30 feet into the dry dock.
Commandos scrambled off the destroyer and attacked pump houses and dock equipment to complete the attack. The retrieval boats had mostly been destroyed by German fire, so the commandos had to fight their way inland, seeking safety. Few survived. A small group fought their way past the guardhouse near the main entrance of the port, and were immediately swept up by a small force of French resistance fighters that had staged an attack on the guard house. Only 242 of the attacking force of 611 returned to Britain after the raid.
The Germans believed they had successfully repulsed the attack. While the lock gates were heavily damaged, repairs began immediately. Cleanup was underway just before noon when a party of 40 senior German officers boarded the ship to inspect the damage. Delayed action fuses suddenly ignited the explosives packed into the old destroyer’s bow. The massive explosion killed them all, along with almost 300 others in the vicinity. The explosion destroyed the dock gates and swept the Campbeltown into the dock, sinking two tankers that were there under repair.
Saint-Nazaire was out of action, and would not resume normal operations under well after the war. Deprived of a defensible repair and supply facility, the battleship Tirpitz, the sister ship of the famed Bismarck, spent the rest of the war hiding in Norwegian fiords. It was finally capsized by a massive 22,000 lb. ‘tallboy’ bomb delivered by an RAF Lancaster of the 617 ‘dam Buster’ squadron, having failed to be the destroyer of British commerce that the Kreigsmarine had dreamed.
R
Commando raids continued along the French coast. The following August combined forces of Britain and Canada attacked the northern coastal port of Dieppe, across the English Channel, in what would be an exploratory attack to help prepare the Allies for the eventual cross-channel invasion. Intelligence reports had indicated Dieppe was not heavily defended. That intelligence would prove to be false.
The raid was a disaster. No major objectives of the raid were accomplished. A total of 3,623 of the 6,086 men who made it ashore were either killed, wounded, or captured. The Royal Air Force failed to lure the Luftwaffe into open battle, and lost 96 aircraft, compared to 48 lost by the Luftwaffe. The Royal Navy lost 33 landing craft and one destroyer.
Combined Operations Executive (COE) learned a terrible lesson. COE would escalate intelligence operations throughout France to learn the full extent of German preparations. A failure of information for a larger invasion could mean disaster for Allied forces of an unprecedented scope.
German propaganda described the Dieppe raid as a military joke, noting that the amount of time needed to design such an attack, combined with the incredible losses suffered by the Allies, pointed only to incompetence. Hitler, however, had been provoked into making one of the fatal decisions of the war. The attacks along the coast persuaded him to commit scarce resources to build massive defensive fortifications and fortresses stretching from the border with Spain, along the French coast to Denmark, and extending north along the shores of Norway.
Adolf Hitler issued FŸhrer Directive 40. Unbeknownst to the Allies, Hitler had almost clairvoyantly predicted the operational directives of the invasion of Fortress Europe when he wrote:
In the days to come the coasts of Europe will be seriously exposed to the danger of enemy landings. The enemy’s choice of time and place for landing operations will not be based solely on strategic considerations. Reverses in other theaters of operations, obligations toward his allies, and political motives may prompt the enemy to arrive at decisions that would be unlikely to result from purely military deliberations.
The German paramilitary engineering group, Organization Todt, began construction of what would become known as the Atlantic Wall. The mighty Wehrmacht that employed blitzkrieg to annihilate the armies of Europe turned to largely static defenses to protect Fortress Europe, draining critical resources from the defense of the Eastern Front. Even before the opening of a second front, Germany was paying a terrible price for a two-front war.
Colonel Remy and the CND grew in importance, size, and audacity. Compiling information on the defense of France became an all-consuming mission. At FŸhrer headquarters, the raids on St. Nazaire, Bruneval, and Dieppe only served to invigorate Hitler in his struggle for military dominance over his generals.
R
RenŽ Duchez was well known to the Gestapo in Caen. The unimpressive-looking Duchez was a housepainter who excelled at taunting the secret police, only to fall into feigned seizures when confronted. The Gestapo thought he was an imbecile, although of no threat to the Reich.
What they did not realize was that Duchez had been a courier for the organization Century, and his more public antics aimed at the Gestapo worried his resistance comrades.
The town hall in Caen had a bulletin board with a notice pinned on it seeking vendors to provide remodeling services for Organization Todt, in charge of building fortifications along the Atlantic coast for the defense of France. The bulletin was read by the imbecile painter, Duchez. He decided it would be an opportunity to look around the headquarters just to see what he could see - a little fun that the Germans would pay for, literally.
“I would like to speak to Faultier Schnedderer,” he announced as he entered Todt headquarters, his pattern book in hand.
“On what business?” the young clerk who manned the office demanded. He wore the silver encrusted uniform of a Todt employee, but looked more Wehrmacht than Todt.
“Your bulletin - asking for wallpaper renovation. I am a master painter. I have come to discuss the project with the Faultier.”
Duchez was shown into the site manager’s office where he met with Herr Schnedderer, who expounded at length about the kinds of wallpaper that were befitting of such an important man. He fancied silver cannons on a navy blue background, he said, but there were no such patterns in the book.
The two men poured over the patterns looking for a suitable alternative.
“Come back tomorrow morning,” Schnedderer announced. “I will have made my decision.”
The following morning, Duchez returned, and met Schnedderer in his office once again. His desk was covered with papers and maps that he could not make out from a distance.
“This one,” he announced, opening the pattern book. “What is your price?”
“12,000 francs, Herr Schnedderer,” Duchez replied, an offer deliberately lowered to ensure he received the award.
“Good! When can you begin?”
“At your convenience, Herr Schnedderer,” he replied.
“Wait here. I will make the arrangements,” and Schnedderer left the room. Left alone, Duchez quickly examined the maps on the desk, and to his astonishment, he saw words such as “Blockhaus” and “Sofortprogramms” - highest priority construction. The map was a blueprint of the fortifications along the Normandy coast.
Duchez carefully folded the map, and quickly hid it behind a 2-foot-square mirror in Schnedderer’s office. As soon as he stepped away from the mirror, Schnedderer strode back in.
“You will start Monday,” he announced, and dismissed Duchez from the office.
Herr Schnedderer was away on business Monday morning when Duchez arrived with paper, pails, and brushes to begin the work. However, the clerk at the front desk said he knew nothing about the job, and refused him entry.
“Impossible!” he shouted. “Herr Schnedderer insisted I begin work today. I demand you contact him immediately,” he shouted, getting louder with every moment. He had to at the very least gain entry to the office to retrieve the map.
“Do not presume to order me,” the clerk replied haughtily.
“I demand to be allowed to do my work!” he was almost screaming.
“What is this?” Another uniformed Faultier entered the foyer to see what was the commotion.
“Faultier Keller,” the clerk responded. “This man says he is to begin work in Faultier Schnedderer’s office, but I have no order to allow him entry.”
“Herr Keller,” Duchez began, lowering his voice. “Herr Schnedderer was insistent. I wish to be in his good graces, to get more work, you see? If you permit me to work today, I will paper your office for free.”
“Very well, I like that idea!” Keller agreed. “He has permission, and will do my office first!” he snapped at the clerk, and returned to clear his office of papers. “I will prepare my office for you.”
By day’s end both offices were completed, and the map had been carefully removed from behind the mirror and rolled up inside one of the unused rolls of wallpaper.
Duchez met Girard at the popular CafŽ des Touristes in Caen on May 13, 1942. The room was filled with German soldiers and several suspected Gestapo agents. A casual Duchez handed Girard a large envelope.
“So, what is this, Duchez? Another of your taunts or intrigues?” he asked, skeptically.
“Oh, n