But at a conference at the Brenner Pass on March 18, 1940, Hitler succeeded without any special effort in dispelling Mussolini’s disgruntlement and in rekindling his partner’s old admiration and lust for loot. “Neither can it be denied that the Duce is fascinated by Hitler,” Ciano wrote, “a fascination which involves something deeply rooted in his makeup.”
From that point on, Mussolini’s determination to take part in the war grew steadily. It would be humiliating, he said, “to remain with our hands folded while others write history. It matters little who wins. To make a people great it is necessary to send them to battle even if you have to kick them in the pants.”8 Against the will of the King, of industry, of the army, even against the will of some of his influential fellow Fascists in the Grand Council, he began working toward Italy’s entry into the war. Early in June, 1940, Marshal Badoglio opposed the order to begin offensive operations. His soldiers, he said, “did not even have a sufficient number of shirts.” Mussolini dismissed the argument: “I assure you that it will all be over with by September. I need several thousand casualties to be able to take my place at the peace table as a belligerent.” On June 10 the Italian army launched its attack but quickly ground to a halt on the outskirts of the border town of Menton. Indignantly, the Italian dictator declared: “It is the material I lack. Even Michelangelo had need of marble to make statues. If he had had only clay, he would have become a potter.”9 Only a week later events overtook his ambitions, when President Lebrun entrusted Marshal Petain with the formation of a new French government. As his first official act, Petain transmitted to the German High Command, through the Spanish government, his request for an armistice.
Hitler received the news in the small Belgian village of Bruly-le-Pêche, near the French border, where he had set up his headquarters. A famous photograph has preserved his reaction: his right foot raised as he danced a joyful jig, laughing, slapping his thigh. And it was here, in the context of an exuberant toast, that Keitel for the first time hailed him as the “greatest generalissimo of all times.”
There is no denying that the successes were unprecedented. In three weeks the Wehrmacht had overrun Poland; in something more than two months it had overwhelmed Norway, Denmark, Holland, Belgium, Luxembourg, and France, driven the British back to their island, and effectively challenged the British fleet. And all this was accomplished with comparatively small casualties. The campaign in the West had cost the German side 27,000 lives, compared with 135,000 dead on the enemy side.
The successes of the campaign cannot be attributed solely to Hitler’s personal merits as a commander; but they were also not entirely the product of luck, shrewd counsel, or the enemy’s failures. The importance of armored formations had been recognized in. France and elsewhere during the thirties, but only Hitler had drawn the necessary conclusion and equipped the Wehrmacht with ten armored divisions—against some resistance. He had recognized France’s weakness and demoralized impotence far more acutely than his generals, who were still caught up in outmoded notions. And no matter how small his personal contribution to Manstein’s plan of campaign may have been, he immediately grasped its importance and changed the whole concept of German operations accordingly. He showed that he had an eye for unconventional possibilities, all the keener because of his lack of background and hence of bias. He had studied military literature long and intensively; his bedside reading throughout almost the whole of the war consisted of naval records and manuals of military science. He used his stupendous memory of matters military for purposes of self-display. The almost lunatic sureness with which he could rattle off tonnages, calibers, ranges, or specifications of various weapons systems frequently staggered and irritated his entourage.
At the same time, he was also able to apply such knowledge imaginatively. He had a keen sense of the potentialities of modern weapons, he knew where to commit them and where they would be most effective. This was coupled with remarkable insight into the psychology of the enemy. All these qualities found expression in the accurately placed surprise strokes, in the correct predictions of tactical countermeasures, and in the lightning grasp of favorable opportunities. The plan for the coup against Fort Eben Emael came from Hitler, as did the idea of equipping dive bombers with sirens whose scream was devastating.10 Similarly, in defiance of the views of many experts, he insisted on providing tanks with long cannon. With some justice he has been called the “most informed and versatile specialist in military technology of his age.”11 Unquestionably, he was not just the “commanding corporal” that some of the haughty apologists for the German generals have depicted.
Ultimately his weaknesses began to cancel out his strengths, when operative boldness became absurd self-inflation, energy became rigidity, and courage the gambler’s love of risks. But that time was still some distance in the future. In the meantime, he had conquered his own generals. In the light of his brilliant success over the feared enemy, France, even the reluctant generals acknowledged his “genius” and admitted that he had analyzed the situation far better than they. He had obviously considered not only the military factor but also matters beyond the limited horizon of their expertise. This was one of the reasons for the sometimes almost incomprehensible trust, the misguided confidence in victory, of the later years. Those early victories encouraged the repeated rebuilding of new houses of cards, the cherishing of ever-new deceptive hopes. For Hitler himself the triumphant conclusion of the campaign in France brought a magnification of his already unbridled arrogance. It provided the maximum corroboration of his sense that he was a man of destiny.
On June 21 the Franco-German armistice negotiations began. Three days before, Hitler had gone to Munich to see Mussolini. During that meeting his major aim was to repress his Italian ally’s craving for laurels. For in return for his extra’s role on the battlefield the Duce was demanding nothing less than Nice, Corsica, Tunisia, and Jibuti, also Syria, bases in Algeria, Italian occupation of France as far as the Rhone, surrender to him of the entire French fleet, and, when the time came, Malta and transfer to Italy of British rights in Egypt and the Sudan. But Hitler, his mind already busy with the next stage of the war, contrived to make it clear to Mussolini that Italy’s ambitions would only delay the victory over England. The terms of the armistice were bound to have a considerable psychological influence on England’s determination to continue the struggle, he said. Hitler also feared that the completely updated French fleet, which had escaped his grasp and now lay at anchor in various parts in North Africa and England, might be prompted by excessively hard terms to go over to the enemy or even to continue the fight from the colonies in the name of France. Finally, it may be that he was stirred by a fleeting emotion of magnanimity. At any rate, he convinced Mussolini that it was crucially important to entice a French government into accepting the armistice. The Italians were acutely disappointed by the result of the negotiations; but Hitler’s manner as well as his arguments did not fail to make their impression. The cynical Ciano noted: “He speaks today with a moderation and clearsightedness that are really surprising after such a victory as he has had. I cannot be said to hold especially tender feelings for him, but at this moment I really admire him.”12