That evening at the pine-shrouded Wolf's Lair on 1 July the atmosphere was tense. It was going to be another sultry, humid night and so much hinged on Citadel.
Three of the leading personalities passed through the various checkpoints separately. None of the trio was likely to want the company of one of his colleagues. Keitel was regarded by Jodl as a stuffed shirt who had been promoted above his level of ability. Martin Bormann was possessed of one universal attribute. He was detested by everyone except the Fuhrer. And Hitler's dog, Blondi.
Keitel considered Jodl a tricky individual, not a man you would ever strike up an intimacy with. Certainly an officer it would be wise to hold at a distance. And so it came about that the three men went their own ways, seeking brief relief from the claustrophobia of the Wolf's Lair before the midnight conference.
In these northern climes it was dark at 11.15 pm, when once again experienced hands opened up the log pile concealing the powerful transmitter in the forest. The signal tapped out with the aid of a pocket torch was unusually long. The operator replaced the logs and returned just in time to attend the Fuhrer's conference.
'Anna, I am exhausted,' Rudolf Roessler exclaimed as he closed the flap inside the cupboard which hid his own transceiver. 'I feel something very important is imminent.'
'And how do you know that?' Anna enquired as she handed her husband a cup of coffee which he drank greedily.
'I have received, in normal code, the longest signal yet from Woodpecker. I have, immediately re-transmitted it to Moscow. I suspect it gives the order of battle for a very major operation…'
'Well, you have done all you can,' Anna said briskly, 'so we shall just have to see.'
Roessler swivelled round in his chair and stared at her, his face lined with fatigue. 'From what has happened so far we know Stalin is not making full use of the information I send. Will he ever come to trust me?'
'Kursk! It could be a huge trap to destroy us…'
Inside the small office in the Kremlin it was the early hours and the atmosphere was strained as Stalin spoke. Two other men stood alongside each other, listening. The aggressive General Zhukov and the quieter, more intellectual Marshal Vassilevsky, Chief of Staff.
Stalin was holding the long signal just received from Lucy which had originated from Woodpecker. Never before had Stalin received from this source such a detailed order of battle for the German Army. It was quite terrifying, the vast amount of war material the Wehrmacht had assembled. If it were true. The Generalissimo read the signal again slowly, repeating aloud a few of the details
'Tiger and Panther tanks… Ferdinand mobile guns… General Model to attack from the north. General Hoth from the south… The pick of the German generals… a huge mass of their elite divisions. This is a colossal force. If it is true we could make our own dispositions and destroy them.'
'Could I ask,' Vassilevsky began casually, 'what is the record of this Woodpecker-Lucy espionage ring so far?'
'The information has always proved correct.'
'So it could be correct again. At some moment we have to take our courage in both hands, and gamble everything on the belief that Lucy is right…'
'Zhukov?'
Stalin, who was also standing in the gloom of his office lit only by the shaded desk lamp, glanced sideways at the General. Vassilevsky sighed inwardly. Stalin was up to his old tricks – enticing others to express opinions which could be employed against them if there was a disaster.
The trouble was Stalin had never lost his crafty Georgian origins. Treacherous and devious by nature, he saw trickery everywhere – and Lucy could be Hitler's pawn, luring the Red Army into a gigantic trap from which it would never extricate itself.
Zhukov did not hesitate. The only general capable of contradicting Stalin to his face, he spoke out vehemently.
'Woodpecker tells us D-Day is 5 July – three days from now. He further tells us H-Hour for the attack is 1500 hours, a most unusual time for the launching of a German offensive, so it has the ring of truth. I wish to return immediately to GHQ to make our dispositions on the basis that Woodpecker is telling the truth.'
'You would take full responsibility for such a decision?'
'Yes, Generalissimo!'
'We must consider the problem further, gentlemen. Prepare yourselves for a long night,' Stalin replied.
At 2.30 pm on 5 July Colonel Jaeger's old leg wound began to play him up. Perched in the turret of his enormous Panther tank, he was commanding a section of an armoured division of General Model's 4th Army which was to drive a hammer-blow south at the base of the Russian 'thumb' to link up with General Hoth's 9th army advancing from the south. Between them the two armies would amputate the thumb – encircling one million enemy troops.
It was a hot sultry afternoon as Jaeger checked his watch and surveyed the endless rows of tanks drawn up for battle. His leg wound always troubled him just before the start of a great offensive. Looking across to the next Panther he saw Schmidt wiping sweat off his forehead.
'In half an hour it will be really hot!' he shouted jovially. 'Save your sweat for then!'
There was the sound of laughter from the turrets of tanks nearby. Jaeger was a commander who had the gift of breaking almost unbearable tension with a joke.
'Colonel!' Schmidt shouted back. 'Your sweat pores differ from ours. When the time comes you will sweat beer!'
There was another burst of laughter. Jaeger, anything but a stiff-necked, Prussian-type officer, was always ready to bandy words with his men regardless of rank. At precisely 1500 hours he gave his driver the order through his throat-mike.
'Forward! And don't stop till you see the whites of General Hoth's eyes!'
The immense leviathans began to rumble southward on their massive tracks. There was the thump of heavy artillery opening up a non-stop barrage. The endless, mind-wearying steppes of Russia spread before them as Jaeger's Panther pushed ahead of the vast tracked armada. Ignoring the shell-bursts which began to crater the sun-bleached earth, Jaeger directed his Panther straight ahead. South – ever south – until the link-up with Hoth and the pincers closed behind the Red Army cooped up inside its huge salient.
Altogether, on that humid July day, Field Marshal von Kluge had over half a million German troops under his command. They included seventeen Panzer divisions equipped with the monster new Tiger and Panther tanks, countless mobile guns – all backed up by motorized infantry. It was the largest force ever thrown against a single objective. Citadel.
H-Hour, the starting time – three in the afternoon – should certainly have taken by surprise the enemy who was accustomed to dawn attacks. It was anticipated that before Zhukov grasped what was happening he would find himself surrounded.
And in addition, the 2nd Army – comprising six Panzer and two infantry divisions – was attacking the tip of the 'thumb', as a diversion to draw Soviet troops away from the main battle area.
Earlier than he had expected, Colonel Jaeger found himself staring at two Soviet T-34 tanks advancing towards him about one hundred metres apart from each other. An average commander's reaction would have been to slow down, to wait for reinforcements to catch up with him. Jaeger was not an average commander.
'Increase speed!' he ordered.
As he had foreseen, he could see the huge gun like a telegraph pole on each tank traversing to aim at him. Their traverse was too slow because the last reaction they had expected was for the Panther to continue on course at higher speed: on a course which would naturally take the German tank between the two Soviet T-34s with fifty metres to spare on either side.
The Russian guns began to move more rapidly to bring their muzzles to bear on Jaeger at point-blank range. The Colonel timed it carefully. Just before the traverses were completed he spoke again into the mike.