“This is SS-Haupsturmführer von Schroif. He’s the one I’ve been telling you about… the hero of Rostov.” Turning to von Schroif, Hitler continued speaking. “A Berchtesgadener, if my memory serves me right? My neighbour across the valley from the Berghof… Maximilianstrasse, isn’t it?”
Completely taken aback by the ability of Hitler to recall tiny details, von Schroif found himself at a loss for words.
“That is correct, mein Führer… May I offer you my fondest Birthday greetings.”
Hitler’s piercing blue eyes were now fixed earnestly upon him.
“Thank you, Hauptsturmführer, but the significance of today means nothing to me. There are far more important matters to deal with. I dedicate this day to you and this fine crew. The news of your exploits outside Rostov was the finest birthday greeting anyone could offer me. I am honoured to find myself in the company of true German heroes. Siegfried himself could not have achieved what you achieved that day◦– that was a mighty red dragon which you slew! The Empire needs men like you, the true shield of the German people. You represent authentic German virtues, valour and courage. You have the honour of Parsifal and the goodness of Lohengrin. With men like you, Germany has no equal in the world.”
As Hitler spoke, the crew each felt themselves grow in importance. The man was mesmeric. His honeyed words seemed to produce in the listener the conviction that, despite all her enemies, Germany would prevail. The familiar conviction of belief in the final victory flooded back. How could they ever have doubted it, even for a moment?
Barely pausing for breath, the Führer continued.
“There are three types of people who inspire me to keep up my work: German farmers, German workers and German warriors, and you are the finest of the three. On behalf of the grateful German nation, it is my privilege today to bestow upon you a token of our grateful and humble thanks for your sacrifices and your courage.”
Hitler was like a hypnotist and healer combined. As he spoke, the cares of the world were lifted from the shoulders of the listener, to be replaced by the unshakeable belief that everything would get better. Every member of the crew felt the same devotion. They would do anything for this great man and this great people.
As promised by Arnholdt, Hitler stepped forward and presented the Knights Cross to von Schroif. Then, to his delight, he presented Knispel with the Iron Cross First Class. Wendorff and Junge each received the same coveted decoration.
Finally, he came to Wohl and presented him with the Iron Cross Second Class. Wohl seemed to grow in stature. His chest swelled as, with tears in his eyes, he finally achieved some recognition from the world which had been so unkind to him. In that moment, Wohl at last felt as if he belonged somewhere. His days as a Munich street urchin melted away into history.
The day had been memorable, but the most important purpose now resurfaced as von Schroif grappled with the significance of the moment. Here in the balance lay the fate of the machine which could be the key to victory in the East and the fate of not just Germany, but also of the German people and the Führer himself.
The retreat from Rostov to the Mius had been a setback, and it was now in the interest of the whole country that the Wehrmacht regain the initiative. In modern warfare, this was a matter of material just as much as it was manpower. So von Schroif rationalised this new attitude inwardly by deciding that yes, he would take great pride and enjoyment from his meeting the Führer, but only after the trial had been won!
“It’s true”, thought Von Schroif to himself, “the man has an almost encyclopaedic memory.”
“On behalf of my crew, I thank you, mein Führer,” replied von Schroif, temporarily blown from the course he had intended to take.
“I’m sure you will drive well today,” said Hitler, “but I have a feeling that perhaps this time an inferior design might let you down.”
Von Schroif could feel the moment slipping, but he plucked up the courage to reply.
“Mein Führer, in my personal opinion, the Panzer VI we are privileged to drive today has admirable qualities and, if the tests were designed on parameters other than speed over a rally course, which, as commander in chief, you know is but a small part of the operational requirements of a panzer in the field, then I am convinced that the result will be different. I respectfully request that the trial be conducted not just on the basis of manoeuvrability, but also upon the ability of each machine to overrun its opponents. My experience at the front tells me how important this factor is; we almost lost our battle with the enemy outside Rostov as a result of our inability to overrun a small tractor and an anti-tank gun.”
“I am sorry,” interjected a staff officer. “Allow me to introduce myself. I am Oberstleutnant i.G. Borgmann. In case you have forgotten, today is the Führer’s birthday. We just don’t have the time to conduct another trial.”
But the Führer, with a gentle wave of his hand, brushed this consideration aside. “I think, gentlemen, that the welfare of our men on the Eastern Front is of more import than whether my birthday cake remains undisturbed for another hour or two!”
The assembled group burst into sycophantic laughter, all except Oberstleutnant i.G. Borgmann. Von Schroif made a mental note to find out more about this gentleman.
“Regrettably, Hauptsturmführer, time is against us,” said Borgmann, “and there are also the immutable laws of economics. It has been my painful duty to inform the Führer that the designs of Dr Porsche, and also Henschel and Sohn, suffer from engine failures, and I’m sure you don’t need that outside Rostov.”
“We need a better overrun capability,” said von Schroif, stubbornly sticking to his point.
“I have no doubts about that, Hauptsturmführer, but we would require dynamic and conclusive proof that this expensive and untrustworthy vehicle has that ability. If it doesn’t run, it can’t overrun,” said Borgmann smugly.
There was more laughter, but von Schroif noted that Hitler did not join in. There was the faintest glimmer in his eyes, which von Schroif interpreted as a communication from soldier to soldier.
“But the overrun is an important part of the armoury,” ventured von Schroif.
Borgmann was quick to counter von Schroif’s argument. “No buts… we have very limited time, and the parameters have been set and cannot be changed.”
Not surprisingly, with Knispel on the team, the gunnery tests had given the Henschel design the clear lead, but today was to be a speed trial, and mechanical reliability was what was required. They had been taken through the four kilometre course, with a number of nasty twists and bends.
As they climbed back inside the Möbelpackwagen for what could be the last time, the first thing, as always, that struck all of them was the space compared to the cramped interior of the Mark IV; it was a veritable cathedral, it was wonderful! It was amazing even with 100 Acht-acht rounds aboard!
Bobby Junge sat down in his seat and ran his hand along the various controls, levers and switches. It was heart-breaking to have come so close, but even Bobby Junge with his rally driving skills could not perform miracles. They could possibly beat the Porsche, but they could never hope to beat the Krupp. The Mark IV had been given a slight handicap and would not start until both Mark VI prototypes had covered 500 metres, but it was certain to finish the course first.
Junge was now back in rally mode. As soon as the signal was given they started off. The two heavy tank prototypes seemed to have the measure of each other, but then the Porsche model began to pull away.
“What’s wrong, Junge?” asked von Schroif.
“I can only get her up to twenty-five, sir, and she’s starting to heat up.”