Читать книгу The French Navy in World War II - Paul Auphan - Страница 16

CHAPTER 5

In Search of a Strategy

In modern democracies, the national leaders who direct a war are the statesmen—the political men in power. But they are not capable of conducting war alone; they need the assistance of technicians whose business this is; that is to say, the strategists. Thus at the highest echelons of national defense, the general staffs of the Army, the Navy, and the Air Force have a double function: on one hand, they conduct the actual military operations in accordance with the decisions of the government; on the other, they assist by information and suggestions in the making of those decisions.

In 1939 Admiral Darlan and his immediate colleagues in the French Admiralty were not unaware of their responsibilities. If, up to the time of the formal declaration of hostilities—a purely political action—their role had been limited to completing the Navy’s preparations, now the moment had come for them to show how the war could be won.

Truthfully speaking, France entered the war without any definite, actual plan. She had promised to come to Poland’s assistance, and she was committed to that action. But within days, within hours, almost, Poland was crushed, occupied, and partitioned without the French Army being able to do one thing to prevent it. What must France do now?

For a long time after the First World War the French were assured that there would be no more wars, and that in any event the fortified Maginot line, facing Germany, guaranteed them security from any invasion. These assurances engendered a defensive psychology which spread throughout the country and pervaded the governing circles and, in 1939, influenced even the military staffs. The sea was forgotten, and the nation’s entire attention was given to the land. When the complicated movement of millions of men on innumerable trains was completed without disruption from German air bombardments, every one breathed more easily. The entire French Army was now drawn up at attention back of the Maginot line and the Belgian frontier, which extended beyond it. But that only brought up the question once more: What should be done now?

Whether stated or not, one postulate was universally admitted both in France and in England: the Maginot line was impregnable, and the German Army would shatter itself in attacking it. But by the same token the French Army would shatter itself if it attempted to pierce Hitler’s equivalent, the Siegfried line—though the degree of completion of this latter fortification was perhaps overestimated. So it was a standoff, a checkmate for both sides. This opinion was so universal that at the first meeting of the Interallied Supreme Council, held at Abbeville on September 12, 1939, the British Premier, Sir Neville Chamberlain, asked the French as a favor not to risk smashing their army against the Siegfried line for, at best, an uncertain gain. When the French Premier later asked the Chamber of Deputies, assembled as a secret committee on April 19, 1940, whether the French forces should throw themselves against it headlong, the unanimous shout was, “No! No!”

At the worst it was believed that even if the German Army attacked and made some penetration, the frontlines could be consolidated again just as they had been in 1918. The front, everyone believed, was frozen in place, and no decision could be expected for the time being in that quarter.

There was of course the possibility of a flanking movement by one side or the other through Belgium. But Belgium was neutral, and intended to remain so. As to a thrust through Belgium, France gave that country complete assurance that the French Army would enter its territory only if Germany violated it first—and then only if Belgium requested it. To prepare for any such eventuality, General Gamelin wished to draw up defense plans with the Belgian General Staff, but the Belgians, fearful of compromising their neutrality, refused to consider any detailed mutual planning.

The French High Command therefore made the unilateral decision, in case of a Belgian request for assistance against a German invasion, to shift the left wing of the French Army quickly up to the line of the Dyle River. The resulting front from Sedan to Antwerp would be a little shorter than from Sedan to Dunkirk, and the movement should further bring onto the line some 20 Belgian divisions. In order to hold the Scheldt estuaries, it was even planned to extend the line to cover Breda, in Holland. The Navy was concerned in this plan since it would be the Navy’s responsibility to transport by sea the Army troops assigned to occupy the islands at the mouth of the Scheldt.

While waiting for any such German movement against Belgium, that part of the French Army which was stationed on the Belgian and Luxembourg frontiers occupied itself in constructing earthworks. The other part, in direct contact with the German Army from Sierk¹¹ to the Swiss frontier, reconnoitered between the lines and staged minor patrols and raids. The opposing forces scarcely fired a shot at each other. In fact the French quietly removed their petroleum stocks from Strasbourg without any opposition from the Germans, though the oil barges passed within 200 meters of the German guns, while, on the other side of the Rhine, infantrymen of the Wehrmacht exposed themselves to work on their casemates without a single bullet being fired to drive them to cover.

A small village in the Department of the Moselle, close to the French, German, and Luxembourg frontiers.

It was not this sort of “phony war” that would ever give France a victory.

As a matter of fact, the French Government counted heavily on an economic blockade of Germany to bring Hitler to terms. They envisioned an economic strangulation that would choke Germany without any necessity for seriously waging war on land. To conduct this operation a Ministry of Blockade was set up in the Quai d’Orsay—the French Foreign Office—which, in liaison with London, compiled a list of German commercial representatives in neutral countries. Any merchandise assigned to these representatives was to be seized. All shipping bound for the neutral ports of the North Sea or of Scandinavia was required to pass through clearing stations at the Downs or at Dunkirk where each ship was individually boarded and examined. It was the same in the Mediterranean, with inspection posts at Oran, Gibraltar, and Marseilles. Attempts were also made to negotiate non-reexportation agreements with the neutral countries, and also to restrict not only their imports but their shipping as well to the bare amounts actually needed for national use, with the Allies chartering or purchasing everything in excess. The results from this attempt to control shipping were quite disappointing, however, especially since Italian ships and companies had to be handled with kid gloves. Even in the course of ordinary trade the Scandinavian and Balkan countries, as well as Belgium, Holland, Italy, and Russia, would inevitably contribute toward the provisioning of Germany.

Furthermore, in anticipation of a blockade, Germany had set up a great stockpile of goods. This was increased by the output of synthetic gasoline and artificial rubber processing plants—both unknown to French industry at that time. In addition Hitler had instituted rationing—something which the French Admiralty, concerned over German U-boat successes, also wished to do. But the French Government refused to do this on the pretext that it “would demoralize the people.”

In retaliation against Germany’s magnetic mine warfare, Great Britain and France had placed an embargo, in November, 1939, not only on German imports but on German exports as well. This was an innovation in economic warfare, its main purpose being to prevent the enemy from acquiring foreign currencies with which to purchase foreign goods. Actual application of this embargo was postponed until March 1940, when it proved ill-advised, indeed, since its first victims were Italian colliers going to Rotterdam to load German coal for Italian industries.

The French Admiralty was of the opinion from the first that a naval blockade of Germany would not be sufficient to bring about a decision, and that in any event the results would be slow. Quite a percentage of Frenchmen were sure that dissension between Hitler and the German generals would bring the war to an end before any real amount of blood was shed, and hence were taking life too easily. The Admiralty felt that the country needed to be shaken out of this passive attitude, even if only for moral and psychological reasons.

Seeking some field for positive action—always with the postulate that the land front would remain frozen in place, of course—the General Staffs decided that there were three weak spots in the enemy’s make-up which could be attacked—petroleum, iron ore, and Germany’s interior transportation system.

Germany was obtaining natural petroleum—exactly how much, was not known—from the Caucasian oil fields. These oil fields were controlled by Russia which, since its invasion of innocent Finland on November 30, 1939, had been branded as an aggressor by the League of Nations, and placed in the same category with Germany. Russia had already become firmly tied with Germany since her treaty with Hitler, and no one could be sure that she would not change to an outright enemy any day.

Accordingly staff studies began on the problems of air attacks on the Caucasian oil fields as well as naval intervention in the Black Sea itself. Plans for a Balkan operation, outlined long before, were gotten out of the files. Diplomatic activities there, as well as in Turkey, were stepped up. As a measure of precaution, troops were assembled in the Levant—English troops in Egypt and French in Syria. The French Admiralty suggested that Italian expansion be encouraged toward the Levant and the Black Sea oil fields, but the Quai d’Orsay did not agree. In fact the project did not even get beyond the first planning stage.

Germany’s interior transportation system, however, became the object of two mysterious undertakings which went well beyond the planning stage. One of these was a pet project of Mr. Churchill, who had the British Navy construct a number of small river mines—“as large as footballs.” These he proposed to sow, by planes or otherwise, in the rivers and canals of Germany. But the French Government, fearing German reaction on the land front, delayed the operation indefinitely.

The second project was aimed at blocking the Danube, through which raw materials and goods—especially petroleum—from Roumania and the Black Sea reached the heart of Germany. For years this river had, in principle, been internationalized, and England, France, Germany, Yugoslavia, Hungary, and other countries had large commercial fleets on its waters. The French companies alone owned 73 ships on the Danube, of which 19 were oil tankers and 10 were tugboats. Using their ships alone, the Germans could import 400,000 tons of petroleum products per year via the Danube, and by chartering neutral shipping they could increase this to over 1,000,000 tons.

To cut off these supplies, the British and French secret services began preparations for blocking the Danube, where it flows through the gorges of the Iron Gates, by sinking cement-laden barges in it. If the barges met opposition, they were to fight their way through with arms which would be hidden on board. The cement was purchased, and French and English personnel were assembled who, disguised as civilians, were to attempt the operation.

But Admiral Darlan was lukewarm to the whole project. Why begin something, said he, if we are not in a position to see it through. Then an English barge, loaded with weapons, was captured by the Roumanian Customs Service, and the whole project blew up. The most the French could do was to try to get their Danube shipping out and to Istanbul—and some 50 per cent was, as a matter of fact, thus saved by June 1940.

There remained the third weak spot in Germany’s warmaking potential—the problem of iron ore for her industries.

It was well known that Germany imported 50 per cent of her iron ore from Sweden—an import that was vital. If in some way or other those imports could be halted, the war could be appreciably shortened.

The Finnish situation offered one way of approaching the problem. Ever since she had been wantonly attacked by Russia, Finland had been amazing the world with her valorous defense. France, like almost every other country, was warmly sympathetic. A Finnish military mission came to Paris, seeking assistance. Emboldened by the strong stand of the League of Nations, the French Government ordered the General Staffs to provide the Finns with the greatest possible assistance, without worrying unduly about Russian reaction, since Russia was practically in the enemy’s camp anyway.

Naturally an expedition to Finland could not be put into operation without Norway and Sweden becoming involved. Obviously—though it is perhaps a bit cynical to say it—the Allies could not hope to hold the entire Russian Army at bay and thus save Finland. But they did hope, by this operation, to get their hands on the Swedish iron ore and prevent its going to Germany—which end would serve the Allies’ interests admirably. Furthermore, this project would offer an opportunity to use the great naval superiority of the Allies over Germany—an advantage which could not otherwise be exploited. Other than the navies, it was planned to use only a small land force for this diversion—a force so small that its withdrawal would not materially weaken the principal land front.

Such was the reasoning which led the Allies to initiate the only strategic operation undertaken by them before the French front collapsed. And that undertaking was worthwhile only as long as the hypothesis on which it was based held good: namely, that the frontline facing toward Germany could not be pierced.

¹ A small village in the Department of the Moselle, close to the French, German, and Luxembourg frontiers.