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German officer in Formigny on D-Day
German officer at Omaha Beach
(Excerpts and adaptation of John Marks interview and correspondence with Stewart Bryant)
On June 6, 1944, Hans Heinze was lieutenant in the General Staff of the 2nd Battalion of the 916th Infantry Regiment of the 352nd German Infantry Division. That day, 21 years old, Lt. Heinze lived the Disembarkation. Only a few weeks before the landing, his regiment was moved behind Omaha Beach to reinforce the garrison troops of the 726th Regiment who occupied the fortified points. Here's his story:
Assigned to coastal defence
"In mid-February 44, we moved from the St-Lô area to the coast. Our unit had no motorized transport. Not even enough horse carts to move us only a few kilometers away. A few young French people from the region helped us move our business. (the demand for transport and labour was daily in occupied Normandy)
As for keeping secrets, nobody was really careful about us. On the contrary, our relations with the French in the region were so close that there was no possible secret. Our movement was quite apparent and everyone knew exactly where we and the whole division were displaced.
Many of our soldiers were farmers, and they helped on local farms whenever they could get a little extra food. A farmer's wife told me that a few days before the landing a soldier from our battalion headquarters in Formigny, who had done chores for them, went on a bicycle to visit their farm. On his way he announced to his French friends, "Hello, I am in Formigny, and we are settled there and there". That's why I can't believe the Allied intelligence, via the French Resistance, didn't know what was really going on. Officially, the Allies only knew that the 716th DI was installed on the coast and they would have been totally surprised that the 352nd DI had also been deployed there. If that's true, then someone in Allied Intelligence was sleeping on his work. (in fact the movement of the 352nd had been reported by the Resistance, but the information was too recent and especially too isolated to be accepted as credible at the beginning of June. In addition, the Allied plans were too advanced to be modified due to this recent strengthening)
Now we were in a small house in Formigny about three or four kilometers behind the coast. I was the battalion officer in charge of general services, which was little more than an officer's order. There was also the deputy and the commander of the Battalion who was a young captain (at 3 stripes, whereas normally a battalion is commanded by a 4 stripes Major).
At first, we were mostly installed in barns. For communications we had no radios or telephones. Instead we had messengers on bicycles. It was primitive and simple and not very different from the Middle Ages. Finally I moved into a house in Formigny, facing the church and next to our battalion headquarters.
Life in Formigny
By the end of April our food supply had not improved. Men sometimes collapsed during tiring manoeuvres. Captain Grimme, my battalion leader, ordered me to improve the food. First, we got together, gathered our supplies, bought a cow on a local cattle market. It was a lean cow, we called it the "clothing locker" (the Normans didn't have to sell them the best in the market...). That's all our money could buy. We drove the cow to pasture behind our little mansion. Our cook, who had been trained as a butcher, said we could have found better cows in a field next door. Someone suggested then that maybe we should turn one of those cows into sausage. (it was the use in German military kitchens to turn everything into sausage, easier to preserve and prepare)
Our hunger has overcome our morality and the project put on track. Next night, we got dressed and followed one of the cows. This turned out to be more difficult than expected because all the cows woke up, and each time we approached, the entire herd was running. After many failed attempts, I managed to catch one of the cows' tails, and I didn't let it go until the cow was exhausted. I was happy, but covered in mud. Quickly the cow was skilfully killed and prepared.
Early the next morning, one of my men woke me up to tell me that "the mayor of the village wanted to talk to me." I knew what it was about. We know that the French are good diplomats and this village mayor was one. He started by telling me how their best cow was stolen last night and his leads drove here. He didn't say we stole it, no! But rather it was by French thieves who had to sell us the stolen cow, of course. I told him "we already killed the cow," and he wanted to see his skin. When I refused, he suggested that our military police would be informed. On the same day, we received an order from Division HQ that "following complaints from the civilian population about an increasing number of cattle thefts, severe fines would be imposed on the culprits." This was the only time we took something from the French, but what we could do. Larger events soon made this case forget. (It is true that the Germans rarely flew and were severely punished for this, but they had almost unlimited financial means to buy from the black market, the Armistice Convention obliged France to pay such colossal indemnities of occupation that they were not fully used. As a result, prices on the black market have been inflated).
A few days later, early May 44, 4 weeks before the Disembarkation most of the men were moved around Colleville, closer to the beach (the 4 battalion companies were placed in Colleville, St-Laurent, Formigny and Surrain, but 3 companies of the 716th DI continued to occupy the WN of the coast, passing under the orders of the 916th Regiment). A particularly good division (the 716th DI??, that's hardly his reputation today) had preceded us there. So before we moved towards these forward positions, I went with my battalion leader to inspect the famous "Mur de l'Atlantique", about which we had heard so much. I will never forget that day when we went with a Volkswagen, first at the Moulins (the beach of St-Laurent). From there we went towards Vierville and we were stopped just before the coastal road to our left and we saw a soldier next to a pile of debris. We asked what he was doing here. He said he was on guard. We asked him what he was keeping then. He said we have a "PAK" here under the pile of debris. "So?" we answered. He continued to explain to us that "if the Tommys come, the servants would shoot the cannon, on the road to the beach, install it on a concrete platform and shoot them". We looked at each other with astonishment and said, "Is he serious?"
There was worse. We advanced on the coastal road, bordered to the left by a zigzag garbage ditch. (the anti-tank ditch that surrounded the hamlet of the Moulins). In front of the ditch there was a barricade of barbed wire. I still remember how my commander, in his beautiful officer pants, raised his leg a little bit and simply went over the fence without paying attention to it. Later another pile of debris was hiding a Czech machine gun. I didn't even check if she had any ammunition. In the next pile, there was a Polish machine gun. At the end of the tour, we were so amazed that we couldn't believe it was true. I think we expected the same efforts as for the Siegfried line or something similar. There was nothing significant on this whole beach.
A unit prior to our transfer had begun to build a blockhouse. Here the only thing our people had done was to demolish a few houses, and use the floor boards to cover their trenches. It would have been good for us if someone had just done what was planned. We were supposed to build rules-compliant infantry trenches.
The history books have always read how American soldiers have had to fight through minefields. In our area (Omaha Beach) we did not have a single minefield inside. We didn't even have a minefield plan. So when we had to get out of our defenses quickly on the cliffs, we didn't worry about the mines, because there was no.
We had not received a mine because the Allied bombings had upset the area: roads, railways and warehouses. There were some mines on the "Rommel asparagus" (wood piles installed on the strike), but there was nothing in the interior. (There were a good number around the fortified points and on the cliff, even though minefields were often fake). We'd placed "Mines" signs everywhere. But there were no mines in these areas. At first, the signs were not intended to remain fake, because we predicted that each strong point would be protected by a minefield. They became fake because the mines were never delivered.
We were not concerned about what was happening on the other fronts. I guess it was selfish because we were happy enough to be in France. We had established good relations with local people because we thought "of course now we are the occupants but we could become the busy ones" so we behaved well. In fact in a few villages, when we withdrew, the French found themselves along the road and wept to see our soldiers leave. Our soldiers had helped them on their farms or if a baby had come prematurely, then we put the mother in a car and ran to the nearest clinic. (All this is perfectly implausible, the Germans, generally quite "corrects" as they were then said, were nevertheless considered undesirable occupants and whose departure was appreciated by almost the entire population)
At the end of May, despite our efforts, I was not satisfied with the level of training of our troops. These guys were without comparison with the men who first entered Russia with me. One might think that we had learned lessons from the American landings in North Africa and Sicily, but we were not told how the soldiers should react in the event of a landing.
A few days before the Disembarkation, we pulled a German pilot out of a crashed plane. He had been hit on a reconnaissance mission to South England but had managed to return to our area. We thought he was in shock or something, because he kept stuttering, "My God, England is completely full of boats." We thought, "it must not be true, because otherwise something would happen. If there were really a lot of boats, then certainly our aviation would bomb them." And I said, "I don't believe it."
We all knew that the Allies would undertake a landing, but "where" was the big question. We did not believe the history of the reconnaissance pilot about the ships and an imminent invasion. Basically, we could not believe that our reconnaissance aircraft had seen them without an attempt being made on our side to intervene. In addition, we still believed that our planes and V weapons were already being used there against them. That's what we were always told, and at that time we believed in the value of V weapons. In fact, weapons V will only be in action three or four weeks later (actually 3 or 4 days after Disembarkation). I guess we were clinging to that hope like a sailor clinging to a lifebuoy. But no one believed that we could contain the Allies if they landed in our area. We certainly didn't believe it in the morning of June 6.
Two days before the Disembarkation, a staff officer, responsible for ammunition for the entire division, wanted to see the progress of the beach defence. He inspected part of the coast near Colleville. Arriving at the last strong point (WN) where a blockhouse had been completed, he said our work was satisfactory. Immediately, the WN sergeant told him, "Mr. Major, can I say anything about our situation here?" The officer replied, "Yes, of course, what's the matter?" The sergeant said, "four or five days ago, half of our ammunition was taken away, and now it's in a warehouse somewhere. Let me tell you what will happen tomorrow if the attack comes. We will be able to clean the first, the second, perhaps the third wave, but after that, the Americans will be on us and we will have no more ammunition. And then we'll have to get out of here assuming we still have time. "Hey," said the commander, "don't worry about it now. If that happens, you will soon have enough ammunition." So three days later, it happened exactly as the sergeant had said. (German field artillery behind Omaha Beach had actually seen its ammunition reserves halved for fear of bombing)
The day before the Disembarkation was programmed a show given by a troupe of the "Theatre to the Army". But strangely, it was cancelled. That didn't surprise us because it often happened. Otherwise, nothing remarkable happened. The battalion commander was a fanatic card player, and every night four of us had to accompany him for a part of Doppelkarte, a very popular German card game (I can't play any card game).
I also remember the day I arrived at the battalion headquarters. The commander said, "Do you know how to play Doppelkarte, Heinze?" "Nein, my captain" I answered. "Tomorrow you will play the Doppelkarte!" he said. With a "Jawohl, Herr Hauptman!" (Yes, my captain) from me. He was like that with us. The battalion doctor and the deputy also played. So until about midnight or 1 hour, we played the Doppelkarte, and if at 3 o'clock it was low sea, we had to get out of bed and go to the beach to place "Rommel asparagus" with barbed wire and landmines.
The Adjunct and I didn't like this night card game routine with a wake-up two hours later. So we decided it couldn't last anymore and we played so badly that the battalion commander threw the cards across the table and said, "Good God, I don't want to play with you anymore, you idiots! We thought, "Chic, maybe now we'll be able to sleep" It was one of those funny moments that we lived before the Disembarkation and even after.
We never knew if the alarm was true or exercise. We were simply receiving it. I guess our leaders wanted to test our readiness and speed to get to the combat stations that we had built. Of course with all the false alarms that we had to endure before the invasion, any anticipation of a true invasion became indifference. Frankly, I didn't think that was going to happen.
Each regiment had eight companies, numbered 1 to 8, assembled in two battalions of four companies. The fourth company of the Second Battalion (II/GR916, my battalion) was the 8th Company (8/916), commanded by Lt. Bery (Backhaus?), was in place at Wn.69 (St-Laurent-gare, Rte de Vierville), an army of heavy machine guns and mortars. Another company (the 7th) placed around Colleville (WN63) was ready to support the WN. The 5th Company of Lt. Hahn, was placed in Surrain as a reserve. The sixth company of Lt. Heller, was in Trevières (and Surrain) about 8 kilometers from the beach.
I lived in Formigny above a grocery store in front of a church. The battalion headquarters were in the presbytery next to the church. It was destroyed during the fighting. Now there's a new house here. I had moved in eight or nine days earlier. My room was furnished like that of any French businessman. I slept in bed and put my clothes in the closet, but I didn't change anything else.
At that time, we were not paying attention to allied landings in Italy. Before the landing, we were simply happy to enjoy almost six months of peace without combat. Since we were quite isolated from the war it did not matter and we were not in a hurry to learn about the other fronts.
The Alert
I was woken up at midnight on June 5, 1944 when a messenger climbed the stairs, knocked on my door and said, "Alert! Paratroopers have been reported." I thought, "Let's go for another alert." As I was already half dressed (we never undressed completely, because we never knew what could happen) I quickly put my last clothes back on, we crossed the street to HQ where we were told, "we saw paratroopers jump."
When the messenger woke me up, I was in a bad mood, thinking, "Shit, they're still pulling us out of bed in the middle of the night." You have to understand, that the weeks before, I was with local French farmers requisitioned to help build obstacles of the beach at low tide that was always during the dark hours of the morning (in fact the time of the tide delays every day by about 3/4 hours, but there are always 2 low tides every day including at least one night). So, when I was awake again at midnight, I thought, "My God, orders are orders, you have to go."
After a while, another message came, telling us it was a false alarm, these paratroopers were paratrooper-like mannequins. When they hit the earth, they blew up small charges that looked like machine guns. Of course they had intended it to be a false alarm, and this idea has increased the confusion in us. Some said, a landing is on its way, or the paratroopers have already landed, while others said, "No, it's only mannequins firing explosive loads." So I went to my observation post, the messenger with me. Back from the coast, I had set up some sort of hunter watch post, 1 km from the coast. There was a small ladder leading to a solid platform from where I could see the entire beach, from left to right. (this post in a tree could be Than's mansion, but more likely another one that was placed in the wood of Saffray, a high point on the Formigny-Vierville road)
When we left HQ, we walked off to the observation post. It took about thirty minutes (to go to Than's mansion would have taken 50 minutes). For what I knew was just another false alarm, I didn't believe it. That's why I went there with such a bad mood. We were already tired and we said, "No, not one of those stupid alarms yet." I only took my calot and gun with me. Since I had not seen a paratrooper myself, I simply did not believe in reports.
With the exception of the messenger, I was alone on this platform in the tree. The alarm was around midnight, and we arrived at the observation post a little later. The night was dark and nothing happened, with the exception of plane noises that we heard all night. But it wasn't abnormal because we heard it flying in every night. We didn't hear any shots or anything like that.
We stayed at this observation post from midnight until about 5:00 in the morning. At about 2 or 3 o'clock the messenger and I had relayed to sleep. When it started to light, around 5:00 a.m., we could see a layer of fog lying on the water. We've been in the observation post for four hours. At least one of us stayed awake anyway.
Until dawn the beach was quiet. At dawn we saw the fog increase. I took another look half an hour later, and I was able to distinguish something out of the fog. I took my binoculars, cleaned the lentils and gave it to my messenger to take a look. He couldn't distinguish anything.
Then a heavy wind blew and then we saw the scene open in front of us. We saw the landing barges deploy as they approached the shore. But most of the really big boats have stayed back. You could see how the little Landing Crafts all came in mass. And everything was still quiet. In front of us the immense panorama of the invasion fleet. In front of the smallest Landings Craft, then the larger ships, followed by the destroyers, and then the huge masses. Everything was quiet, completely quiet.
Immediately I said to the messenger, "Go to the battalion headquarters and run for good!" There was 1 1/2 to 2 km of race. I said the message "there are thousands and thousands of ships offshore" or something like that; I cannot remember what I said then exactly. "Old man, they won't believe you, insist and say it's true. Then take my emergency package, that's how we called our helmets, and my MP-40 (pistole-trailer)". At that time I had only a small handgun on me to feel a little safe.
At about 6:00 a.m. it was perfectly clear and the scene in front of us was like in the movies. I don't remember the exact time, but the bombers came first. Fortunately most of the bombs fell behind us but some targets in our area were hit. Lt Willi Heller was a friend and colleague of mine and commander of the 6th Company. He had buried his company, a lesson learned on the eastern front. A bomb landed on them without doing much damage except one of Willi's broken eardrums.
I read in a report later, that three weeks before the invasion, Rommel came for an inspection. He said to our colonel, "The Americans will arrive here. Be ready." But at that time, we never heard of it.