‘Only when there’s no more going back… is the courage found for very big decisions… That’s how it is, too, in our present situation.’ Goebbels was summarizing what Hitler had been saying at lunch on 15 January 1940. Hitler had begun by grumbling about unreliable weather-forecasts; half-decent weather was needed for the offensive, he had stated. He then went on to philosophize about strength in adversity — one of his regular themes, and to become even more repetitive as the war wore on. He referred to the usual heroes in the German pantheon — Bismarck and, even more so, Frederick the Great — adding on examples from his own ‘time of struggle’ to illustrate how danger brought forth special qualities of courage and boldness in the ‘historical genius’. ‘The Führer was always greater in adversity than in fortune,’ added the impressionable Propaganda Minister. Goebbels had, however, registered the serious point of Hitler’s typically narcissistic musings on his own ‘greatness’: there could be no going back. This imperative had been directly linked to German policy in Poland — an indication that Hitler and Goebbels were only too aware of the Rubicon that had been crossed with the descent into the barbaric treatment of the Poles. ‘We simply must not lose the war,’ Goebbels summed up. ‘And all our thinking and action has to follow from that.’1
A characteristic technique that Hitler had of couching his arguments was invariably to pose stark alternatives, one of which he promptly dismissed out of hand or ridiculed. The
But these circumstances, the conditions in which the crucial decisions of 1940–41 would be taken, had not been shaped by Hitler alone. He had placed the Reich in a quandary. The war could not be ended. That was now a decision out of Germany’s control, unless Britain could be forced to the conference table or militarily defeated. But neither militarily, as the chiefs of the armed forces made plain, nor economically, as every indicator demonstrated, was Germany equipped at this stage to fight the long war with which, it was known, the British were already reckoning.2 The Wehrmacht had entered into hostilities in autumn 1939 with no well-laid plans for a major war, and no strategy at all for an offensive in the West. Nothing at all had been clearly thought through.3 The Luftwaffe was the best equipped of the three branches of the armed forces. But even here, the armaments programme had been targeted at 1942, not 1939.4 The navy’s operational planning was based upon a fleet that could not be ready before 1943.5 In fact, the 1939 Z-Plan — halted at the start of the war — would leave Germany with severe limitations at sea until 1946. And within the confines of that plan, the building of U-boats necessary for an economic blockade of Britain was deliberately neglected by Hitler in favour of the interests of the army. However, the army itself lacked even sufficient munitions following the brief Polish campaign (in which some 50 per cent of the tanks and motorized units deployed were no longer serviceable) to contemplate an immediate continuation of the war in the West.6
The war could have been over had the French government been bold enough to send at least the forty divisions it had promised the Poles into action against the far smaller German forces left guarding the western front in September 1939.7 At the outbreak of war the Germans could spare only thirty-two divisions for the western front. The French had at the time ninety-one divisions, though it was reckoned that it would take ten days to mobilize fifty of these divisions.8 By the end of the Polish campaign it was in any case too late. As it was, the breathing-space that the German army gained during the repeated postponements of the western offensive, much to Hitler’s chagrin, in the winter of 1939–40 was crucial in allowing the time and opportunity to put the army in a state of readiness to attack France.9