Operation Barbarossa and Germany's Defeat in the East (6 page)

The eminent British military theorist and historian Sir Basil Liddell Hart observed in relation to Operation Barbarossa:

The issue in Russia depended less on strategy and tactics than on space, logistics, and mechanics. Although some of the operational decisions were of great importance they did not count so much as mechanical deficiency in conjunction with excess of space, and their effect has to be measured in relation to these basic factors.
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In the straightforward analysis of space, logistics and mechanics it becomes clear that a central failing of Barbarossa belongs to inherent structural flaws in the German army, which presented a fundamental problem to the prospects of the campaign beyond the not inconsiderable complications caused by the Red Army. When taken together these factors make it somewhat naive to frame Army Group Centre's strategic dilemma of July/August 1941 as the essential choice between victory and defeat, if only the correct option was chosen. In fact, the confrontation over strategy was brewing long before the invasion began and took little account of the deeper problems undercutting the German war effort, problems that were not recognised before the war, nor fully appreciated in its initial weeks. In short, the complex relationship between space, time and striking power reveals the extent to which Germany had overplayed its hand in the summer of 1941 and the consequent triviality of strategic manoeuvring after the fact.

An obvious conclusion that may be drawn from this particular appraisal of the initial period of the war is that, with the aggregate loss of momentum throughout the three German army groups and the resultant inability to end the war on the eastern front in a Blitz-style campaign, the culminating point of the attack had been reached and the war, as a result, had turned. Of course Germany was still capable of major offensives on certain sectors of the front and could achieve impressive successes at the operational level, but none of this could change the fundamental disparity between Soviet staying power and German offensive strength. As soon as Germany ceased to threaten a knockout blow and a longer, grinding war ensued, economic factors came into play which favoured the allied war effort even before the direct entry of the United States into the conflict. Indeed two days after the German invasion the US President,
Franklin Roosevelt, pledged; ‘we are going to give all the aid
we can to Russia’, signalling his intention to extend the Lend-Lease aid programme, currently arming Britain, to the Soviet Union.
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Previous assessments of the German summer campaign in 1941 have assumed the implicit success of Hitler's armies, especially in Army Group Centre. Accordingly, the proposition of an early turning point in the war has centred solely on strategic options, pitting Kiev against Moscow and debating the best method of defeating the Red Army. Yet the two sides to this debate misrepresent the real determinant of what constituted the turning point in the early period of the war. Simply put, the issue is not a strategic question of when and along which axis of advance the drive to victory was to be achieved, for these questions assume that such an accomplishment was even possible in the late summer of 1941. In fact, the German motorised divisions were simply too exhausted to achieve anything more than operational successes on certain parts of the front (aided greatly in this endeavour by
Stalin's baneful strategic direction) and certainly could not hope to end the war before the winter. Thus the turning point of the war took place in the summer of 1941, not as a result of any one decision or battle, but rather as the general consequence of many factors broadly represented by the harsh terrain, vast distances, fierce Soviet resistance and internal German weaknesses.

Previously, the debate over turning points in the war has focused on the great battles of the eastern front with opinions split between those advocating the
battle of Moscow (winter 1941/42),
Stalingrad (winter 1942/43) and
Kursk (July 1943). Winston
Churchill, in his comprehensive history of World War II, nominated the spring of 1943 as the eastern front's turning point,
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while studies by Geoffrey Roberts
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and Mark Healy
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have argued for Stalingrad and Kursk respectively as the decisive encounters which determined the outcome of the war. More prominently, Richard Overy has taken a longer view which finds no answer in 1941 and instead asserts: ‘Somewhere in the changing fortunes of war between 1942 and 1944 lies the heart of the answer to our question of why the allies won.’
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If indeed this period does explain the allied road to victory
it may not necessarily address the timing of the Axis defeat. Yet Overy specifically singled out 1943, noting that in the aftermath of
Stalingrad:

Then slowly the tide turned…The first major defeat of the war was inflicted. Over the next twelve months the Red Army drove German forces from much of western Russia, on a broad arc from Kursk to the Caucasus. These Soviet victories marked the turning-point of the whole war, as victory in 1919 had turned the tide of the civil war.
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In a more recent publication Overy has highlighted Kursk
in July 1943 as the war's turning point.
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Klaus Reinhardt's thorough assessment of the battle for Moscow
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provides a convincing case for the German army's demise in the east and certainly puts beyond doubt the ultimate failure of the Wehrmacht in 1941. Nevertheless, the focus is squarely on Moscow
as the definitive turning point, in spite of acknowledging the overarching importance of a short war in the strategic conception of the campaign – the failure of which entailed numerous and fundamentally adverse military and economic consequences. Indeed one might say that irrespective of any other factors, the continued large-scale resistance of the Soviet Union in September 1941 points to the fact that Operation Barbarossa had already failed in its core function. Hence, it is instructive to look at the less familiar side to Germany's defeat in 1941 by focusing on its early failure which occurred, paradoxically, at the height of Germany's success in the east.

While most academic works require a certain historiographical orientation in order to familiarise readers with the field of study and underscore the value of the research to the discourse, an operational history of Barbarossa requires more. This is because it concerns an area of history that many in the German academic establishment reject. Even in the Anglo-American world there are those questioning the continuing relevance of
military history.
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Yet this takes on an entirely new dimension in Germany where the field has long since been absent from the universities. Aside from those historians teaching or otherwise involved within the
Bundeswehr
(Germany army) and Professor Bernhard Kroener at Potsdam University, there is no formal education in military history available in the country. What is even worse, many students and academics think this is to their benefit, and seem horrified at the suggestion of running courses discussing military campaigns and battles, instead of the more staple interactions with Homer and Luther. It strikes me as odd that such opinion can claim to be promoting the knowledge base of the student body, while at the same time arguing for a restriction of the university curriculum. Who can say what the loss is to German academic discourse when nobody bothers to study it and find out? The result has left the field poverty-stricken in Germany, a deficiency only somewhat mitigated by the outstanding works produced by the
Bundeswehr'
s MGFA (Military History Research Institute) in Potsdam. The underlying problem in Germany, as in the United States, is largely one of image. However, apologists for military history in Germany face such deep-seated antipathy that there is a burning need to counter the widespread misconceptions, and the damage resulting from them.

In Germany more than sixty-five years after the end of the war, histories such as mine are surprisingly rare because they have still not overcome the critical questioning of why such studies should even be attempted. No such taboo or equivalent phenomenon occurred in the Anglo-American world where the righteousness of the war and the ultimate military triumph led to a proliferation of literature which eagerly embraced military campaigns as a legitimate subject for academic pursuit and the popular press. In Germany, however, discussion throughout the long post-war period has often concluded that such questions of military history are of much lesser importance than the ‘deeper’ issues surrounding the rise of the Nazi party to power, the role of ideology, mechanisms of state control and the regime's litany of criminal activity. Questions of a military nature were, at best, seen as illuminating background to the progress of other more relevant issues and events or, at worst, a shameful and altogether irrelevant undertaking misconstrued as profiting from the lessons of war merely for the benefit of future conflicts. An entrenched pacifist sentiment born of the enduring national guilt Germany has felt since the end of the war accounts in large measure for such views. It also illustrates the deep sense of responsibility most Germans feel towards their past, as well as an overwhelming acceptance of their country's role as a highly
aggressive power which committed acts of unrivalled brutality.
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Until only recently these events forestalled any open expression of national pride among Germans, and only lately, as challenges have emerged, has debate begun about whether the country should re-embrace patriotism.
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In identifying the evils of their Nazi past, Germans have naturally taken aim at the rampant militarism that dominated the Third Reich and the regime's proud trumpeting of German/Prussian military history. Unquestionably the Nazis were skilful manipulators, especially when it came to propaganda, and the use of history as a powerful tool in this process was no different. The lavish indulgence in military history under the Nazis reflects only their self-deceiving interpretation of the past and cannot be taken as an accurate or representative view of what the field seeks to achieve. Indeed, given the central importance of the military ethos in Hitler's state and the unrelenting warfare the Nazis directed, discouraging the study of these events is more harmful to the legacy of their crimes. In coming to terms with its Nazi past, Germany's openness has allowed many encouraging lessons to be learned. In fact, I would contend that Germany serves as a fine model for other countries with proverbial skeletons in the closet. Banishing military history, however, is one of the wrong lessons, which has hindered rather than contributed positively to Germany's progress.

For an Australian historian familiar with the long persecution of our indigenous Aboriginals and the difficulties they endure to this day, Germany's unadorned candour in dealing openly with its painful past compares admirably. Yet Australia is not an exception. Many nations are unwilling to accept any measure of responsibility for their blackened pasts, particularly when it relates to nineteenth- and twentieth-century abuses that continue to impact on their societies.
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Their reluctance reinforces the contrastingly open attitude Germany has adopted – although
there are those who would perhaps justifiably point to the unique nature of the Holocaust in fomenting this state of affairs.

Drawing attention to Germany's comparative historical openness is not intended as a mark of pride for Germans; it is nothing more than what is required. Nor is it a faultless process. Germany's internal debate over its history is not devoid of occasional challenges from radical quarters of the historical community. The West German
Historikerstreit
(historians’ dispute) that erupted in the 1980s is a perfect example. Still, while Germany retains a comparatively clear conscience in its acceptance of the past, the unduly critical view of histories focused on military operations persists. When I began my research for this study I was initially surprised at how little work had been done in Germany on the strictly military side of Operation Barbarossa. The reason for this lack of material only became clear later in context of the prevailing taboo. The rejection of the field as a serious undertaking has undoubtedly stymied a good deal of work and left many gaps in our understanding of German militarism. The neglect was metaphorically exemplified when at least one map I ordered at the military archive had to be immediately returned for restoration because of damage sustained from years of accumulated mould.

It would surprise some in the English-speaking world to learn that, although German schoolchildren are taught much about Hitler's rise to power and the
Holocaust, they learn next to nothing about the campaigns and battles their country fought in World War II. As a result the name ‘
Kursk’ means more to many Germans as the namesake of a Russian submarine tragedy in which 118 sailors died in 2000 than as one of the most significant battles of World War II in which many thousands of German and Soviet lives were lost. Teaching children about wars is not a matter to be undertaken lightly and there can be no question of its sensitive nature, but neglecting our violent past should not be misconstrued as protecting children. Indeed, given the horrific impact of wars, particularly World War II, and the opportunity granted to learn valuable lessons from these periods, more education, not less, seems in order.

Whatever direction Germany's public education system takes is ultimately a matter for the Germans themselves and my comments express a preference, not a criticism. I reserve stronger judgement for higher levels of education in Germany. Of course there is no official restriction on the study of military history, nor is it difficult to gain access to the military archive in Freiburg, but this does not mean that the intellectual environment embraces, to say nothing of encouraging, the study of war. The tendency to reject military history as a serious undertaking is all the more disappointing because it discounts its inherent importance to
related fields of study. The vital interaction between the radicalisation of Nazi policy in Europe and the day-to-day progress of the war would surely count as a noteworthy example.