Unfortunately, the regiment holding Zuid Beveland gave way that afternoon, and only 300 men succeeded in reaching Walcheren. The next day Walcheren too was taken, despite the bravery of its commanding officer, General Marcel Deslaurens, who fell at the head of his men, rifle in hand, like any private. Admiral Platon, with five sub-chasers, succeeded in rescuing 1,800 men, the only ones rescued of the 6,000 men stationed there. The harbor installations had already been so badly bombed that the torpedo boats were unable to go alongside the docks. While trying to do so, Commander Charles de la Fournière, of the Bouclier, had both cheeks pierced by an automatic rifle bullet when his mouth was open to give the order to the men on the docks to take his lines. The men were German soldiers, advance troops in the assault! Equally strange, Commander de la Fournière did not lose a single tooth!
The Expedition of the Isles was over. During it—a week of almost continuous air attacks—the French, however, lost only three small sweepers sunk, and two sweepers and one torpedo boat damaged. The British escort ships, fighting valorously to fend off the enemy bombers, suffered losses also.
The period following the failure in Flanders was to be spent by the Navy mostly in evacuating everything that was mobile in the path of the enemy’s advance, and destroying everything else. This painful task was to occupy them for the next month—a period during which they had to witness the fall of the North Sea ports, the Channel ports, and then the Atlantic ports before the overland sweep of the enemy.
Ahead of that tide rolled an equal wave of refugees. Everything that floated in Dutch and Belgian waters, everything that moved on the roads, was attempting to flee before the invasion. Despite all the traffic congestion, however, the three naval batteries that had been positioned at the mouth of the Scheldt succeeded in reaching Dunkirk without loss of a gun or a man.
The destruction of Antwerp and the bottling up of the various ports was the responsibility of the British, who had made preparations for such an emergency a long time before. The French had the assignment of destroying the installations at Ostend and Zeebrugge.
The King of the Belgians, concerned over what might be the results to his countrymen, objected to the destruction. Consequently the enormous petroleum stock at Antwerp fell into the hands of the Germans before more than 10 per cent could be sabotaged.
Also, through improper liaison, the French battalion22 defending Zeebrugge had not been informed of the British plans to block the navigation channels, and they opened fire on the blockships, impeding the work for some time. However, Admiral of the Fleet Sir Roger Keyes, hero of the famous Zeebrugge raid of World War I, made it a special point to congratulate these French soldiers for their faithfulness in carrying out their orders.
This battalion, oddly enough, belonged to one of the two divisions the elements of which had made such a poor showing at Walcheren and Zuid Beveland. Later it was to distinguish itself by its last-ditch stand in defense of the beaches of Dunkirk—proving that all the division lacked was training under fire before the decisive battle.
Differently from Zeebrugge, which was thoroughly sabotaged and blocked, Ostend was evacuated intact on May 28, only two hours before the arrival of the Germans. However, over 25,000 Belgian and 28,000 British soldiers were successfully evacuated from its harbor, which had been kept open by French minesweepers despite the numerous bombs and magnetic mines dropped by the enemy throughout the whole period of the offensive.
The German invasion of Holland and Belgium was in reality only a deceptive maneuver to conceal the direction of their real thrust, which was to be at Sedan, pivot point of the Allied left wing just beyond the Maginot line. Convinced that the Franco-British left wing, containing the Allies’ best divisions, would swing around into Holland and Belgium at the first sign of a threat there, the German High Command had determined to deliver their principal attack on the Meuse River front, between Sedan and Dinant. The attack was to be made through the wooded mountains of the Ardennes, supposedly impassible to tanks—yet the Germans had assigned to this attack seven of their ten armored divisions, containing 1,800 tanks, and two air fleets.
The breakthrough exceeded even their fondest hopes. After a short pause to regroup, the Panzers drove swiftly ahead toward the Channel coast, thus cutting off and trapping the Allied troops which had advanced into Flanders. These troops, already fighting off attacks from the north, had no time to disengage, change front, and attempt to cut their way through the enemy now to their southward.
What would have happened if the Allies had not been duped into advancing into Belgium—or whether better technical preparation or less rigid strategy on the part of the French Army might have checkmated the German maneuver—is open to debate. What is certain is that the maneuver succeeded—although perhaps its success lay less in the boldness of its conception than in the daring and precision with which the envelopment was executed.
The German tanks first crossed the Meuse on May 13. Two days later they had broken completely through the front. On May 17, having taken scarcely any losses, they drove down the Oise River, beyond Saint-Quentin.
On May 19, only two days later, two new Panzer divisions were hurled through the gap between Saint-Quentin and Sedan. These were tanks which had originally been used in the deceptive opening attack in Belgium. When they encountered stiff resistance there—proof that the Allies had advanced into Belgium in force—they were shifted around to the Sedan front.
In this area there were now nine armored divisions—a concentration of practically the entire German tank strength—and all traveling at full speed over the excellent French roads to the sea. On May 20 the first detachments arrived at the mouth of the Somme River. Such speed left the French general staffs hopelessly behind. The French tank divisions, although as well equipped and as well manned as the enemy, were poorly placed; they found it impossible to intercept the fast moving Panzers.
Strong, well-handled airpower might have done something toward stemming that German tide. But the only attack squadrons existing in France at that time were the Navy’s Air force, operating under the orders of Admiral, North.
At the urgent request of the Army High Command these magnificent squadrons, especially trained to fight at sea, were thrown against the German tanks in the Oise valley on the 19th and 20th of May, at the cost of half their strength. The sacrifice of this elite group was the result partly of lack of fighter protection, which could not be given, and the highly effective German antiaircraft fire. Both here and at the Meuse the German flak had proved astoundingly accurate.
Appalled at the crushing breakthrough, Prime Minister Reynaud made an impassioned appeal to the French public to emulate the military glories of their fathers in World War I. Although with few illusions as to the outcome, but with unselfish devotion, Marshal Philippe Pétain—despite his eighty-four years—accepted the post of Vice President of the Council of Ministers. Similarly, General Maxime Weygand, former Chief of Staff to Marshal Fredinand Foch, and himself seventy-three years old, consented to replace General Gamelin at the head of the French Army.
General Weygand’s first act as Commander in Chief was to see what was happening to the Armies of the North, already isolated from the rest of the country. On May 21, following an eventful trip to Ypres, he held a conference with King Leopold III, commanding the Belgian Army, General Gaston Billotte, commanding the French First Army Group, and Admiral Abrial—Admiral, North. Unfortunately he was not able to have a talk with General Lord Gort, commanding the British Expeditionary