Grand Alliance (Kirov Series) (16 page)

“Bir el
Khamsa,” said Rommel. “The roads meet there, and beyond it is a British
railhead in the making near Mishiefa, which we can use. They are extending the
rail line from Mersa Matruh to that place, so it looks to be a big supply
center. There is your gasoline, Streich. Sidi el Razig and Bir Thalata will be
your primary objectives. It is presently undefended, and this whole area is
only being screened by light reconnaissance units. Once we take that we will be
in a good position to cut the rail line operation and outflank any planned
defense of Sidi Barani.”

“Then
you are not going to attack up the main road here?”

“Not
directly. I’ll give that job to the Italian Ariete Division.”

“The
Italians?”

“Yes,
they won’t break through, but it will serve as a nice demonstration while we
maneuver, as before. 15th Panzer will lead this envelopment, we will follow
with 5th Light. Once we appear well behind the enemy on his flank, those
infantry will think twice about holding on to their entrenchments. We will do
with gasoline what might otherwise cost us men and material.”

“Assuming
we have the gasoline!” Streich objected.

“Take
what you need from non-essential vehicles, the flak batteries, except the 88s.
They will be useful in case the British have more of those Matildas at hand.”

“But
sir… Yes, we can probably move another 25 kilometers to Bir el Khamsa, but when
we get there we will be wanting fuel, water, food, all left behind in this
maneuver. Why not wait for the supply columns to come up and replenish before
we make this turning action? That way, when we do reach Sidi Razig, there will
still be gasoline in the tanks to do something more.”

“The
longer we wait, the more time we give the British to regain their balance,”
said Rommel. “This is their last division of any consequence.”

“Yes,
but it won’t do us any good to get strung out in the desert again here. Keitel
messaged us yesterday to say he is landing the 90th light at Tripoli. Each move
we make like this also extends our seaward flank to the enemy. It is being
covered by the Ariete Division, but they can only do so much. If you move
another twenty or thirty kilometers east, we’ll have to post flak batteries to
hold that flank.”

“Don’t
worry about that. Do you honestly think the British are going to come out from
behind that escarpment and try to attack us there?”

“There
is always the possibility.”

“Nonsense!”
Rommel was tired of bickering with Streich. The man had been dragging his feet
for some days now, since Michili, when he had flatly refused an order to attack
that vital British supply depot and airfield for these same reasons. That led
Rommel to call him a coward to his face, and Streich had been so infuriated
that he tore off the Knight’s Cross he had recently been awarded and demanded
an apology or he would throw it at Rommel’s feet. Since then there was little
love between the two men, and less cooperation. Rommel had decided to replace
the man, but he was here now, and he would have to push him if he wanted to get
anything done.

“Listen,
Streich, I am not asking for an opinion here. This is what we are going to do.
You have your orders. Are you going to disobey your commanding officer yet
again and bellyache about gasoline? That Knight’s Cross around your neck only
goes so far. I have one as well, along with the Blue Max. Haven’t you noticed?”

Streich
tightened his jaw, clearly unhappy. “Only too well,” he said sullenly. “Very
well, Herr General, I will do as you ask. And when my tanks and vehicles run
out of gasoline, we’ll ask the British if they can spare us any!”

Rommel
gave him a wan smile. “Don’t ask politely, Streich, just go and take it from
them. Now get moving! And remember, you were given that medal for following my
orders and carrying them out successfully, not for disobeying them. I don’t
command by committee here. I am
Befehlshaber
of the Afrika Korps
.
Understand?
”

The
action started the following morning, even as Fedorov began the reconnaissance
mission with Kinlan and O’Connor. 8th Panzer Regiment of the 15th Panzer
Division led the way, running into a few Morris armored cars and light infantry
carriers of the 9th Australian Cav, posted to this flank well away from their
division, which was north behind the escarpment. The Aussies fell back, joining
the cavalry elements of the 2nd New Zealand that were also there to watch that
flank. I/8th Panzers had 27 Panzer IIIH, and 18 lighter Panzer IIF tanks, which
was more than enough to outgun the armored cars, and Bir el Khamsa fell that
afternoon. The Germans were now about 12 kilometers from Mishiefa air field,
screened by the imposing height of hill 748 and some old ruins that were so
common in the desert, the crumbled forts and towers of empires long gone.

Rommel
was up to his old habits again, leaving the bulk of his headquarters staff
behind and moving forward in a few light Kubelwagons with two or three
handpicked officers. He had acquired a big armored British truck which the
Germans had taken to calling the Malmut, or ‘Mammoth,’ but he found it too
cumbersome during a battle. When an engagement began he was tireless, forsaking
food, sleep, and even water to make certain the action was proceeding according
to his plan. Learning that Bir el Khamsa had fallen, he was headed in that
direction, intending to make it his HQ location for that night.

Along
the way three British
Hurricanes
swooped down to strafe his column, but
his men sustained no casualties and all the vehicles remained in working
condition. He reached the small well, which was little more than a cistern
tucked away in the desert camelthorn scrub, and a few untended cultivation
plots where itinerate tribesmen had once thought to grow something.

That
evening there was still fighting up ahead, and I/8th Panzer managed to get
tanks around Hill 230, only to find that a British Machinegun Battalion was
there at another small well site called Bir Arnab. It was also learned that the
old ruins five kilometers to the southeast at Makhzan el Talat were also
occupied by the 28th Maori Infantry Battalion, a tough, determined band that
was to become the most decorated battalion in the New Zealand Army before the
war was over.

Hauptmann
Hans Kummel had the 1st Company in the 8th Panzer Regiment, and reported back
that the ground ahead was strongly held, and there was no light for an attack,
and even less fuel. His lead Panzer IIs were down to 30% and the Medium Panzer
IIIs were equally dry. He had enough to attack, but thought they should wait
until morning, given he had what looked to be two full battalions in front of him
now.

Rommel
knew that Kummel was no slouch, nor was the Regimental commander,
Oberstleutnant Cramer. When the British decided to stand and fight, the Germans
had learned to be a little cautious. The first commander of the 15th Panzer
Division, von Prittwitz, also a holder of the Blue Max, had charged off to
scout an artillery firing position for the Italians near Tobruk and was killed
instantly when a hidden British 2 Pounder anti tank gun put a round right
through his chest. If Kummel wanted to wait, then Rommel decided he had better
have a look for himself.

Just
after sunset he moved forward to scout the enemy position, satisfying himself
that it had indeed been heavily reinforced. His instinct was to continue to jog
right, outflanking the defense, but each move like that forced him to leave
elements of his division along the extended front, diluting his combat power at
the point of that maneuver. To make matters worse, the motorcycle
reconnaissance troops of 200th Kradschutzen from 15th Panzer Division had
reported back that the hill he had hoped to reach the following day was now
being strongly occupied by what looked to be a full brigade of infantry.

“A
brigade?” he asked the Leutnant reporting. “Are you certain your eyes are not
playing tricks? Where would the British get yet another brigade to throw on the
line?”

“These
did not appear to be British troops, Herr General. They looked to be Poles from
the unit markings and flags we observed.”

“Poles?”
Rommel shook his head. “Didn’t they get enough back in ’39? Very well, you may
return to your battalion. But I want that position scouted again at dawn. Move
out before sunrise.”

The
unit was, in fact, the Carpathian Infantry Brigade, which was Wavell’s last
reserve. It had been moving up from the vicinity of Mersa Matruh, and had
reached the scene at a most opportune time, for the report gave Rommel pause
and he decided to wait until morning before pressing the attack further.

Streich
will be happy, he thought. He can siphon some petrol from his flack units and
dust off his tank tracks. Then he set about to see how much of his division was
within arm’s reach. He would collect what he could and plan his attack for the
following morning. It would be a long and sleepless night, and Rommel was upset
that things were not going as he had planned. Somehow the British had managed
to read his intentions and stolidly move blocking forces into position to
frustrate him.

I
should go right around them, he thought, but the more he circulated among his
troops, the more he came to hear the same complaint. They were running low on
fuel. The movement east from the Egyptian border had already taken them nearly
a hundred kilometers on fuel tanks that weren’t topped off when they started.
The Panzer III Medium tanks that constituted his primary striking force for
maneuver had a range of about 165 kilometers, and now they needed fuel. Streich
had been correct, as much as Rommel hated to admit that. So he issued orders
that all non-essential vehicles should be cannibalized for fuel to support the
combat elements, and he would take the night to catch his breath and prepare a
renewed offensive for the following morning.

“Where
is that Hungarian?” Rommel looked over his shoulder, rattling the old map he
had been brooding over.

“You mean
the Sonderkommando?”

“I want
him to have a look south and east tonight to see where the enemy flank is. The
British cannot have very much more to throw at us. Something tells me this is
the end for them. This Hungarian has good desert eyes, does he not? Send for
him at once.”

* * *

The
man with good desert eyes was the enigmatic figure of Hauptmann
László Almásy, commander of an elite unit of long range scouts operating with
Rommel’s force, the Sonderkommando. Almásy knew these deserts well, and had explored
them before the war when he launched several expeditions with other British
explorers to search for a legendary lost Oasis in the Libyan desert called
Zerzura. The place was rumored to be a fertile, hidden valley, accessible only
through a hidden wadi that ran between two mountains. There it had been
reported that strange men held forth, tall, blue eyed and with very unusual
speech and weapons. One legend held that they were Crusading knights who had
become lost in the desert on the way to Jerusalem, and founded a city of
bleached white stone that ran with fresh water from hidden springs and wells,
the fabled land of Zerzura.

Almásy
had searched for it in 1932 and the spring of 1933, and had also crossed the
Great Sand Sea, and explored the other well known oasis sites like Kufra,
Bayhira, Giarabub and Siwa. He was the Deutsche Afrika Korps’ answer and foil
to men like Popski and the British Long Range Desert Group, and had actually
worked with many of the men now serving in those units before the war. He met
and traveled with Godfrey Jones Penderel, a WWI ace who was presently flying
reconnaissance with No. 201 Group R.A.F., and Sir Patrick Clayton, who became
the official surveyor of the Libyan Desert and later joined the L.R.D.G.

Almásy
did not know it at the time, but at that very moment, Major Clayton was out
with T Patrol with 30 men and 11 trucks of the L.R.D.G., in a planned operation
against the Italian Held Kufra Oasis. His small band would be spotted by an
Italian airplane, and soon engaged by a much larger force of the Italian Auto
Saharan Company, and Clayton would be wounded and captured that very morning.

The
intrepid Hungarian arrived at Rommel’s command tent just after midnight, eager
to get new orders directly from the General.

“Here,”
said Rommel, fingering his map. “The Carpathian Brigade was seen in this area.
I want you to get over there tonight and have a good look around. But take your
time. Move south with the other Oasis Patrols, and see what you find. Note the
condition of the ground. Find the enemy flank, and then find me a way to move
east around their left shoulder. I’m told you’re a man of some experience in
these deserts. You should know what to do.”

Hauptmann
Almásy saluted, assuring Rommel he would return before dawn, and that he had
every confidence that he could find an easy way around the enemy flank.

It was
the last thing he ever said that he thought he could be sure of, for this would
not be another simple night reconnaissance for his Sonderkommando. The border
zone he was about to scout now was the edge of oblivion, and the enemy looming
like a vast shadow on that frontier were apparitions from another world.