Crescendo of Doom

Chapter 22

Hans Ludek was trying to sleep when he heard a fitful buzzing sound. Then something came falling from above, thumping right on his boot toe with a dull thud. He sat up with a start, his heart fast with the scare, but saw an odd looking thing in the trench by his foot. He squinted, leaning forward to pick up what looked like a small white device with a little propeller on top, and a thin tail with another smaller rotor. The whole thing sat in the palm of his hand, no more than four inches long and an inch high. What was this? Was one of the other men fooling around, like a man whittling to pass the hours? What had he made here?

He shook his head, putting the thing in his pocket and laying down again to try and get some sleep. A little toy, he thought. Someone was playing around with a little model helicopter, which is exactly what the thing looked like. He probably just threw it up into the night to see how far it might fly.

Other men were playing around that night, but the game was in deadly earnest. O’Connor was expecting to wait until dawn on the 10th of May for the British counterattack, but Kinlan explained that he preferred to go well before sunrise. He had men out now doing preliminary scouting and range finding, and the attack would commence soon.

“At night the threat of enemy air strikes is much reduced. That’s the one thing I worry about, as we have limited air defense missiles.”

“But how will you manage to coordinate your movements?”

“General, I know where every vehicle I own is at any given moment. As for the enemy, we have optics on our vehicles that are adapted to see at night,” he said. “It’s an advantage that will allow us to close with the enemy very quickly, and we can hit him as we come, at very long range, before they can even see us.”

It was, indeed, an unanswerable edge possessed by the modern British 7th Brigade. Command and control enabled by the fact that all Kinlan’s units were networked was only one of his assets. Night vision equipment used by the brigade combined active illumination, image intensification, thermal vision, lens magnification as well as infrared or thermographic cameras with digital image enhancement. It all came down to the same advantage that Kirov possessed over its enemies at sea, what you could see first, you could kill first, and the aim of modern combat was to find and kill the enemy before they could do the same to you.

In this case, the scales tilted yet further, skewing the balance in favor of the attackers, because even if the Germans did see what was coming, killing it was not going to be easy. Kinlan was going to use his Challenger IIs in their ideal role as a leading edge breakthrough weapon, and he was operating his tanks in tandem with his armored engineers. Expecting a more prepared defense, the British were going to use specialized equipment intending to clear pathways through minefields, and closely coordinate the advance with fire from the AS-90 Braveheart 155mm artillery.

The Germans could not see what was about to fall upon them, three full battalions of raging modern armor and mechanized infantry, but they could hear it. Hans Ludek was in a flak company attached to the German 15th Panzer Division, and could hear the dull rumble of ground thunder through the cold earth where he huddled, trying to get a few hours of fitful sleep. He was up, blinking, with a growing sense of alarm as he realized that distant rumble was the sound of an impending attack.

Rousing his mates on their dual purpose 88mm gun, he ran to the nearest field phone, intent on getting through to the artillery battery assigned to coordinate with his unit. The Germans had done everything that Rommel advised, laying mines and wire, digging in and sand bagging their heavy guns, entrenching light supporting infantry and pre-registering artillery in the zone of any expected attack. The preparations here were not as extensive as those of the Grossdeutschland Regiment further south, but the Germans had worked through the evening until well after midnight to mount a credible defense here. They were light on infantry, with only one battalion that had been moved down by the 90th Light, and the recon battalion of the 15th Panzer Division. But there were a good number of flak guns in all calibers here, and sixteen 88s.

All this was in readiness for the dawning of the third day of the battle, but the fire of that dawn started well before sunrise. There came that distant rumble, growing ever closer, more pervasive, until the men could feel the vibration of heavy vehicles beneath their boots. Guns were trained and loaded, crews ready, and then came the muffled crack of artillery and the whine of incoming shells.

They expected the normal scattered barrages of the British 25 pounders, a good weapon, but what they got instead was somewhat more. The AS-90s were lobbing well sited 155s, and advanced spotter teams had also been busy that night, infiltrating forward with laser range finders and snipers to find prominent gun positions. Before the attack even began, Kinlan’s men had painted a fairly accurate digital picture of the outer crust of the German defensive line. The DP 88s had very high profiles, and proved easy to spot, even when well dug in and camouflaged. The artillery that rained in was not a random or scattered barrage, but well sighted fire missions that were coming down on the German gun positions with fearful accuracy.

Corporal Hans Ludek was soon in a dugout trench, as the artillery fire found his battery, four heavy rounds, and one finding the number four gun, which was blasted to hell. The screams of the dying gun crews there would haunt him. Then he heard a hissing sound, looking to see the evil trails of rockets lancing in at the line, and he now knew that all the rumors of these new British wonder weapons were true.

The little toy Ludek had in his pocket was not something that had been cobbled together by one of the other men on his line. It was a Black Hornet Nano, a micro scale military drone developed for scouting by Prox Dynamics. The dream of a Norwegian developer who cut his design teeth making millions of helicopters for a toy company, the new PS-100 Black Hornet had full motion video cameras, and could fly like a small helicopter for up to twenty minutes to send back imagery to its operator. The British had used them successfully in Afghanistan, ideal for looking over walls, around corners or scouting over urban areas to look for hidden threats. In this case, they were being deployed by men observing for the AS-90 artillery.

They were also flying the Lockheed Martin Desert Hawk that night, and the Honeywell Tarantula Hawk. Developed to detect improvised explosive devices from the air, both were ideal for finding the German gun positions. In this case, Ludek’s little find was the result of a weak battery, causing the tiny drone to falter and fail as it was returning to its operators after scouting and filming this segment of the German line.

Find them, kill them. This was the simple mathematics employed by Kinlan’s 7th Brigade, and they had tools to solve that equation unlike anything ever seen by the armies of this day. The protective cover of darkness was swept aside, and the German gun positions were now being subjected to punishing artillery from the big 155mm rounds. Ludek’s battery lost another gun before it was over, then came the missiles.

The British were now sending in rockets from the FV438 Swingfire ATGM vehicle, and also a section of FV102 Strikers. To the Germans such a vehicle would eventually come to be known as the Raketenjagdpanzer, or ‘rocket tank hunter.’ In this case they were hunting big enemy 88 batteries. With a range of four kilometers, they were a good direct fire weapon against known target sites, and the ranks of 88s and 37mm flak batteries were thinned again. By the time the Challenger IIs rumbled forward they were taking very little fire at the two kilometer range mark.

Lieutenant Jake Martin was the number five tank in his section of Light Sabre One, designated light because it had only ten tanks that day. The other five had been sent to one of the companies of the Highland infantry to bulk up that unit and give it heavy armor support. Kinlan had distributed half of his 60 Challengers in that manner, sending five to each of his six infantry companies, retaining the remaining 30 tanks in three light Sabres of ten tanks each. Behind Sabre One was a company of Royal Engineers with a Titan, a Trojan and other armored combat engineering equipment. They had laid down an assault corridor through the minefields discovered by Lieutenant Reeves and his 12th Royal Lancer scout teams. Now the Challengers were going through, to be followed immediately by 1st Company, Highland Infantry in their 15 Warrior AFVs.

It was again to become an unstoppable assault. The Challengers blasted away at anything missed by the artillery and ATGMs, and then began to put on speed.

“Tally Ho!” shouted Martin as his Sabre moved out in front, firing as it went. They were just a kilometer short of the line when the first real enemy response came in the form of a heavy artillery barrage. The plaintive and frantic call of Hans Ludek had begged the German gunners to simply fire anything they had, and the pre-registered barrage was the only reprisal that was in any way threatening as Kinlan’s attack came in. Yet it was not aimed fire, or corrected by observers who were all grounded by the fire from the British attack. It was just a random saturation barrage, intending to sodden the approached to the line with a rain of steel and high explosives.

There were several close misses, before Jake Martin’s number five tank became the first unlucky Challenger to sustain damage, right off the left front quadrant of the tank, which then careened very near the exploding round as it hit the ground. The concussion was not anywhere as severe as it might have been had that round hit the tank but, as it was, it was enough to blow off the front left track, jarring the tank to one side as it slid into a low depression.

Martin was glad for his assault helmet that day, as he was jolted up and hit the upper hatch. The gunner was thrown right and bruised his shoulder, but the driver was unharmed. He saw the red warning light flashing and immediately knew they had lost that track, kicking the vehicle to all stop. A rain of falling stones and earth kicked up by the round fell over the Challenger, and it sat in stunned stillness a moment, like a bruised behemoth, until the gunner rotated his turret left and right to test the traverse, glad to find it was still functional.

“Well, that’s done it. We’ve just lost anything we had in the battalion pool.” The men had taken up bets on whether or not they would lose any of their superb fighting tanks that day. “I was ten to one dead set that we’d come through without a scratch, but look at us now. Slipped a goddamned track, and that’s going to set us back about a hundred quid, lads.”

It was to be the least of their worries that day. Number five tank was stopped, but when Cooper punched in to raise the engineers he found his link was down.

“We’ve been knocked off the network,” he said. “I can’t get through to the engineers.”

“Then use the radio. They’ll know we’ve fallen off the matrix alright, but a call home to battalion HQ won’t hurt. We’ll need to be pulled out of here. Everyone fit?”

Bill Happer was still rubbing his shoulder. An amiable man the others called “Happy Happer,” he was on the business end of the tank as main gunner.

“Took a knock but all is well,” said Happer. “Gun traverse is clear, but we’re a bit off kilter in this depression.”

“Probably good we ended up here,” said Martin. “I’m opening up to have a look.” He had the upper turret hatch open and was up with night vision binoculars to see what was around them. The other four Challengers had thundered on, and the last of the Warriors of 1st Highlanders were passing them now. He saw one man taking note of his tank from an open hatch, and gave him the thumbs up to indicate all was well. Then he was down through the hatch and sealing it shut, enfolded in the armored shell of the tank again.

“Well then, we wait for the engineers. Sorry Happy. Looks like you won’t get much to shoot at today.” He looked at his watch, noting the time as 04:20, just a little over an hour before sunrise. He expected they would have engineering support within that hour, and settled in, looking to brew up some tea on the built in BV, or boiling vessel, a nice feature of the Challenger tank.

“Who’s up for some Earl Grey,” he said lightly, not knowing how many cups away the engineers actually were.

The attack rolled on, merciless, and broke clean through the German Pakfront with thundering rage. Once through, the vehicles picked up speed, fanning out and shooting up rear area trucks, ammo stores, fuel canisters and anything else made by the hands of men. In time the 3rd Sabre on the right encountered the German artillery positions, and raised havoc there. The penetration had forced a wide bulge in the German line, right at the seam between the positions of 90th Light along Wadi Nullah to the north, and the salient made by 15th Panzer Division to the south.

Oberst Maximilian von Herff was leading the 15th Division now, newly appointed by Rommel during their rebuilding phase at Mersa Brega. Now Herff realized that a strong enemy penetration was above and well behind his Schwerpunkt, and he knew his demonstration attack towards Bir el Gobi had run its course.

“Get the men ready for immediate withdrawal,” he said, “and notify Grossdeutschland. Ask them to hold their positions until we can get back.”

Herff did not have to plead his case. For Hörnlein had been forewarned by Rommel that trouble was coming, and his men were dug in deep. Yet now the enemy was behind him as well, and not south where the distant rumble of vehicles on the move was now suspected to be the deception it truly was.

Rommel’s plan had met its first great snag, an attack at a time and place that he had not anticipated, and just as the first elements of the Recon Battalion of the Hermann Goering Brigade had clawed their way towards the outskirts of Tobruk.

The men on that front were weary, having fought at Rommel’s bidding all through the night in an effort to break through the last stubborn British resistance. The land fell in three tiers, each broken by an escarpment, and the main German attack was still on the road that led down to the cemetery on the middle tier, just south of the port. Just as a gap was pushed through, and a few sections of German armored cars raced on towards the port, Rommel got word that a strong attack was being mounted along the fortified line near the original point of the breakthrough into the fortress. The Germans had cleared the pill boxes and block houses as far as R56, but now that strongpoint had fallen to a stealthy night attack by a fierce, yet elusive enemy.

“There’s some damn good infantry down there,” an officer reported. “They are pushing right along that fortified outer line. They move like shadows, but hit hard. They must have a good Schwere company attached, and a lot of machineguns.”

He was describing the assault of Colonel Gandar’s Royal Gurkhas, with each man a machine gunner in the eyes of the enemy, and hard hitting hand held AT rockets that could blast away any concerted German resistance in a targeted objective. The light infantry would move in rushes, deploy withering automatic weapons fire, smash enemy MG or gun positions, and then storm in, the long kukri knives flashing to cut down anything their guns and grenades had failed to kill. Some even took a souvenir or two, slicing off the ear of a fallen enemy. They were pushing towards point R53, and with only ten more strongpoints east of the main road, they were slowly shouldering the gate to the fortress shut.

Chapter 23

“Happer, track left! Target at 600 yards!”

The big turret of tank five from 1st Sable pivoted quickly, and Happy had the vehicle in his optics. The crack of the 120mm gun jolted the tank as it fired, and Lt. Martin saw the enemy armored car blown to fragments with a direct hit.

They had been at it now for three hours. German doctrine when faced with an enemy breakthrough was to mount an immediate counterattack at the base of the Schwerpunkt, and the Recon Battalion of the 15th Panzers had come up to do exactly that. There they found that the speed of the enemy advance had left the area strangely quiet. The fighting was already rolling off to the north and west, and here was only one solitary enemy tank, apparently disabled during the advance—but what a tank it was!

Oberst Hans Karl von Esebeck had come on the scene while withdrawing with the rest of the division. The sight of the massive, solitary tank out in a low depression some 500 meters from the German lines was enough to make him stop and take notice. He soon had his field glasses up and was studying the tank closely, seeing that the division recon battalion was mustering here, and ready to destroy the behemoth. But that was a thing easier said than done.

He watched as the first troop of armored cars rolled up to engage with their short barreled guns. The SdKfz 222s had 2cm autocannons, and they opened up with a blistering volley of fire, but Esebeck saw that it had no effect whatsoever. It was as if the gunners were simply throwing sand at the enemy tank, which was not one of the new cruiser tanks they had encountered the day before, and certainly not a Matilda, as it was easily twice the size of that older British tank, and its hide was even thicker. This had to be one of those big new enemy tanks, and through his field glasses, he could clearly see that it had thrown a track.

Then he saw the huge flat turret rotate, the long barreled gun traversing to fire, and was aghast at the results. The first armored car was literally lifted off the ground, a shattered, smoldering wreck. The other four in that troop beat a hasty retreat, and he heard an officer bawling for AT gun support.

There wasn’t an 88 left standing on this segment of the field, but the infantry had a good 50mm gun, the best that they had available, and they managed to get it into position to fire. It got off three rounds, two glancing harmlessly off the heavy armor on the beast, and then the tank fired that evil main gun again and obliterated the position. Esebeck was very near, and was hit with shrapnel from that explosion, wounded and pulled back by a medic team. He looked at a gritty Sergeant who had come to check on him.

“My God! What a monster,” he said. “It’s no good using our AT guns on the damn thing. Try mortars, or artillery, or get it with infantry. Get in close and use grenades, or anything else you can get your hands on. Find a demolition team!”

And so it began, one of those little duels that history seldom records, yet one that would have a dramatic impact on how those events would play out in the future days, months, and years of the war.

The Germans deployed three squads from the Recon Battalion and the first tried to make an advance, but the ground was simply too open. The behemoth rotated that turret, and this time a machinegun fired, the EX-34 Coaxial 7.62mm chain gun, a deadly and reliable weapon against infantry attack. The advancing squad was quickly pinned down, three men dead and two wounded.

“Smoke!” called a Sergeant, and the Germans got a 50cm mortar into action, lobbing a series of smoke rounds to try and give the infantry some cover for another advance, yet it made no difference. The enemy tank fired again, with uncanny accuracy, sending withering bursts of MG fire at one squad, then rapidly rotating the turret to engage a second squad trying to flank it. Another MG, on top of the tank, was also moving as if guided by unseen hands, its barrel spitting out well aimed rounds, though they could see no gun operator. It was a remotely operated system, that could be fired by Jake Martin from his post inside the Challenger, safe within that heavy armored shell. In just ten minutes, the tank had eaten through the first platoon, sitting there, implacable, and undaunted.

Two more platoons came up, and the Germans thought to try again. This time the attack was bigger, with upwards of 50 men advancing, but they got a nasty surprise. Jake Martin’s number five tank had the remotely controlled 40mm autogrenade launcher mounted on the turret top as well, and it showered the advance with grenades, breaking the attack and leaving little more than a few brave squad sections for the coaxial MG.

Esebeck was shocked to learn that within half an hour, they had wasted a full company of infantry trying to get at the tank, and all to no avail. He ordered the battalion commander to stop his attack, and told him that, unless they could find a heavy caliber gun, there was no chance of storming the behemoth they had found at bay.

Inside tank five the crew had endured several 5cm round hits, the constant spray of MG fire and the crash of mortar fire falling close by, though the Germans had been unable to get a round directly on the tank. It would not matter if they did, as the small 50mm mortars they were using would do no more harm than any other weapon they had employed. Esebeck’s assessment had been correct. It was going to take a heavy round, of considerable caliber, to make any impression on the tank. He had men out looking for a 150mm infantry gun, or a stray artillery piece they might get into firing position, but there was always the threat from that massive main gun on the tank, as big as any heavy artillery Esebeck could find, and deadly accurate, even through the thick smoke the Germans had deployed.

This thing can see in the dark, he thought. It can find our men right through smoke. Nothing we use on it has even put a nick on the damn thing, and it has cut through this first recon company in half an hour. I could throw the whole goddamned battalion at the thing and it would be like water flowing over a rock, assuming we got men anywhere close to that beast alive. It’s a living, breathing fortress, and even with a broken leg, it just sits out there impervious to any weapon we possess.

He looked up at the smoky sky, taking a deep breath. Perhaps not every weapon, he thought. “Hauptmann Werner!”

“Sir!”

“Get on the radio. Where is that Stuka support we were promised? Tell them we have a nice fat target for them! It will take at least a 500 pound bomb to have any chance of killing that monster. Pull your men out, the division is withdrawing, and we go too.” He winced with the bite of that shrapnel wound, though it was not life threatening. Half an hour later they were moving northwest when they heard the drone of aircraft overhead.

A section of planes were up answering Esebeck’s call, and looking to find a target that had been marked by a single purple smoke round. Leutnant Hubert Pölz was in one of those planes, and he was feeling lucky that day.

Lieutenant Jake Martin had had enough tea for one morning, and there were entirely too many uninvited guests about. Where were the bloody Engineers? They had put in a call an hour ago, but the company assigned to the Highlanders had apparently moved on with the attack. They had been on the other side of the action, moving fast with the Warriors on that flank. By the time they realized a tank from 1st Sabre was no longer on the network, they were already ten kilometers to the northwest. So they put in a call to Brigade HQ to see if there was anything in the stables there. Kinlan had a small engineering detachment with his HQ park, and it was soon dispatched to look for tank five.

By the time it was drawing near, a squadron of six Stukas were overhead, led by Pölz, who had an elaborate hand-painted snake along the fuselage of his plane, stretching from the tail to the engine, where its mouth opened right near the nose mounted cannon, the white forked tongue licking up towards the prop. The Stukas saw the purple smoke marking their target, and the first subflight of three came in a steep dive. Three bombs fell, one wide, but two others in a straddle that rocked the tank, spilling what was left of Jake Martin’s last cup of tea.

“Bloody hell! That was damn close! We’re a nice fat sitting duck here. Better tell Brigade we’ll need air defense support, and that quickly.”

He thumbed the radio to call in for more support, but found the system dead. Shrapnel, shell and small arms fire, had worked the tank over hard that morning. They had been hit by 20mm rounds, a Pak 50 AT gun, MG fire, and fragments from near miss mortar fire, one round eventually coming right down on the tank’s turret, which sent a cheer through the ranks of the watching German infantry. It was quashed when the tank simply pivoted that massive turret and blasted a light flak battery to oblivion, completely unscathed.

But all that enemy fire had sheared away sensors, antennae, and the shock of those 500 pound bombs, even though they fell some 20 meters off the target, had damaged some of the internal electronics. Yet Martin and his beleaguered crew could be thankful that the Air Defense Company at Brigade HQ had seen the planes and, knowing they had a few vehicles out there stopped for recovery, they deployed forward with a tracked Alvis Stormer system. It mounted eight ready Starstreak missiles in the launcher, with another twelve stowed. It saw the incoming planes, but by the time they came within firing range, the first three had made an attack. The last three faced a gauntlet of well named high velocity missiles, the fastest short range system in the world. They accelerated quickly to Mach 3.5, scoring the sky with their contrails as they leapt up to get at the enemy planes.

Two of the three Stukas were hit in the middle of their attack dive by the three sub-munitions carried in each rocket. It was a lucky day for Pölz, and his aim was also very good that morning. He got his 500 pound bomb off, and then veered away in his screaming dive, with one missile streaking by, narrowly missing his plane. In fact, it was not after him. The system was not a fire and forget weapon that traced targets by radar or infrared. It relied on the aiming vehicle to use lasers for guidance, and could track only two simultaneous targets at one time. The wing mates in that subflight had been its prey. Pölz had not been painted by the aiming lasers that were guiding the missiles in, and he escaped in a low evasive maneuver, screaming over the last remnants of the German recon battalion, and sending the men cheering again when they saw the results of his attack. He had not scored a straddle or a near miss. It was a direct hit!

No matter how well protected the tank was, even a hit within a few meters by a 500 pound bomb was enough to cause serious damage. The modern US GBU-12 Paveway II bomb also had a 500 pound warhead and, during Operation Desert Storm, it was the tank busting weapon of choice, often used by F-111F bombers to savage Iraqi armor. Though the British Challenger II was better protected than the Soviet tanks faced in that battle, the fact remained that the explosive power, kinetic shock, and sheer concussive force of a 500 pound bomb striking a modern tank was going to read “kill” on the record of any pilot who had the skill to put it there.

Leutnant Hubert Pölz had done exactly that, and it was the last cup of tea that Jake Martin would savor that morning, the 10th of May, 1941, the day the first Challenger II died at the hands of enemy fire. The troops of I/33 Light Flak that were still in the area held their breath, halfway expecting the enemy behemoth to rotate that turret and belch fire and wrath at them again. For the last three hours it had held off the entire Recon Battalion, inflicting heavy casualties in the process. If just one of these new enemy tanks could do this, and this one with a slipped track and unable to maneuver, then what was happening to the northwest where the main enemy attack was still underway. They shuddered to think of that, wary as they crept just a little closer to the stricken enemy.

When the smoke and debris cleared, the squat shape of the tank was still there in the depression, scarred and blackened by the blast of the bomb, still as death, and with a fire burning there that slowly sent a thick clot of black smoke up over the scene.

They watched for some minutes, waiting, until they finally came to believe the monster was dead. Slowly, a few sections of infantry began to pick their way towards the scene, until they heard a dull growl, and the rumble of something coming over a slight elevation rise some meters off. There, cresting the low hillock, was the most threatening looking armored beast they had ever seen. It looked like a great metal crab, with three arms and a huge spiked, V shaped shovel that glowered like the teeth of a shark.

The men turned and fled for their lives, as the Trojan AVRE came on the scene, its 7.62 MG spitting out fire in warning that sent any other man in the vicinity to a rapid retrograde movement. Riding on a Challenger chassis, and with the same heavy Chobam armor, the Trojan was even more threatening looking than the enemy the Stukas had finally managed to kill. With the retreat of 15th Panzers now gaining momentum, no one left on the scene wanted anything to do with that tank. The last of the infantry leapt atop a German flak carrier and sped away, preferring to be alive with a whopper of a story to tell, than to be dead and ground beneath the tracks and shovel of that evil looking engineering tank.

So it was that Kinlan’s Royal Engineers found their fallen comrade, and soon had the Challenger hitched up for recovery, with a troop of infantry standing by on overwatch in a pair of AFVs. They dragged the fallen behemoth away, back over the ground of that breakthrough zone, until they reached the engineering park near Wadi Nullah. They were under strict orders that no modern vehicle was ever to be left on the field to be found by the enemy, and now they would pick over the bones of this carcass, to recover anything of any value it still might hold, including the remains of Jake Martin, Cooper, and “Happy Happer, all dead from the shock of that hit.

By this time Kinlan had surmised that his attack had gone off as expected. All the German formations cut off to the south were now hot footing it back towards Bir Hacheim, and the 90th light, after putting in a futile counterattack near the northern rim of the breakthrough zone, was now also disengaging and falling back to the northwest. O’Connor’s 2nd and 7th Armored were nipping at the heels of the retreating enemy, but the German formations were still in good order, moving in hastily formed columns and leaving behind small rear guards that imposed caution on the WWII era tankers.

As for Kinlan’s 7th Brigade, he gave orders for the unit to stop and re-form on a road that led north towards a small settlement called Acroma. If they followed that road to reach that place, they would be behind all the forces Rommel was hastily extracting from the Tobruk fortified zone, cutting off the Trento and Ariete Armored divisions in the process.

“General,” said Kinlan. “I can have my brigade reassembled within the hour. Do you want me to continue north towards the coast?”

“Well,” said O’Connor, “we haven’t any idea what’s out there, aside from three or four enemy divisions. Frankly, given the situation concerning your use of ammunition, it might be best for you to wait until we can collect the rest of the army. My own brigades are well scattered to the south, and I’ve little in the way of infantry prepared to move west at the moment. Hold until we get news of what’s happening at Tobruk.”

Chapter 24

Rommel took the news of the enemy counterattacks with a quiet, restrained frustration. He had stopped O’Connor, baiting him with that feint against Bir el Gobi by Herff’s 15th Panzers. He had rejoiced when the Italian Ariete Division had bravely fought all night on that first day to lay bare the entrance to Tobruk’s fortified outer ring. Then he had sent in his shock troops, the handpicked men of the Hermann Goering Brigade, and they had made remarkable gains in the last 18 hours, pushing all the way to King’s Cross and Fort Solano. In all this fighting, there had been no sign of the enemy heavy armor, and he was hopeful it still remained in Syria. Now this.

Herff was reporting a strong enemy attack had pushed right through the defensive line to his north. That was our one weak spot, thought Rommel. Herff must have moved a little too far south with his feint, and it extended his flank there where the German line ran north along Wadi Nullah to reach the positions held by the 90th Light.

Flak guns and just two battalions of infantry held that zone, and now it was Rommel’s turn to bite his lip when his enemy declined to fall on that hardened southern flank where he had posted Hörnlein’s elite troops in waiting.

They aren’t stupid, he thought. This O’Connor is a cagey one. He danced around that flank all day yesterday, but he was merely probing, waiting, and now I see why. They were staging for this attack!

The reports coming in from the front set off that pulse of fear and alarm in him. Tanks—massive, fast, hard hitting enemy tanks, and this time in good numbers. They were breaking through that exposed segment of the line, and would cut off both 15th Panzers and Grossdeutschland in little time. He could not leave them there, and Herff, knowing he could not sit in place, had already begun to disengage, always a dangerous and often costly operation of war.

Now this damn infantry attack on the outer line of the fortifications presented another problem. He had all of the Hermann Goering Brigade, and most of the fighting elements of his own 5th Light Division, deep inside the perimeter. If the enemy was able to re-occupy those damn block houses astride the main road… This place could become a cauldron of doom, he thought.

We’ve got round the flank of the Australian 9th, and the enemy was throwing every scratch unit they could find onto the line. His crack battalions were pushing on through, but the rest of the Australian 9th Division had stayed in its defensive positions, and Rommel knew the Italians on the other side of that wall would not be enough to force them out.

We had to fight all night to penetrate this far. The harbor is just another four or five kilometers, and by all accounts I already have a few armored cars out there. One of my staffers jubilantly sent out a message that Tobruk had fallen, and I’ll have that man stewed! The Goering Brigade fought hard, but the men are exhausted. How far will that penetration to the south go? Which direction will it turn? North, of course, they will turn north and then they’ll have 90th Light in a cauldron as well. Where were those Stukas I was promised?

Even as he said that, he knew where they were—back on the air strips waiting to take off. The attack had come in well before dawn. I’m told the British put in artillery fire that was so accurate it obliterated most of our 88s before they ever had a chance to fire. It was Bir el Khamsa all over again. Now these tanks come through, and we simply cannot stop them. Come sunrise, let’s hope the Stukas have some good hunting, otherwise…. It is a long way back to Mersa Brega again.

This attack had completely reversed the situation that had looked so promising over the last three days. Now his plan had failed. He knew it in his bones, in spite of a stubborn streak that wanted to refuse to admit that. He was to be the German General beaten not only once, but twice, and that thought scalded him, reddening his neck and cheeks.

Yes, Tobruk was falling, but it would not be taken that day. He could not stay here. Herff knew what was necessary now, and when the Headquarters of the 90th Light reported enemy movement well behind his front line and coming north, Rommel’s worst fears were realized. He had to withdraw.

“Get a message to Herff and Hörnlein. They are to fall back on our depot at Bir Hacheim at once. As for our troops inside the fortress, get them out—now!”

“But Herr General, we have broken through. Our men can see the port!”

“Yes? Well I hope they enjoy the view, because if we are still here by noon, they’ll most likely be shipping out through that port—to a British prison camp! Now get them out I tell you!”

General Montgomery also had a good view of the harbor that morning, aghast to see the arrival of German armored cars! They had not come in strength, and could only put out harassing fire across the bay where he had his headquarters, but he knew that situation could change quickly.

If this lot is here, then they pushed through our blocking position at King’s Cross. I threw every man I could find on the line, flak units, air field service personnel, rail crews, medics and supply troops. I’ve trained every battery of artillery we had at them, but damn if they just keep coming.

He put down his binoculars, annoyed by the rattle of an enemy machinegun raking the quay. Then he spied that Martini-Enfield rifle the Sergeant Major had fetched for him, common with the Australian and New Zealand troops at this stage of the war, and decided enough was enough.

“Sir, best take cover. We’re under fire!”

“I can see that you blithering fool! And do you suppose I’m going to just sit here and take it?” Monty had that rifle up and was taking aim, his beady eye sighting down the long barrel, and his thin finger hard on the trigger. He fired three shots, more to quell his own frustration than to do any real harm to the enemy. Later he would lord over the moment, saying he had to take a rifle in hand himself to stop Rommel at Tobruk. At that time he knew nothing of Brigadier Kinlan’s attack, or that his own situation would soon find relief with Rommel’s order to pull his men out of the fortress.

As if those three rounds had marked the high water line of Rommel’s fortunes, and the low ebb of his own, word soon came that there were signs the Germans were pulling back. They had assault squads poised to make an attack on Fort Solano, and Montgomery fully expected his rifle might soon have to be put to use in earnest, but that moment never came. Rommel was pulling out. One report after another came in, as the Fallschirmjagers and troops of the Goering Brigade made a skillful withdrawal, much to the relief of the weary defenders on the last thin line of resistance.

By all rights, that staffer Rommel had promised to stew had been correct. He had, indeed, taken Tobruk, but he could not stay there long enough for that to become a fact of war, or to savor any sense of the victory. Instead he was now planning how he might get his army to some ground he could hold, and save what was left of his vaunted new Afrika Korps.

For his part, Montgomery would make the most of the heroic stand his reserve units had made, though most of the 1st Army Tank Brigade had been shredded and the Carpathians badly mauled as well. Yet he held, Montgomery of Tobruk, and that played well at home. But another name was soon in the papers as well, that of General O’Connor, and the story of his 7th Armored Brigade was also making the press.

The only rub was that the men of the real 7th Armored Brigade had nothing whatsoever to do with that attack, and when they heard the news later that they were being trumpeted back home, they simply scratched their heads. The bloody reporters got at least one thing correct—they had stopped Rommel again, and that was enough.

The Germans and Italians fell back on Gazala, and the area near Mechili where an airfield and forward supply depot had been established. Rommel spent all the next day coordinating the withdrawal, taking stock of what he still had in hand, and trying to determine whether he could hold on. He screened the approach to Derna through the airfield at Timimi with the Italian formations, and consolidated his Afrika Korps further south, below Mechili, guarding the desert track that would cut across Cyrenaica to Agedabia, and eventually reach his starting point at Mersa Brega.

Back home in Germany, Hitler had been busy with the final preparations for Barbarossa, but had taken some interest when he learned Rommel had begun to advance again. The reports that he had swept over Cyrenaica, running the British and Australians out of the Jebel country, and capturing many airfields in the process had been encouraging. Then came the news that Tobruk had been invested, and an assault there was in the works. He was dining in Berlin when an aide came in with the report Rommel’s staffer had sent, that Tobruk had fallen.

“Good news,” he said over his wine. “Though it hardly matters now. It’s a little too late to have much of an effect on the real war. That comes in just a few days time, when Sergei Kirov gets more than a little surprise for picking the wrong side of this business. That said, send General Rommel my congratulations, and ask him how soon he plans to be at the Suez Canal this time.”

When Rommel got that message he was sitting in his tent at Mechili airfield, reviewing reports on the action that had thankfully concluded with nightfall on the 11th of May. He was taking stock of his forces, chastened again and forced on the defensive, with all thoughts of offensive operations long gone.

15th Panzers suffered 30% casualties, and lost a good deal of its flak elements, and some artillery as well. I/8th Panzer Battalion had 15 Pz IIs, 16 Pz IIIs and only 5 Pz IVs, a total of 36 tanks, losing another 40 during the three day battle. II/8th Battalion fared a little better, and still had 58 of its initial allotment of 80 tanks. The grenadier battalions had suffered equal losses in infantry and trucks. 90th Light division would again make that name more suitable. It had been built up to a full three regiments before the offensive commenced, but now could muster manpower only equivalent to two regiments. The vaunted Herman Goering Brigade had taken severe casualties as well. Only Hörnlein’s Regiment seems to have come off unscathed. Grossdeutschland is largely intact, he thought.

“It took us three months to build up forces and supplies for this attack,” he muttered to his Chief of Staff, “then just three days of fighting to wreck the entire Korps again. Where were all those Stukas I was promised? Where was the navy? They should have been off the coast pounding Tobruk the whole time!”

Colonel Klaus von dem Borne listened, his eyes on his report from the quartermaster. “It won’t be a question of supplies this time,” he said. “We still have plenty of fuel for our tanks and trucks.”

“Yes? Well it’s a pity we no longer have the tanks to use it.”

“It has been worse. That attack came in darkness. That is why you did not get your Stuka support. Once dawn came the planes were up, but by then the enemy had already achieved a breakthrough—and those rockets! They took a terrible toll on the air squadrons. We lost 18 planes before noon. As for the navy, the Hindenburg has been recalled to Gibraltar. We only just got the news. By now they will be in the Atlantic.”

Rommel shook his head. “They are pulling out, Borne. The navy took a beating in that last big engagement, and they want nothing more to do with the Royal Navy here. We finally take Malta, and now control both the western and central Mediterranean, but we do not use this advantage to really move the forces here that will make a difference. One more division… If they had sent me the 1st Mountain Division as promised, then I would not have had to commit 5th Light to the action at Tobruk. Goering’s troops fought hard. In another six hours we would have taken that harbor. If I had Kübler’s troops assaulting behind them, then 5th Light would have been available in reserve when this enemy counterattack started. For that matter, 10th Panzer is just sitting in France doing nothing, and that division could have made all the difference here.”

“It’s the Russian operation, sir. Everything is being nailed down in readiness for Barbarossa. We were lucky to get the supplies and troops assigned in these last three months, particularly Grossdeutschland.”

“Well as it was, I had no reserve,” Rommel complained. “Once they broke through we had no recourse. It was either withdraw or be cut off.”

“Even 5th Light may not have been enough…” Von Borne was a realist. He had collected the reports from the officers of 15th Panzers, and the flak units that faced the enemy counterattack. “It was those god awful heavy tanks again, same as before. That defense was hastily mounted. We did not expect them to hit us in the center. Down south Hörnlein stood his ground as ordered, but the center was weak, and I think that, even if you had 5th Light in hand to throw in, it would have been much the same.”

“This isn’t over,” said Rommel, stubbornly resisting the notion of defeat again. “We have withdrawn to better defensive positions here, that is all. We will get more tanks up from Tripoli and then consider what to do. Thank god the enemy doesn’t have the sense to get after us now. How do we stop these tanks!” The frustration in Rommel’s voice was apparent.

“One was damaged by our artillery fire.”

“One?”

“That night attack was difficult to cope with. The artillery fires were not as heavy as we planned, but yes, we stopped one, and after dawn the Stukas got it.”

“So they can be killed, if we get the air support. For now, we must assume a defensive posture again.”

“We’re safe for the moment,” said von Borne. “The British have not pursued us west. They seem content to consolidate around Tobruk, and that is another mystery. They used this new armor in Syria to stop 9th Panzer Division, then just pulled it off the line. And they have done the very same thing here. You would think they would exploit these breakthroughs, but each time the hammer falls they set it aside.”

“They don’t really have the strength to go on the offensive yet,” said Rommel. “Their infantry divisions can’t push us—only this new armored force. They aborted their offensive in Syria against 9th Panzer Division to send those tanks back here. So this tells me that they do not have them in any great numbers, possibly only this one brigade sized unit from what we’ve been able to piece together. They counterattack to hold the line, and thus far that has been enough, yes? Operations have ground to a halt in Syria, and now we have been stopped again here. This big strategy of squeezing the British in a pincer operation was doomed to fail from the very first. I needed Kübler’s troops here, and another good panzer division. And forces committed to Syria were also inadequate.”

“I’m afraid there will be no serious reinforcement here now for some time,” said von Borne. “Everything is going to Russia. I have even heard they are going to recall Steiner’s troops from Syria. In fact, I would not be surprised to find that Grossdeutschland is taken from us soon. You must prepare yourself for the worst.”

Rommel was pouring over those terrible loss reports von Borne had handed him, his mind searching the days ahead as he might peer out into this forsaken desert, seeing nothing there but endless, lifeless stretches of barren land. It was then that a staffer came in with the Führer’s congratulations on his capture of Tobruk. The man saluted as he handed off the note, his eyes bearing the weight of what had just happened to the Afrika Korps. Rommel gave him a wan look, returning his salute.

When Borne had left, and he was again alone, he quietly read the message, a grim smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. Then he slowly crumbled it in his clenched fist.