Second Front

Chapter 22

With Patton heavily engaged with the 327th Infantry south of the city, it was the 3rd US Infantry Division that would land the next blow, arriving off Fedala and points northwest on D+3. It had come all the way across the Atlantic from US ports. Roosevelt and Greer, with two thirds of Allen’s 1st Division at Rabat and Port Lyautey, would be glad to see them come, for they had been unable to push the French north or open the road to Tangier, and it was all they could do to simply hold the port and airfield. But first 3rd Infantry had to get ashore.

The point chosen near Fedala on the coast just north of Casablanca, was selected because it had good sandy beaches to either side of the town. The small Mellah River wound its way through tidal flats and marshy ground to the sea, just south of the town itself, and its small harbor was protected by a stony headland, Cap de Fedala, and an 800 foot jetty. This had been the place 3rd Division landed in Fedorov’s history, and it was happening again here, with uncanny similarity, a piece of the shattered mirror large enough to reflect the events he might have known.

Amazingly, the French had very little in the way of defenses there. They had reacted to the landings at Safi, and Rabat, also historical assault locations, and then to Patton’s little innovation in landing at El Jadida. That is where most of the city’s defenders had concentrated, as well as all the arriving German 327th Infantry Division. Yet none of these assaults were the main attack. That was to be delivered by the 3rd Infantry Division, dubbed Force Brushwood under Major General Jonathan W. Anderson.

This division was supposed to land on day 1 of the plan, but shortages of shipping delayed its departure, as well as a cautious re-direction in the Atlantic to avoid suspected U-boats. So it was coming in 48 hours after the battle had begun, the hammer that was supposed to smash French resistance and take Casablanca. It would start with good fire support from the cruisers Brooklyn and Augusta, the latter being Patton’s flagship. They would be ready to take on three French shore batteries, a pair of 76mm guns on Cap de Fedala, four more 100mm guns at the base of that headland, and a more powerful bastion known as Batterie du Pont farther north on a rocky headland near the village of Cherqui. They were all protected by MG pits, a few flak guns, and there were still a few French destroyers in Casablanca that could always make a run at those landings. But it would not be the French resistance that would complicate those landings, but the sea and shoreline itself.

The British had long ago warned the Americans about the heavy surf on the Atlantic coast. If the troops could all land on the designated sandy beaches, U.S. planners deemed the risk acceptable. As it was, the nightmares experienced by Harmon when he rehearsed his landings all began to play out for General Anderson and his 3rd Division. The landing boats were slow to load, the men lumbering down the nets, all heavily laden with heavy packs and other equipment. The boats, when they finally started to make the three mile run into the shore, would invariably drift off their assigned approach path. Many landed on the wrong beaches, with boats carrying command elements seeing men of a different battalion landing on their beach. Those were the lucky ones. Others drifted as far off as 10,000 yards from their designated landing point.

The coastline these wayward boats encountered was not sandy beaches. There were rocky outcrops, reefs, marshy tidal flats, all conspiring to lure the landing boats in, which seemed all too eager to get to any spit of land they could see in the dark. The rough seas then tossed many of the boats onto those rocks, capsized others, and many men sank in the high surf with their heavy packs, and drowned. These casualties were not heavy, but the loss in landing boats was. One battalion had come in on 37 boats, and only two survived intact, making it back to the transports. All the rest had been capsized, run aground on rocks, with others stuck in the mud flats, unable to restart their engines.

The 2nd wave of the attack was waiting for those boats to return, and, with that kind of attrition, they found they had only 60% of the boats required. So the whole landing schedule went to hell in the surf.

As the first wave came ashore, the men struggling to realize whether they were on the correct beach or not, the French turned on searchlights and started firing machine guns, and it is remarkable that men under fire soon realize there’s a war on, and start to react. Officers shouted orders, commandeered any men at hand, and began organizing assault teams. Their mission was to get to the base of that headland and get after those shore batteries before daylight, with only 45 minutes of darkness remaining.

The fear of those guns was over inflated. The planners had trained a special recon team, all dressed in jet black uniforms, and they were to come in on rubber rafts and hit the guns in the dark. Yet the landings were so jumbled up, that they didn’t arrive until twenty minutes after dawn. Now they would have to make the attack on the well lit, sun swept beach, against those French rifle pits and flak guns, and none of them had trained for that. The officer in charge shrugged, cursed his bad luck, and instead of changing the plan and organizing an attack, he simply led his men back into their rafts and they all paddled out to sea to their transport.

That was what green, untested men might do in first combat. It was men learning how to be soldiers, almost to a man, forming companies and learning how to become a battalion, forming battalions and learning how to become regiments, a division, an army. This was the first dawn of the long crusade ahead of them. If Patton had been there, he might had sent them the other way, but he was now on a boat himself, leaving the stalemated bridgehead south of Casablanca and heading back to Augusta.

So while some men failed when their plans were upset by these ill timed landings, others took actions they were never meant to perform. Small groups of men made attacks on those French guns, enough to silence them until the navy could weigh in with support fire. Some were taken by that first wave, and just after dawn, the American cruisers put accurate fire on the enemy occupied headlands, silencing the guns there almost before they had a chance to open fire. One battery stopped firing at the Americans but would not surrender. It took direct mortar fire and rounds from two Pak 75mm howitzers to compel them to end their resistance.

The cruiser duel with the shore batteries did cause one other mishap. When Patton arrived at Augusta, piped aboard by sailors eager to impress, the cruiser made a point of blasting away with its main guns at enemy AA gun positions and those shore batteries. So much so that a battalion ashore had to call on the radio and ask them to stop. The concussion from one salvo blew a boat containing most of the General’s personal belongings right off the deck, and it fell into the sea in pieces.

Patton took it in stride, for moments before the men had fetched his ivory handled pistols in a box from that very launch, because he wanted to show them to the ship’s Captain. They were the one thing he salvaged from the incident, that and the honor of being the first American General to land on two assault beaches in the same operation. He was going ashore to personally sort out the mess at Fedala, and get the men moving on their objectives. Before noon he had done exactly that, and the French would soon find a tide of khaki and olive green coming down on Casablanca from the north.

“Get your men inland,” he shouted at any Captain or Colonel he came upon. “ You! Line up your battalion right here. The rest fall in on your left, and be goddamned quick about it! We’re going to roll on in and take that city like a tidal wave. Be ready to attack by 14:00.”

Units of the 30th Regiment had landed farthest north, and they would soon push up towards Rabat to try and shake loose things there. Colonel Greer’s 18th RLT had been bogged down in Rabat itself, his men fighting house to house against the 2nd French Zuave Regiment. The 30th RLT from the 3rd Division was a most welcome sight when it came up from the south to take the pressure off and flank that enemy defense. The other two Regiments, 15th and 7th, had turned south for Casablanca.

Off to the south, the real trouble spot was at Safi, and it was getting worse by the hour. The Marrakesh Division had finally reached the scene in force, its commander, Major General Henri Martin eager for a fight. He set up headquarters in a small village southeast of Safi along the rail line, and gathered field reports, eventually determining he was looking at a regimental sized landing force. The Americans had the town, port, and airfield, but the fortified outpost just south of Safi, El Houdi, was still in French hands.

The Germans had moved swiftly to abandon their hard won prize in the Canary Islands. The six transports that Raeder had sent three days earlier were just in time to receive Kubler’s tough mountain regiment. Two others, and several Siebel ferries, called on Fuerteventura and their decks and holds were soon crammed with troops and equipment from the 22nd Air Landing Division. Meindel’s Sturm Regiment would go by air, but not without losses when Allied fighter patrols found some of those planes. The order had come on the first day of the invasion. Three days later, the bulk of the German fighting troops on those islands had successfully evacuated.

Force C had learned of the move too late to intervene that first night when Kubler slipped away. On the second night they were ready to interdict any further withdrawal, but no enemy shipping was found. The German fighter cover was thick, still more than a match for the British in this sector, as the weight of most German air power had been concentrated in the south. Thus the bulk of all those airlifts were successful, and Goring remarked that it could have been much worse if the Allies had concentrated more carrier based fighters here. Instead, they had opted to cover their all important landing operation, believing the small lodgment at Safi was enough of a delaying force to prevent any quick German movement north.

Kubler took his 98th Mountain Regiment into two small ports, Essaouria, about 110 kilometers south of Safi, and Agadair, another 130 kilometers south. The airlifts first shuttled to all the southern airfields the Germans had used, Tan Tan, El Aioun, Tarfaya, Sidi Ifini, and Goulimine. From there they refueled, and took on anything else in the way of men and field equipment that they could cram onto the planes. All trucks and other transport took the rest and started up the long dusty roads of Morocco. In the dark of the night, with confusion, units scattered and mixed, officers sometimes working at cross purposes, it was difficult for the men to have any sense that this was a redeployment, as the order had read. In their hearts, they knew it for what it was, a retreat, and one with an edge of desperation that drove it on through the cold desert tracks.

Their grand adventure was over, but 48 hours later, as the columns and planes snaked and flew north, they would slowly muster south of Safi, where Kesselring had placed a heavy finger on the map, demanding that place be retaken at once.

So it was that the 39th RLT of the 9th Division would soon be in a fight for its life. General Harmon’s Blackstone Force had landed there in the old history, but he was farther north in that bridgehead south of Casablanca. So the 39th came in here, a unit that would have landed at Algiers in the original plan. They were doing exactly what they had been sent there to do, but it soon dawned on the men that they had, in fact, been the one bone the Allies would throw to the wolves in this affair.

Their position was already surrounded on all sides, though the route north of the airfield at Sidi Bou Zid was still only lightly defended. Colonel Caffey got on the radio and reported his situation—objectives taken, but under growing enemy pressure. The Marrakech Division was just the leading edge of that storm. By the 20th of September, D+5 since the Lisbon landings, and D+3 since Caffey and his men had fought their way ashore and into Safi, the first column of German troops were starting to arrive from those two ports to the south.

The lead unit was the 22nd Recon Battalion of the Luftland Division, and Student with the HQ of 7th Flieger Korps. It had two companies of motorcycle troops, and some light vehicles that had come over on a Siebel Ferry forming a third company of armored cars. Behind that came three battalions of Falschirmjaegers, and then Kubler’s regiment, strung out in widely spaced groups, some 60 kilometers to the south. General Martin would be very glad to introduce them to one Major Griggs of the 3rd Battalion Landing Team, 39th Regiment. The American officer had taken to a jeep early on the afternoon of the first day, and slipped south along the course of a small river to scout out the terrain. Now he was a prisoner, and apparently talking freely, though everything he was saying was a load of guff.

“Just you wait,” he told the General. “We’ve come with half a million men up north, and 500 planes—scores of fighting ships as well. You haven’t seen anything yet.” The fact was that they had come with 112,000 men, and about 160 carrier based planes. His brag on the Navy was closer to the truth.

Kurt Student had been on the islands to oversee that last offensive into Tenerife and La Palma. Now he was leading this retreat, and none too happy about it. He came tramping in with Meindel, tired, dirty, his uniform covered with road dust. It was not what he thought he would be doing that day, and the first thing on his mind now was not Major Griggs, but information.

“Mon General,” said Martin, squinting at Student like he was a vagabond or desert tramp. “A long night’s march I see. You will be pleased to know I have an American officer here.”

“Good for you,” said Student in French. “You arrived here by rail?”

“Some units. Others made the march by road.”

“Are those trains still here?”

“For the most part. In fact, one of your battalions apparently air lifted to Marrakech, and it has just brought in another small train, arriving only hours ago.”

“Good. Will you take Safi?”

The General smiled, thinking that a certainty now with all these German troops at hand. “Of course,” he said, “first thing in the morning. You will want dinner, and a little rest, Yes?”

“That I will,” said Student. “And then I will want those trains, all of them. We are going back to Marrakech, and from there north to Fez.”

General Martin raised an eyebrow at that. “You will not fight here, at Safi?”

“You take it. First thing in the morning. What we want here is the rail line to get up north, and thankfully, you’ve already got that. Good job, Mon General. I will see about getting you a medal. Take Safi and you can have another.” Student tipped his dusty cap, and strode out into the night to look for those trains.

General Martin blinked. There were five or six enemy ships off shore, and they had been pounding his positions all that afternoon. Some ally we have here, he thought. At least the British fought side by side with us in France. Well Herr General Student, you will not get to Fez on those trains, because the rail line runs right through Casablanca, from all accounts the Americans have already cut that line at Rabat. If you don’t already know that, you will learn about it soon enough… First thing in the morning.

Chapter 23

General Kurt Student got the news late that night. On the telephone to Kesselring in Fez, he also learned that the Americans had landed yet another division north of Fedala, and it was investing Casablanca from the north, sweeping the French resistance before it. As there was no sign of any direct attack on the port, Major General Lascroux moved several battalions from the city defenses to that flank in an attempt to stem the American tide. But the troops presently there did not look like they could hold out without substantial reinforcements. Now Kesselring had to make a very tough decision.

“Do we fight for Casablanca?” Student asked on the phone.

“How soon could you get there?”

“The French left enough rolling stock here to move a couple regiments, but the Luftland Division is strung out on the roads south. They will be days getting up to the rail line. Kubler is arriving here this morning.”

“What can you move by air?”

“One good regiment, perhaps four or five battalions.”

“Then get them to Fez, and go there yourself, by any means possible. I’m afraid that means a long march, and over difficult roads.”

“Then you don’t want Casablanca?”

“Oh, I would love to save it for Raeder, but let’s face facts. Even if you had all your troops there now, the best we could hope for is a stalemate. I sent the 327th there from Marrakech two days ago. They stopped the southern enemy landings, but they cannot push them back. With your troops, perhaps we could defeat that part of their landings, but I am told more armor is starting to come ashore at Rabat and on the beaches north of Fedala. Herr General, we are not going to stop them at Casablanca, and considering that port is of no use to us at all now, I’m ordering the 327th to pull out as well. They will take the trains they came in on. There is a rail spur into the mining region near Ques Zemand Bourjad. From there it’s an overland march to El Borouj, and then a very long way to Fez. Get as many men out by air as you can.”

“You mean to build up at Fez to cover Tangier?”

“Possibly, but more likely we will be covering Algeria.”

“What’s happening in Spain?”

“Fighting all along the frontier. We’ve identified at least three British Divisions there, but we have three of our own, so the situation is stable.”

“The Führer has authorized this withdrawal?”

There was a long pause on the line before Kesselring came back. “Just get your men to Fez, and let me worry about the Führer.”

“Herr General,” said Student. “I will do as you order, but something tells me you will be worrying about the Führer for a good long while after this.”

Not even Smiling Al could crack a grin with that thought.

The stalemate around Casablanca was slowly shifting as more and more US troops landed. Safi had been left to hold out on its own. Everything left was going to Fedala and Rabat. The plan had always been to weight as much of the attack as possible north of the city, and with all of 3rd Division ashore by D+5, the pressure on the Fedala front redoubled. Disengaging in the face of an enemy attack was perhaps the most difficult thing you could ask your troops to do, and for the 327th, Patton’s ever present ardor for battle was making their day a nightmare. He had been on the radio, exhorting that flank to push harder. Some of the German units were able to pull off the line, others fought a stubborn delaying action. About 60% of the division would get safely back to those trains and on their way into the mountains, and it would be a week to ten days before they might reach Fez.

The next train coming up from the Safi area was carrying more of Kubler’s troops. It found the rail line cut and torn to pieces about 20 kilometers south of the vital junction to that rail spur east into the mountains. An enterprising mobile AA unit had broken off from Patton’s extreme right flank, ordered to scout south for any sign of an enemy buildup. The Lieutenant in charge saw that rail line and had the presence of mind to tear it up. So the Germans had to literally backtrack to the rail bridge over the river flowing down from Massira lake, detrain there, and then begin moving by road into the long valley that stretched east in the shadow of those highlands.

As for the Luftland Division, part of one regiment was with Kubler and some were following the valley route, but at least five battalions were still stranded on the coast. They were ordered to concentrate at Agadair, where the Luftwaffe assembled as many air transports as possible under heavy fighter cover. From there they would fly over the Atlas mountains to Ifrane Airfield south of Fez.

At the same time, German air power that had been concentrated in the south began leap-frogging from one airfield to another, always north towards Marrakech and Fez. The fighters concentrated on keeping that vital air corridor open, the Stukas, Do-17s and JU-88s did all they could to harass enemy movement on the ground. While Allied air power was now about 35% stronger than German assets in theater, it was spread out from Lisbon to Safi, and so this concentration of Luftwaffe forces around Marrakech gave them a local superiority to protect the troops flying north.

As Student had feared, Hitler was eventually informed of these moves, and his reaction was a predictable explosion at OKW. In one brief week he was seeing a position his troops had striven to secure for months collapse. To soften the blow, he was told the Canaries were secure, and that Kesselring’s movement of troops north was entirely aimed at cutting off the Allied move toward Tangier. The first was a lie, for the only thing preventing 110 Force on Tenerife from launching an immediate assault on Gran Canaria was the lack of shipping required. The second line might hold true, depending on how many men Kesselring could get north, and how fast they could get there.

It was then that more bad news arrived. The British had pulled off yet another amphibious landing north of Cadiz, directly on Spanish territory. Hube’s 16th Panzer Division had held his line on the Portuguese frontier for the last week near Villa Real. The British 6th Armored division could not move him, for ‘Der Mench’ was implacable on defense when so minded. But Montgomery then brought up two brigades from 3rd Division, and all the tanks he could get from 33rd and 34th Armored Brigades. He concentrated them at Minas Sao Domingos, a mining region about 45 kilometers north of the coast, and pushed hard.

At the same time, the British threw in their last remaining reserve, the 11th Brigade from 78th Infantry Division. It had been destined to reinforce its brothers on Tenerife, but was held in the Azores as a local reserve for TORCH. There were excellent beaches south of the small Spanish port of Huelva, though they had been eliminated from the planning due to their proximity to German air power at Gibraltar and the fact that there were heavy marshes inland to the east. It was thought than any force landing there would be easily bottled up, and could not move east to Sevilla or south to Cadiz. But suddenly, these same liabilities became assets.

“Look here,” said Monty. “We’ve enough air power here to cover a small brigade scale landing operation. And that marshland acts as a shield to protect the right flank of anything we put there. Those troops can land, take Huelva, and cut the 16th Panzer Division off at the roots. At the same time, we’ll make our big push further north.” He illustrated with both arms, forming a pincer movement. “They’ll either have to withdraw from Villa Real, or we’ll have them in a nice little pocket.”

Monty’s plan would work. Hube’s division, facing a full armored division reinforced by three more brigades, could not also cover Huelva and contain that landing. ‘Der Mench’ had no choice but to withdraw, his men hard pressed and weary from almost continuous fighting. Montgomery had tapped that panzer division as the one force in Spain he had to meet and defeat, and he was applying a strategy that would serve him well throughout the war, steady, relentless attrition. He had thinned out his lines to the north along the frontier to achieve this concentration of force, and it worked.

Still wearing his desert beret, he grinned when he got the news that the Germans had pulled out of Villa Real. “Has Patton taken Casablanca yet?” he asked.

“No sir, but he has the city cut off and surrounded now. It’s only a matter of time.”

“Good. Then we’ll use that time to get to Gibraltar first!”

On the 22nd of September, V Battalion, 7th Flieger, was the first German unit from the south to reach Fez. Smiling Albert Kesselring came out to shake hands with the Colonel in charge, then told him his journey was not yet over. He wanted him on the next train west through Meknes, then north towards the coast to bolster the French position north of Port Lyautey. It was there that most of Le Division De Fez had concentrated to prevent an Allied breakout towards Tangier. The Americans took the port on D+1, but could go no further.

I/16 and I/65th Luftland would be the next units arriving from Irfane airfield to the south, then III/7th Flieger, a slow but steady stream of German troops finally starting to arrive at Fez. They had made a most remarkable journey, coming all the way from Fuerteventura by sea, road, rail, and plane. Now they seemed like the 300 Spartans, few in number, but among the toughest troops in the Army as Kesselring knew them. The first of Kubler’s mountain regiment, the 98th Recon Battalion, would be another two or three days on the mountain roads getting north, but as the rest of these troops arrived, they would constitute a most capable force to defend Tangier, or to bar the way east through Fez to Algeria.

Another regiment would be air lifted from Agadair on the coast to Ifrane that day, leaving only one more regiment waiting for the transports to return at Agadair. Kesselring was going to pull off one of the most spectacular strategic withdraws of the war, a logistical miracle to get those troops to Fez, and the fate of this campaign, at least in French North Africa, would rest on their shoulders when they arrived.

The Americans were ashore in force, and the fall of Casablanca was inevitable now. When B Company, 105th Flak finally wandered down from the north to scout the road to Safi, General Martin lost his nerve. Had the Americans broke through up there? How many men were in this scouting detachment? He had watched Student withdraw, saw those Allied destroyers pounding his men day after day, and decided he would be much more comfortable in Marrakech than at Safi. His division began withdrawing that same day.

So B Company would be the single unit to eventually answer the pleas of the beleaguered Safi raiding force, relieving that position on September 23rd. A grinning Sergeant rode in on a jeep, then scowled at the first US soldier he came upon. “You fellows were supposed to be at El Jadida up north five days ago!” Then he went back to that grin, reached into his pocket, and pulled out a cigar.

All these withdrawals frustrated Hitler to no end, prompting him to issue the strongest possible order than no further moves of this nature be made without his expressed permission. They also had one other effect, one intended by Allied planners from the very first moment they hatched this plan. Enraged, Hitler was going to pull units out of Russia and send them west.

6th and 7th Panzer Divisions were already rehabilitating, and they would soon get fresh equipment and orders to move to southern France immediately. The 7th, in particular, was part of an impending operation that augured big changes on the near horizon—Case Anton and Operation Lila. When the Führer was told it would take another week to do this, he exploded again.

“I have conquered all of France, Denmark, Norway, occupied Spain, taken Moscow, and even now my troops are pushing for the Volga, and you tell me we cannot move two panzer divisions? Get out! Get out!” He pointed with a stiff arm. “If those divisions are not at Toulon in 72 hours, I will have you shot!”

At that moment, in walked Himmler, his eyes narrowed and seeking to curry favor with the Führer while seeming to be a godsend.

“My Führer, I can send a full heavy armored brigade anywhere you need it in Spain in 24 hours.”

Hitler turned. “An armored brigade?”

Himmler opened his brief, and laid out the diagram chart detailing the order of battle for SS Brigade Charlemagne. “It is already in France, fully assembled, and I have arranged all the rolling stock needed. My Führer, it is only a matter of punching their tickets and sending them on their way.”

Astounded and pleased that Himmler could produce such a unit, seemingly from thin air, Hitler finally smiled. “You see?” he said, his eyes steely hard on all the other OKW officers at the map table. “The Army was stopped after Moscow, but not Steiner’s SS Korps. He will take Volgograd for me. Yes? And now look here, Himmler has out generaled the lot of you!”

It was 3 Company, 67th Armored that finally bulled its way into the heart of Casablanca. They had 44 Shermans and supporting SPGs, backed up by a battalion of engineers as they fought their way past the cement works and old Shell Oil Depot, eventually reaching the Railway Sidings just west of the lighthouse on the coast. Most of the remaining French resistance was in the old city warrens, called Ancienne Medina. Patton had a mind to give them another sound naval bombardment, but he realized that these men might be turned into Allies if given better treatment. So on the morning of the 24th, he contacted the French by telephone, speaking directly to Admiral Michelier, who had holed up in the Palace de France near the main port.

“Admiral,” he said. “Your men have fought bravely, and done all that honor demanded. But the American Army is now ashore in force, and you are outnumbered by more than five to one. The United States has been your friend since the first Doughboys landed in France in the last war. This conflict is regrettable, and I see no reason for further bloodshed here. You and I have enough letters to write home as it stands. Lay down your arms and you, and all your men, will be given fair treatment. Any that wish to fight on for France may do so by joining us! Any who would wish to oppose us further will meet their fate and be interred.”

“Mon General,” said Michelier, “you have offered fair an d generous terms. Let me consider what you have said, and contact my superiors.”

Patton pushed a little more. “Admiral, yours has been the hardest lot in this war, with foes made of friends, and a long road yet ahead before France is free of foreign occupation again. Your superiors are likely German Generals, but now hear this. I give you my word—I’m going to kick what’s left of the German Army out of French North Africa, liberate all of Morocco, and then I’m going to do the same for Algeria and Tunisia. You can either ride with me, or start writing your memoirs in a prison camp, and face trial by your countrymen for betraying France when I liberate Paris. Now, what’s it going to be?”

Admiral Michelier was a proud man, but he knew further resistance would serve nothing but a misplaced loyalty to Hitler and Nazi Germany. Patton’s remark about his superiors being German Generals stung him. He had already learned of General Martin’s withdrawal to Marrakech, and he knew the Fez Division would not hold in the north long either. Discretion was now the better part of valor, and he accepted Patton’s terms at noon on the 24th of September, 1942—eleven weeks before the French had capitulated in the old history.

Upon hearing this, Patton invited the Admiral, and General Nogues to his headquarters, whereupon he produced a bottle of fine champagne. He would one day write: ‘I also gave them a guard of honor—no use kicking a man when he’s down.’ Then he went to visit the Sultan of Morocco. Along the way he noted what excellent tank country Morocco offered, though it was frequently broken by small walled settlements that might make good infantry strongpoints.

Nothing a good 105mm can’t handle, he thought. Yes, we’ll do quite well here in Morocco, and I haven’t even begun to show the French what the American Army can do.

The Americans finally had Casablanca, and Admiral Raeder would never see it again. They were ahead of schedule in that, but there was still a long way to go. The British action in Portugal and Spain was entirely new, and as yet undecided. Now it would come to the battle for Tangier, as Patton and Eisenhower turned their thoughts towards Gibraltar.

Chapter 24

The news of the fall of Casablanca was not a surprise when it came to Kesselring. He was already busy sorting out the troops arriving from the south at Fez, and seeing to the provision of a garrison for the Island outposts Germany still controlled. Gran Canaria had the Pioneer Battalion from Kubler’s 98th Mountain Regiment, I/16 Battalion of the 22nd Luftland, which had been unable to get off by air and was then ordered to stay where it was. The 65th MG company from that same division and two light flak companies rounded out that garrison.

Fuerteventura had only the 47th MG Company at Puerto Rosario, a flak company at the southern port of Gran Tarahal, and a platoon guarding the shore battery the Germans had set up in the north to cover the Bocaina Strait. The last island, Lanzarote, was to be held by a the 22nd Pioneer Battalion from the Luftland Division. That was it, a force composed of about a single regiment to hold the prizes that it had taken two divisions to seize from the British. How long they would keep them remained to be seen.

The entire coast of Morocco south of Safi was still nominally German controlled but held only by a few rear area service battalions. All the air power had been shifting north, hopping first to the airfields around Marrakech, and them moving on to fields near Fez. All that was left of 327th Infantry Division was still strung out on the roads south of Fez, and there were still eight battalions, a mixed force of Kubler’s regiment and the Luftland Division, much further south. They would have a 250 mile road march ahead of them, so it would be days before the withdrawal would be complete.

In the meantime, Kesselring continued to sent elements of the 7th Flieger west on the rail line from Fez to the front north of Port Lyautey. From that point, the Division de Fez and Division de Mekenes held the line south and east, but the 7th Regiment of the American 9th Infantry Division had come up from Casablanca, cleared the road to Mekenes, and were threatening a move in that direction. Kesselring sent whatever he had in hand to Mekenes, 1/65 Luftland Battalion, three companies of the 22nd Recon Battalion from that same division, and the recon battalion arriving from 98th Mountain Regiment. It had the best transport and was the only unit of that Regiment to get up north quickly.

The General’s plan was a simple one. He wanted to cover and hold Fez for as long as possible, at least until those remaining troops arrived from the south. Then, if pressed hard, or should the French Divisions fold, he saw that the terrain still favored a good defense of Tangier. He would have to split his force, with one group falling back on Tangier and Ceuta. If he fell back in that direction, his lines would compress with each withdrawal, allowing him to hold while still extracting troops from the line to a port like Ceuta where they could be evacuated to Spain, or go by sea further east to Oran. The second group would then conduct a delaying withdrawal from Fez to Oran. He did not expect to receive any further troops from Germany, and this was his plan—assuming the Führer would permit such withdrawals.

That is doubtful, he thought. I will be lucky to keep my head for pulling the bulk of our forces out of the Canaries, but without them in hand, the Allies would sweep over Morocco to Oran unchallenged. Surely OKW doesn’t think the French will hold them. So if I am ordered to fight for Morocco, Fez will have to be held. The only problem is that the Atlantic coast from the present Allied position near Rabat and Tangier is completely exposed. There are places there where they Allies could outflank the defense near the coast, which will also be hammered by their naval power.

To counter that, I will have to find some way of covering that coastline, and then use the Luftwaffe to attack their navy. It will be a nice little battle, and before it ends we will see how good these Americans really are. And if the British take Gibraltar behind me, that will be the end of it here in Morocco. I’ll move to Algeria, whether the Führer permits it or not.

Now then… What help can I expect? I am told that Rommel has been ordered to send one of his panzer divisions to Tunis, and a number of ad-hoc units are being sent over from Italy. Koch will lead the best of them, good Luftwaffe men that have been assembling to create another Flieger Division. And his highness Hermann Goering is also detaching his personal division to assist us. They are calling the whole lot the 5th Panzer Army, and I am now to command the entire theater west of Tunis. I will need a good man to assist this effort—Nehring. Yes, he fought well with Guderian in France, and Rommel also speaks highly of him.

Yet all these detachments from the Afrika Korps will pretty much put an end to Rommel’s dream of ever driving east again. The only way he will ever see Alexandria is as a prisoner of war. It is still incredible to think the British have, beaten us there, and now they are at it again here! Hube is falling back from the Portuguese border and setting up his defense near Seville. This Montgomery hasn’t an ounce of dash or daring in him, but he certainly has a way of wearing down the defense.

As for the newcomers, these Americans have yet to be tested. They pushed the French out of Casablanca, and I have no doubt that they will soon take Marrakech as well. Now, due to my timely redeployments, we will have enough here in Fez soon to put some metal in what remains of the French forces here. Yet I must seriously question how long the French will fight. What if they were to capitulate, or worse, go over to the enemy cause? I don’t have the time or troops to go about disarming them, so the political situation is very shaky now. Both Spain and France are on quicksand. Plans are well laid to deal with this, and things are about to happen soon that will redefine this entire theater.

I am told General Dollmann is moving 7th Army units into Vichy controlled France—ostensibly to prepare for redeployment here in French North Africa, but Darlan will certainly see though that soon enough. Hitler has activated both 6th and 7th Panzer Divisions, and he has an eye on Toulon, with all the French naval assets there. I have asked for additional forces, and now I am promised the new 334th Infantry Division to help flesh out this makeshift 5th Panzer Army. The Italians have also pledged two divisions, though that will not please the French here at all.

Yes, what we have here is a very uneasy alliance. Franco is completely unreliable, and only a few of his divisions can be counted on. The rest will be a problem for Hube. The French and Italians hate one another, and here I am with the task of knocking heads together and making some sense of this entire mess. Rommel is already whining that I have siphoned off all the reinforcements that he was to receive, air units, ground replacement battalions, flak units, tanks. Whether he realizes it or not, we are not fighting on two fronts here, but for how long?

Our entire position in North Africa will depend on the Navy. If we can keep the British out of the Western Med, then supplies and materiel can continue to flow to Bizerte and Tunis, and to Oran and Algiers. Gibraltar is the key. If we lose that, then we’ll have the Royal Navy here again, a situation that will give Raeder a real nightmare. This is why we need what remains of the French Navy, but securing it may not be as easy as the Führer thinks. He has ordered 7th Panzer to Toulon, and the French have been told it is coming here. Little do they know that it is there to secure that port, and every ship it now holds. But where is the prize, the last mighty French battleship? Normandie was at Oran, and had now moved to Algiers. Getting our hands on that monster will be imperative, and plans are in the offing for that as well.

He smiled.

Yes, he thought. Things are about to get very interesting here. Now the war in the West has truly been reborn.

On the Allied side of these deliberations, Eisenhower had attempted to arrange a secret meeting between Admiral Darlan and General Mark Clark in northern Spain to discuss the possibility of signing an armistice with France and ending hostilities between French and Allied forces. He was rebuffed in the beginning, but when Hitler ordered “Case Anton,” the German plan to send the 7th Army into Vichy controlled France, Darlan began to see things differently. Marshall Petain protested the buildup of German forces, but to no avail. It was clear that the Germans were planning to move substantial forces south, possibly all the way into French North Africa, and they wanted to take hold of any French military assets by the earlobes there before they slipped away.

So the meeting was finally set up, with Clark taking to an American submarine and slipping ashore with a team of US Army Rangers near the rocky headlands of the small Spanish port of Henday. A three mile hike through the mountains would take them to a small farm overlooking the port. Darlan made discrete arrangements to inspect the frontier defenses on the Spanish border, and submitted a false travel itinerary that would have him begin his tour at Lourds in Southern France. Instead he continued on the train to Henday, and so the town where Hitler once negotiated to gain Franco’s cooperation for Operation Felix would now become the site where Clark would attempt to wrest both Spain and France from the Führer’s hands.

Darlan was High Commissioner of the colonies, and nominal commander in chief of all French North African forces. The ground for this meeting had been tilled for many months, so Darlan had been considering his options for a good long while. The two men met, shook hands cordially, and seated themselves at a small kitchen table in the quiet farmhouse. The edgy US Rangers stood watch, along with a small detachment of five security men that accompanied Darlan.

“Admiral,” said Clark, “This meeting has been a long time coming, and let us hope we can reach an accord here. I will restate the offer communicated to you earlier, and begin by saying that it has the approval of both the President of the United States, and Prime Minister Churchill. We are prepared to accept you as head of a new provisional government overseeing all French held territories in North Africa.”

“That is big of you, Mon General, because you see I presently hold that position.” Darlan smiled.

“Well Admiral… That could soon change. If, however, you would like to keep your present job, we would demand that you issue an immediate order for all French Forces in North Africa to join the Allies, or, at the very least, they must cease resistance and stand neutral while we go after the Germans.”

Darlan took a long breath. “You realize the Germans are moving troops to Tunisia even as we speak? They have withdrawn forces from southern Morocco and occupied Fez.”

“We’re well aware of that.”

“Well General, those troops are presently operating with our own troops. Do you realize the difficulty such an order would create?”

“Of course I do. In fact, we’re counting on it.”

“And if I found such an order too preposterous to contemplate?”

“Then your forces will continue to be treated as a hostile, and dealt with accordingly. We would prefer to avoid that, and as you undoubtedly know, Admiral Michelier and General’s Lascroux and Martin have already agreed with similar proposals put to them on the field of battle, and at Casablanca ,our General Patton faced down the entire German 327th Infantry Division.”

“A pity that division was withdrawn to Fez and Melkenes before the issue could be decided,” said Darlan. “I have no doubt that the untimely withdrawal of the Germans in that sector contributed greatly to the decision to yield Casablanca, and General Martin was too fond of his villa at Marrakech to see that city torn apart by fighting. But you must understand that the Germans intend to stay in Morocco, and they are obviously very intent on securing Algeria and Tunisia as well. The outcome of all these events is very much in doubt. If I were to act prematurely…”

“If you were to act too late,” Clark cut in, “then it might be difficult for us to guarantee that your position in North Africa could be upheld. I don’t have to tell you that your General De Gaulle would be more than happy to take over there.”

“He is not my General, and as far as I am concerned he will never command so much as a single platoon here.”

“Then you need to act. There is no time for equivocation. I need to go back with a firm answer in hand.”

Darlan thought a moment, knowing he had the authority to do what this man was asking him, even though Petain would most likely attempt to rescind any order he gave. Beyond that, there were mixed loyalties within his remaining divisions. Some regiments were nationalists, and would fight on, others cared little for the war that had finally come to their shores, and would willingly see any armistice as a means of extricating themselves from it.

“If I give this order,” he explained, “you must realize that I cannot entirely guarantee that the troops in the field will obey.”

“Well they certainly won’t have any chance to make that choice if you don’t give the order.”

Darlan had been firmly in the camp of the collaborators, and was uncertain of the consequences for his past actions. “You would also guarantee that I would be granted personal immunity?”

“That was in the offer you received, and yes, we can guarantee that no charges would be brought against you personally, or any member of your staff. All we want is the speedy resolution of French participation as active combatants here. You are the one man who can do this, Admiral. Do not miss this opportunity.”

Darlan nodded heavily. “Very well, General Clark, you may tell your superiors that I will issue such an order, for good or for ill, and expect the troops under my command to follow it. Whether they do so, with the Germans holding a bayonet to their backs, remains in doubt, but you will at least have my cooperation.”

Clark got what he came for, and now he could make that 3 mile hike again and take to the rubber rafts for another ride on a submarine out to Madeira. Darlan had acted as the opportunist he was, fearful that the outcome of the battle then underway would leave him in a fatally compromised position if he continued to lead his forces here in open arms against the Allies. He gave General Clark his word that his order would be transmitted no later than the 1st of October, three days hence.

But he would not live that long.

Unbeknownst to either of the two men that day, another player had entered the scene, with an agenda that neither man saw coming. It might have been Himmler, who was privy to the secret conversations Darlan had exchanged with Churchill—but it wasn’t his doing that day. It might have been a young dissident student named Fernand Bonnier de La Chapelle, the man who would assassinate Darlan on Christmas eve of that very year in Fedorov’s history, but it wasn’t his to decide either.

No, the man in charge of these events would be the same who had first oiled the hinge of fate at Henday when Hitler last visited this sleepy coastal fishing port—a simple railway engineer named Juan Alfonso. He had stopped a leak in the roof of a train car, and that had been the balm that led to the unexpected accord when Hitler concluded his negations with Franco’s Spain. This time he was at work, as usual, greasing a squeaky wheel on the train that would soon take Darlan back to his next appointment on the inspection tour.

The Admiral was aboard his private car, the engine had a good head of steam, the tracks were cleared, weather fine, and the green light was given for departure. But Juan Alfanso held the train up another ten minutes as he finished his job, and those last drops of oil were to lubricate the unfolding of these events in more ways than any of the Prime Movers could see. The train would head north to Bayonne, and at one point it would pass through a mountain tunnel. Had it left on schedule, it would have been in that tunnel, safely out of sight, when a pair of A-20 bombers came in that night, intending to cut that rail line to prevent the Germans from using it to move troops across the border. But the train was ten minutes late, for Juan Alfonso had greased the wheels of fate.