Stormtide Rising

Chapter 22

Joe Kingstone was restless. For the last two days he, and all of Kingforce, had been sitting on the Nadim Pasha Bund, a long elevated embankment overlooking the Army Canal that flanked the whole city for miles. His men had three days well deserved rest, but it was more down time than he had had in the last two months, and he suddenly needed to be doing something. So he rang up Jumbo Wilson, a question in mind.

“There’s nobody here,” he said. “All I’ve got in front of me is the open desert, for miles on end, completely empty. All the fighting is on my left, where that German infantry crossed the canal and cleared out that Arab rat’s nest upstream from here. If Jerry gets through there, he’ll be behind me.”

“Getting nervous, Joe?” asked Wilson.

“Not on your life, sir. But it just seems a waste to let my men sit here like this. We’ve had a decent interval to fatten up. I want to do something—get back in this fight.”

“You are doing something,” said Wilson. “You’re watching my right flank.”

“Well, they’ve pushed their way down the bund as far as my Warwickshires. Why don’t I kick them back?”

“Go right ahead, but do keep an eye on that canal line. You never know when the Germans might move your way. You told me this yourself, and I’m taking it as good advice.”

“Well sir, it’s just this… Why don’t we move? This flank is wide open. They’ve nothing out beyond the bund at all. I could peel my boys off this fly infested canal, swing up north and turn the tables on them.”

“But you’d have the canal on your left the whole way up,” said Wilson. “It took them a full day to get over that, and with three engineer companies assisting. They could just fold that infantry division back, cover the most likely crossing points, and there you’d be, out in your desert, but with Jerry behind the canal this time, and on that nice elevated bund. I shouldn’t have to remind you that there are two full panzer divisions up there. Spook them, and they could send something your way you might not like. No. I don’t want to tickle their flank over there. It could only provoke what I’ve just described. I’d much rather you sit on that embankment and watch my flank. 2nd Infantry will be up tomorrow. Then we’ll talk again. Until then, stand where you are. That’s an order.”

“Alright then,” said Kingstone. “I’ll get back to swatting the flies off my teacup. Tomorrow then. I’ll let you know when General Grover’s lads show up.” He hung up the phone, unhappy, a little red in the face, and then muttered his way out to the nearest scout car. He was going up to the Warwickshire Battalion to order them to attack.

The 24th of February was de Großerschub, the ‘big push’ by Guderian. He had met with his division officers the previous night, assembling them in the burned out Grain Factory to show them what was in store for them if they did not make a dramatic breakthrough soon.

“This place changed hands three times in two hours,” he said somberly. Their Royal Engineers lost half a battalion here, and they held off our Brandenburgers for six hours. That city out there may have fifty more places like this, and I don’t want to fight those battles. We must concentrate, hit key spots on their line, and then give them de Großerschub. Konrad, your regiment leads the way again in the morning. I want you to hit them very close to the river. See how this road follows the west bank. That is your road to victory. Break through, and then move like quicksilver!”

The Lehr Regiment did not disappoint. They went right through a company of 3/5 Punjab, and drove it against the river. Then one company after another, many on fast moving motorcycles, raced through the narrow gap, barely a hundred meters wide, the machineguns on their side cars blazing away as they went. A company of Gurkhas had been sent up to shore that area up, and they held like a rock, the Subedars shouting orders at the men over the din of battle until they were hoarse. But the Lehr Regiment flowed around them like water. They were racing down that river road towards the large built up Sulaymaniyah District. On their right they passed another of those potential Grain Factories Guderian had warned them about, a series of heavy brick kilns that were used to fabricate building materials. On their left was the river. Ahead of them, there was nothing but the road and the looming edge of that city.

Brigadier Alan Barker had seen his 27th Indian Brigade decimated in these three days of heavy fighting. By his count, he now had no more than seven of 14 companies still reasonably intact and fighting on the line. His actual casualties were not that high, but those other seven companies had been shattered, some overrun and captured, others broken and straggling back through the rail yard in groups of two or three men, many wounded, all disheartened and dead tired.

He could still see Lt. Colonel Selby’s 28th Brigade deployed in a wide arc to his left, largely intact, and he knew it could no longer stay where it was. So he got on the radio at once.

“Selby, this is Barker. We’re being overrun. We just can’t hold any longer. Your people are about to be cut off. You’ve got to move, and get back towards the aerodrome at once! Understand? You’ve got to move right now.”

“Alright,” said Selby. “I’ll give the order, but where are my guns?”

“I took the liberty of commandeering them, and I’ll get them back for you. Now move!”

The Colonel could hear the edge of panic in Barker’s voice, a man he knew to be a steady hand. So he moved with purpose, collaring a nearby Sergeant and telling him to find the bugler. It wasn’t often that he would resort to this method of command, but it was a signal and sound that would be heard by all at one time, and the message would travel much faster than radio calls to all his separate battalions.

The sound of that call resonated over the chatter of guns and boom of artillery, and when they heard it, the men of 2/9 Gurkhas knew exactly what to do. The Subedar shouted an order, and the entire battalion leveled their rifles at the enemy line. At the next command, they volley fired three times, then, in precise movements, the companies began peeling off the line and retiring in perfect order.

Brigadier Barker told his men to set fire to the rail yard storehouse, then he rushed out and told the artillery gunners to cease fire, limber up their guns, and get south to the airfield as fast as they could. Barker had precipitated a general retreat that would yield the whole of the railyard, store houses, engineering bay, workshops and brick kilns, all unfought…. But it would save an even worse disaster if those men had tried to stand their ground. The Lehr Regiment would have certainly gotten behind them, and even though Barker managed to get his two remaining companies of 2/1 Punjab over near the edge of the river to try and block the enemy advance, the outcome there was still very doubtful.

That retreat would put an end to all the fighting in the Airfield Settlement, and it was fortunate that Brigadier Arderne had forsaken his breakfast and driven out to the edge of the airfield. He could hear that same bugle call, and then soon saw and heard what was happening, the three sharp volleys of rifle fire, the rising dust, vehicles looming in the haze, the sound of officers shouting orders.

“Bloody hell,” he said aloud. “The whole line is breaking. We’ve got to get back to the airfield bund. Lieutenant!”

“Sir!”

“Order the men to fall back—fifty paces, turn and volley, then quick foot it back to the bund!”

“Very good, sir. But we’ve only got the Jats and Sikh Battalions here. The Maharatta is still on the other side of the Khir holding that railway embankment.”

“Don’t worry about them, I’ll take care of that personally. Just get the other battalions back to the airfield bund—on the double!”

The retreat was now rippling down the line, passing from Barker’s 27th, to Selby’s 28th, and now Ardene’s 25th, which was one of Blaxland’s 10th Indian Division brigades. The acting division commander was still in the Royal Palace having his tea, with all quiet on his front. He was admiring the thick tapestry on the walls, and looking at the portraits of sheiks in their ornate Arab headdress.

Lieutenant Fitch, his Adjutant, was standing by the lace curtained window, listening to the rumble of battle to the north, the lines on his forehead deepening with what he perceived as a growing sound of chaos. He looked over his shoulder, seeing that Blaxland had set down his teacup and was slowly pulling out a cigar, for he always enjoyed an early smoke.

“Sir,” Fitch said tentatively. “It sounds like there’s a good deal of commotion up north—at the airfield.”

“The airfield? That’s Arderne’s watch. Has he reported anything?”

“No sir. Just that business about the airfield settlement. Might there be a row underway there?”

“Well man, has he said anything about it?”

“No sir, we’ve had no reports for the last hour. Should I ring him up at the hotel?”

“If you wish.”

Fitch rang up the hotel, learning that Brigadier Arderne had gone forward to see about that fighting near the settlement. “I’m sure he’s got it all sorted out,” said the staffer at the hotel.

“Well, have you heard from him directly?”

“In point of fact, we haven’t, but we expect him back shortly.”

“Very well…. Have him call Division HQ and report. And use the land lines. We don’t want Jerry listening in on the radio.”

As Lieutenant Fitch walked slowly back through the long marbled hall of the palace, and into the stateroom where Blaxland held forth, wave after wave of British Indian Infantry was falling back to his north. He couldn’t see it, nor had he any clear report about it, but he could feel it, a slowly rising tension that hung on the late morning air, thickening with each passing minute to something that was almost palpable.

Blaxland was lost in his coils of grey white smoke, plopped on a soft easy chair, his feet up, looking over the quartermaster’s report. “Seems like a little too much ammunition expenditure yesterday,” he said. “There’s only so much bunkered here at the palace. See that the quartermaster is a bit more stingy today, will you Fitch?”

“Of course, sir.” Fitch was standing, hands clasped behind his back, a nervousness pursing his lips, and a sheen of sweat on his brow.

“A good deal of smoke and dust up near Arderne, sir,” he prodded. “Care to have a look?”

“Whatever for?” Blaxland seemed uninterested.

The telephone rang, and Fitch visibly jerked with the alarm. He walked quickly to the table near the long well cushioned chairs, and picked up the receiver. “Division, Lieutenant Fitch here.” There was an edge of expectancy in his tone.

It was Eddie Arderne. After ordering his men back to the airfield bund, he sped off across the field to the nearest hangar, where he could use a land line to telephone division HQ. Fitch handed the phone to Blaxland.

“Sir!” he said, his voice still laden with the emotion of the hour. “We’ve had to pull back from the Airfield Settlement. There’s been a general withdrawal to the north. 6th Indian is on our right, and there’s a good deal of fighting up that way.”

“Well are your lines well set?”

“Yes sir. We got back in good order.”

“Good,” said Blaxland. “That Airfield Settlement wasn’t worth anything. You’re better off on the bund. Dig in there and protect that airfield. Call me if there’s anything more pressing. And Arderne…. Settle down, will you? You’ve been running about all morning. There’s a good gentlemen.”

Blaxland hung up the telephone, looking at Lieutenant Fitch. “Arderne’s on the Airfield Bund. Mark it up on the morning map, will you?”

“Yes sir. Anything more? Shall I inform General Wilson?”

“No, don’t bother. 25th Brigade hasn’t moved but half a kilometer. You can include it in the mid-day update.”

Hans Hube came down from the forward depot to Adhamiya to see what was happening. There he met with both Schneider and Westhoven to assess the situation.

“They were quick to withdraw,” said Schneider. “They knew trouble when they saw it. Now they’ve pulled back through the southern fringes of Al Zamiyah, and across this ground here, Najib Basha.” He pointed a finger to the spot on the map, a lightly wooded area north of yet another palace, home to some privileged Sheik or royal heir. The institute of Fine Arts was in that same complex, and 400 meters to the right was an open field known as the Scout Yard, where the British would put the young scouts through their paces.

“That narrows the front to no more than two kilometers because of that line of marshes to the east,” said Westhoven. “Everything they had here is compressed into that zone. It will be very thick, and slow going.”

Hube rubbed his chin. “Do we have enough infantry to hold that and screen it off?”

“We’ve got the first Brandenburg Regiment over here close to the Tigris. Then the rest of the front would have to be covered by the 78th Sturm Division. Half of their men are on the other side of this marshy zone. They’ve been trying to turn the enemy right flank for the last two days, and they’ve made some progress.”

“Perhaps we should move that direction,” said Hube. “I don’t like the idea of grinding our way through that narrow two kilometer front.”

“If we can take that palace, we might get the bridge,” said Schneider. “That would give us a good link to the rest of the Brandenburg Division on the other side of the river. They took the rail yard this morning.”

“Well can you take it? The day is wearing thin. The sun will be down soon, and if we move, then we do so tonight.”

“Move where, sir?”

“Along this road that passes near that Arab settlement.”

“What about the canals,” asked Westhoven. “They aren’t more than ten feet wide, but they do slow us down.”

“My KG Kufner is over there already,” said Schneider. “He’s got the pioneers, and they must have laid pontoons to get as far as they have.”

“That looks like the better move to me,” said Hube. “I see only two problems. The first is this long outer canal line here. They have to have that guarded, so swinging through the Arab Settlement gives us good ground, but we’d eventually have to breach that canal line when we turn for the city. If we follow KG Kufner, then we’re inside that area bounded by the canal, and somewhat bottled up.”

“They can’t hurt us,” said Westhoven, “not with infantry.”

“This city is better defended by the marshland and canals than anything else,” said Hube. “Alright—a compromise. Schneider, see if you can take that palace tonight. We’ll screen the front with the 78th. Westhoven, you take your division around that inner marsh line and join KG Kufner. I want you in position to attack tomorrow morning. Get down here and cut the rail line. What is that building there astride the tracks?”

Westhoven leaned in, squinting at the map.

“The slaughterhouse,” he said.

“Take it,” said Hube.

Chapter 23

What happened next on the southwest front where Blaxland was sitting down to dinner in the Royal Palace was a combination of many factors. Darkness had fallen, the lazy sun well set, the amber sky tinged with grey as a few low clouds formed on the horizon. Brigadier Arderne had ‘settled down’ on that airfield bund, an embankment that protected the field on its western front from any possible flooding of the Khir river. The 3rd Brandenburg Regiment had cleared the Airfield Settlement, getting over the elevated rail sour that passed through to face off against Arderne’s troops on that bund. Arderne’s line extended south over a kilometer, but he had left his AT battery on a bridge over the Khir, right at the northern end of MacGregor’s 20th Indian Brigade.

MacGregor had 3/11 Sikh Rifles close by, though as far as they were concerned, the AT guns belonged to Arderne. Now, with the evening deepening to velvet and grey, it would come down to battlefield sense and initiative.

General Schmidt of the 10th Motorized could see that the 3rd Brandenburgers had the situation in the Airfield Settlement well in hand. There was no point in committing his division there as he had planned. The British withdrawal to the bund line had changed all that. So acting on his own initiative again, he pulled his men out and swung them south to move over the northern end of that elevated railway embankment that Blaxland was so pleased he had seen fit to occupy. MacGregor had put no men on it, preferring to hold behind the River Khir on the grounds of the Palace of the Crown Prince. So when the Germans approached the bridge, they found it largely unguarded.

“There’s just a few small caliber AT guns,” said a Corporal after scouting the position.

When Arderne had given the order to fall back to the bund, he made it a point to personally radio 1/5 Maharatta, the troops that had been on that railway embankment, and he ordered them to move back across the Khir over that little road bridge, and then take up new positions at the southernmost segment of the bund. “Leave the AT Battery at the bridge,” he finished, thinking it would do better there than anywhere else. He assumed that MacGregor’s men would look after them, but they weren’t his guns, so he left them alone—nor did he back them up with any of his own infantry. These were the sort of mishaps that happened all too often along the boundaries between formations, and the Germans sensed this, knowing they had found a border zone, one of those grey areas on the battlefield that might be easily exploited.

As darkness fell, Schmidt ordered his men to quietly form up behind the elevated railway embankment west of the river. They now had orders to push on over that embankment and take the bridge. He was planning to see if he could throw his whole division in there, and getting that bridge intact would save time, as he would not need the engineers to build a pontoon further upstream.

The soldiers of Oberst Bayer’s 20th Motorized Regiment soon had that bridge, making a surprise attack that quickly stormed that little AT battery. Then he ran his entire regiment over the river Khir, assisted by his pioneer battalion. He could see opportunity in the darkness, and he seized the moment with typical German initiative. It was risky, because with the bulk of his troops east of the Khir, there was nothing to stop Blaxland from swinging up his 20th and 21st Brigades and cutting Schmidt off—nothing but two Brandenburg Kommando companies, Schmidt’s PzJager battalion, and Blaxland’s own lethargy. This attack was the first crack in the dam that would unhinge the entire British defense west of the Tigris.

At the same time, Konrad’s Lehr Regiment continued to push right up the west bank of the Tigris as ordered, and Alan Barker’s shattered 27th Indian Brigade could not stop them. The disruption of his battalions, the heavy casualties he had sustained, the darkness and exhaustion all played their part, and the Germans were overrunning what remained of his troops by midnight.

The big objectives along that river bank were the three main bridges over the Tigris. In the north was the Ghazi Bridge, which would cross and take you right into the Government Ministry building complex on the east bank. About one kilometer down river was the Faisal Bridge, which would lead into the financial district and a series of big hotels on the east bank. Between those two bridges, the British Embassy sat on the west bank, where Wilson’s had his HQ for the whole British operation. While he could hear the fighting that had taken place in the rail yard and aerodrome that day, he was not yet aware of the gravity of that situation, and did not know how serious Konrad’s breakthrough had been. When Barker’s 27th collapsed, there had been no time to find a telephone and ring up Wilson.

Working late that night as always, the General was in his British Embassy building office when he heard a dull rumble and what sounded like vehicles in the distance. Wondering what it was, he sent a runner out to have a look, and the man came back in white faced shock.

“General sir! It’s the Germans—motorcycle troops, lorried infantry and armored cars coming right down the river road! They’re already crossing the Ghazi Bridge!”

“Good god,” Wilson breathed. Barker had been so enmeshed in trying to hold his brigade together that he had not reported the danger to Wilson. “Wake the entire staff. Grab everything, papers, maps, code books and boxes. Yank out the phone lines and let’s get moving! We’ll cross at the Faisal Bridge.”

The Embassy also had a boat launch for an emergency like this, but Wilson preferred to take his chances in a fast moving truck. Things were slipping everywhere. In the north, the Germans under KG Rosenfeld had fought their way to the outskirts of the palace Hube wanted, and now the two breakthroughs by Konrad and Schmidt were going to cause a real problem. The only man with the authority to correct it was beating a hasty retreat from the embassy.

The dual breakthroughs west of the river were now threatening to completely encircle all the British forces still deployed in defense of the al Muthana Aerodrome. The loss of the Ghazi Bridge meant that the Germans could put forces on the east bank of the Tigris, right into the heart of the main city, and several kilometers behind all the British and Indian troops fighting on that side of the river. To make matters worse, no one knew what was happening. Even Wilson was only reacting to his own private disaster, though he certainly knew the danger the army was in now. He needed a steady and ready reserve, and the first man he tried to contact with a radio in the back of his staff lorry, was General Grover of the 2nd British Infantry Division.

John Malcom Lawrence Grover was a steady man indeed, veteran of the first war where he was wounded three times. Promoted to command 2nd Division, he had made his fortune, in military terms, in Burma, particularly at the Battle for Kohima in 1944. But that hour had not yet come. Now these circumstances saw him leading his men up the road into Baghdad.

“For God sakes, John, where are you? The Germans have run me right out of the embassy, and they’ve got the Ghazi Bridge!”

“The head of my column has just passed the US Embassy. We’re only about five klick south of you. Hold on, Jumbo.”

“Well come up the road on the east bank of the Tigris. All I’ve got on the Faisal Bridge is a company of S.A.S. boys and some Ack Ack guns. I’m making for map grid 44.3. You can reach me there.”

That was the Sinbad Hotel on the east bank of the river, about 600 meters from the Faisal Bridge. Wilson was at his wits end when he got there, desperately trying to get his HQ reset, and establish communications with his division commanders. Then he got a small break when Brigadier Anstice of 7th Armored telephoned the hotel.

“General, I was just motoring up to my brigade when I heard you on the radio. My men pushed on north, but I can get them back here if need be.”

“Where are they now?” asked Wilson.

“Up on one of the gaps in that inner marsh line. Just above the slaughterhouse. There some ruckus north of there near Grid 93.”

That was 3rd Panzer Division, now pushing into a small hamlet called Kharistan against Langran’s 9th Indian Brigade. The ‘rukkus’ had been reported, but the officer charged with that duty found the lines dead to the British Embassy, so no one knew what was really happening there. Now Wilson was going to make a most important choice. Should he leave the 7th Armored Brigade where it was, or did the urgency of his own situation trump what he might imagine in Grid 93? It did, and he told Anstice to get his tanks to the river as fast as he could, and to head for the Ghazi Bridge. They got there just as 1st and 2nd companies of I Battalion, Lehr Regiment, had completed their crossing to secure the east end of the bridge.

The tanks rolled up, along with a company of infantry, and they were soon firing hotly at the German troops, forcing them to get into any building they could reach for cover. That timely arrival would stop the southern pincer threatening to penetrate into the city center, but it would improve Westhoven’s prospects in his envelopment near Kharistan. Wilson had a good deal more to do, and dawn, with Grover’s 2nd Infantry Division, could not come soon enough.

When Guderian heard the news, he was elated.

“Excellent!” he exclaimed. “Schmidt used his head tonight, and that will make a good difference. The 901st Lehr has arrived, has it not?”

“Yes sir, it is pulling into the rail yard now.”

“Then send orders to Scholze. He’s to follow Konrad with all speed.”

Feed a fire, Guderian knew. Now he would double his bet on the west bank thrust with both his elite Lehr Regiments. The news that Konrad had already taken the Ghazi bridge by storm was particularly encouraging. Guderian moved through the rail yard that night, assessing the damage to the tracks and inspecting the small fuel bunker. There was still good fuel there. The retreat of the previous day had been so abrupt that the British had no time to blow it all up. Then he learned what Hube had ordered, discovering that his 3rd Panzer Division had made that enveloping movement around the inner marsh line.

We have a real chance here, he thought. If Hube gets around that flank, he’s in a perfect position to link up with a thrust over the Ghazi Bridge, assuming we can hold that bridgehead. I must urge him to push hard.

Joe Kingstone would soon have more to do than he expected.

In the early pre-dawn hours, the telephone rang at the King’s Royal Palace in the south. Lieutenant Fitch had heard the rumble of battle to the north, and sure enough, it was MacGregor of the 20th Indian Brigade.

“Jerry’s got the bridge over the Khir!” he reported with some urgency.

“What?” said Fitch. “You mean he’s gone right through Arderne?”

“He’s not even there,” said MacGregor. “His men pulled out yesterday; probably to see about that business at the Airfield settlement. Then Fritz hit the damn bridge an hour later.”

“Well why in bloody hell did you wait this long to report? It’s nearly 04:00.”

“I only just got word from the Sikhs! The thing is this. The Germans have pushed a lot of companies over that bridge. I think they moved on east to the Cotton Ginnery.”

That was a heavily built up industrial sector, just south of an elevated road that separated it from the aerodrome. It was bounded on the left by the town of Al Hartiyah, and on the right by impassable marshy ground, a perfect strongpoint for a defense. If the Germans could get there first, Blaxland’s two southernmost brigades would be cut off from Arderne on the Airfield bund, and there would be nothing to stop the Germans from going further east.

“This doesn’t sound good,” said Lieutenant Fitch. “We need that Cotton Ginnery. Can you fold back your lines. No—on second thought, you’d better get the rest of your brigade off that railway embankment and up to the Ginnery. I’ll wake Colonel Blaxland and tell him what’s happened at once.”

Blaxland wasn’t happy to be wakened, sitting up, bleary eyed and running a hand through his thinning hair. “What is it, Fitch? The sun isn’t even up.”

“Sir, I’ve just heard from MacGregor. He says the Germans are over the bridge on the Khir and heading for the Cotton Ginnery. I’ve told him he’d better see about it.”

“What? Over the bridge? Has Arderne called?”

“Not yet.”

“Well, see what he’s up to.”

“I rang the Airport Hotel twice, but the staffer says he’s not there—they sent a man out in a car to look for him.”

There came the distant boom of artillery, 25-Pounders, firing with increasing fervor. “What’s that artillery,” asked Blaxland. “Is that Arderne, or MacGregor?”

“I think it must be MacGregor’s guns sir. He must be firing at the Germans near the Khir River Bridge.”

“Well, I can’t imagine how they got over the railway embankment like that. I’ll certainly have to speak with Arderne about it. He was running about like a chicken with his head cut off yesterday. I won’t tolerate that sort.”

“Sir, shouldn’t we notify General Wilson about this? What if the Germans get to the Ginnery before MacGregor can stop them?”

“Yes, put in that call as well. But the thing is this: I’ve orders to keep these palaces safe and sound, and watch the River Khir. Arderne is behind this nonsense.”

“But there’s no one to our left now,” said Fitch. “The Germans pulled out yesterday, and now we bloody well know where they went, don’t we, sir. Shouldn’t we send a battalion or two up north? We’ve enough here to watch this flank. We could send them by the bridge behind the palace and along the Hamawi Road. They could get to the Washash Camp by that route, a good blocking position if the Germans do get to the Ginnery first.”

“Compose yourself, Fitch. You mustn’t let your imagination run wild. You’re starting to sound like Arderne. All we know at this point is that MacGregor says the Germans have taken the bridge over the Khir. Go make those calls and report back. I suppose I’d better get dressed and see about some tea. It may be a busy day.”

That was to be an understatement of the highest order. Blaxland was not a lazy man by nature. He worked very hard when he set his mind to something, but lacked the initiative to do what Fitch was suggesting here. His division had been posted to Baghdad, then they went out on that long sortie to the Euphrates that ended quite badly. He was only too glad to get back to the city, and Brigadier Kingstone had ruffled his feathers on that little adventure, upbraiding him for scattering his brigades about. He still simmered with some resentment over that, but in keeping with what Kingstone had said, he had placed his brigades on the objectives he was to hold, and there he sat. The choice of the luxurious Palace of Zuhur for his headquarters was not one that would easily see him want to move, unless directly ordered by Wilson to do so.

Nearly four kilometers to the north, at the airfield hangars, Arderne was pleased that he now had his full brigade in position on the bund. But he looked out to the southwest, seeing rising dust there with the dawn, and also hearing MacGregor’s guns. He rang up Division HQ just as Fitch was about to make his first call.

“Where are you?” asked Fitch.

“At the airfield hangars. My brigade is in good order on the bund.”

“Well you left that railway embankment and the Khir Bridge uncovered yesterday. Blaxland is working up to a fit about it.”

“What? I left a battery of 2-Pounder Portees and nine 37’s covering that bridge. And it was not but a hundred meters from MacGregor’s infantry. What’s the problem?”

“Jerry’s taken it! That’s the bloody problem. They ran right by MacGregor, and Blaxland won’t budge an inch. I’m calling Wilson next to see if I can get the General to order him to move.”

“My God… This is serious. What if they get to the Cotton Ginnery?”

“Exactly! Is there anything you can do?”

“5th Maharatta is down on the lower end of the bund. I’ll send them to the Ginnery immediately.”

That battalion got the order five minutes later, and began to move, but it soon ran right into the recon companies of Schmidt’s division, and a meeting engagement ensued. Arderne also called his field gunners on the radio and told them to turn about to deploy south. He would have them try and support the Maharatta infantry. Yes, it was Arderne who had done the running about the previous day, defending the Airfield Settlement, getting his brigade safely back to the bund, and coordinating smartly with Colonel Selby’s 28th Brigade on his right. Now he was the only one to actually order troops to try and stop the Germans at the Ginnery.

They would not be enough.

Chapter 24

The Al Muthana Airfield had two long strips running parallel to one another, a little over 2 kilometers in length. Brigadier Selby had placed his men at the far end of those strips, their lines extending from the airfield bund on his left, to a small cotton factory in the center, and then to the outskirts of Sulaymaniyah. It was there, in that desperate hour, that Barker’s 27th Brigade was meeting its final agonizing end.

The seven companies Barker still had in hand were in no way enough to stop the heavily reinforced Lehr Regiment. Two more companies were pinned against the river when they tried to block that road, and annihilated. The remaining five were scattered through the wooden hovels of the settlement, disorganized, out of contact with Barker’s HQ, and effectively paralyzed as fighting units. The Germans opened the breach near the river, poured through and they were quickly spreading through the Jufayar and Al Karkh neighborhoods as they swept to seize the Ghazi Bridge.

It was only that timely call by Anstice that brought his 7th Armored Brigade back to the bridge just in time to stop the Germans from establishing a solid bridgehead there. The British tankers were too much for the two companies that had already pushed across the bridge. They were slowly driven back, and then forced to retreat back over the span as the Shermans fired both main guns and machineguns in their wake. That had stopped a dangerous penetration into the main city on the east bank, but the Germans were still masters of the west bank, now as far south as the Faisal Bridge, where two companies were organizing to attack the emplaced AA units guarding the west end of that bridge.

Now Brigadier Selby of the 28th Indian Brigade realized the extreme danger he was in. His brigade had been solid on the left of Barker’s, and well joined with Arderne’s 25th on the Airfield Bund, but now the Germans were in the settlements well east of his position, effectively behind him and threatening to cut his men off completely. They had to get back, and Selby was close enough to Arderne to find him that hour.

“We’ve got to get back!”

“What? Over that field?”

“There’s nothing else we can do. Barker’s brigade has completely collapsed on my right. If we stay here, we’ll all be making a good long visit to a German P.O.W. camp soon. Are you with me?”

That would precipitate the second general withdrawal, both men acting on their own initiative, out of contact with their respective Division HQs. Arderne belonged to Blaxland, and there was no time to dicker with him at that moment. Selby belonged to General Thompson and the 6th Indian Division, but Thompson was on the east bank of the river. So the Brigadiers were on their own.

There ensued what could only be called a “mad rush.” The companies volley fired as before, then broke off behind a thin delaying screen, and began that long mad dash across the airfield, running for all they were worth. The Germans were firing artillery and mortars, and the field soon became a killing ground, with men hit and falling as they ran. Many shed their packs and even weapons as they fled, a human wave of lost souls, all jumbled together on the run. It would be a miracle if the officers could sort them out and rally them at the far end of the field, but most would make it there, breathless and bedraggled.

There was good defensible ground on the southern end of the field, an elevated road, a grove of palms and gardens, the Airport Hotel, Customs House and other facility buildings. Trumpets blared and the officers blew a shrill chorus on the whistles, desperately trying to call in the men of their companies.

Selby’s men had it a little better, retreating right down the road and rail line that ran parallel to the field. He was able to get several companies in order and anchor his new line in a sturdy museum building on his right, on the road to the Faisal Bridge, which was just under a kilometer to the east. Yet that flank was still hanging in the air, and there were already Germans moving through the AL Karkh district, effectively compromising that line.

Arderne’s men finally reached the elevated road south of the field, which became a natural rallying point. It was the same road that he had tried to block with 1/5 Maharatta, which had run right into elements of Schmidt’s 41st Motorized Regiment. The Germans of the 20th Regiment of that same division had flooded into the industrial zone, taking the Cotton Ginnery, and now Arderne’s men could only just cling to the northern fringes of those buildings. His position soon looked like a big letter V, tipped to the right on its side. One side was on that elevated road, the other along the edge of the Ginnery buildings, and behind them there was a thick marsh that would cover his left flank and prevent any envelopment from that direction.

Yet Arderne was astute enough to know he could not stay where he was for very long. If Selby were to be pushed out of the Airport Hotel and Customs House, Arderne’s entire brigade would be trapped, the same marsh that now protected him becoming a fatal obstacle to any further retreat. So he sought only to reorder his companies, knowing he would have to move again very soon. Now he collared the nearest radio section, and finally called Division HQ.

“I’ve got my whole Brigade back over the field, but the Germans have the Ginnery, and my position is rather precarious.”

It was Blaxland on the other end of the line this time, and he was clearly not happy. “Damn it man! You were posted on the River Khir. What in blazes gave you the notion to pull your men out like that and cross that airfield?”

“But sir, if I hadn’t moved to support Selby’s 28th, the Germans would have pushed right through the Airfield Settlement and overrun the whole field hours ago.”

“Well that was Selby’s problem—not yours! Now you’ve pulled the cork out of the bottle and that’s why the Germans have that Ginnery. You’ll answer for this, Arderne. Mark my words. Now I’ll have to move MacGregor back, and by God, we might end up losing the Palace of the Crown Prince in all this business. Now where exactly are you?”

Arderne knew he could not argue the matter over the radio. He gave Blaxland his current grid coordinates, and then tried to appraise him of the general situation. “From what I can piece together, Barker’s 27th has been completely overrun near the river. Selby’s 28th is on my right, and his flank is on the Faisal Road. But the Germans are there as well! It looks like they might get right around Selby’s flank.”

“Damn annoying,” said Blaxland, his poached egg sitting cold by uneaten toast.

“Sir,” said Arderne. “I’ll need to move again soon. We’re in a bit of a pickle here. Where would you want my men?”

Blaxland looked over his map. “Get to the Washash Camp, if you can do so. And this time hold that flank!”

“But I don’t think Selby can cover the Faisal Bridge, or for that matter, the Al Jisir Bridge either. If the Germans take them, then we’ll have no way to get back over the river.”

That’s your bloody problem, Arderne. We aren’t supposed to get back over the river. I’ve no orders to that effect. We’re to hold the bloody palaces! Now get your brigade to the Washash Camp, and you’d better damn well hold it!”

There were men who threw themselves into the thick of things in this war, and there were those that found places to hide, and ways to blame others when things went wrong. Blaxland hung up the phone, shaking his head and determined to convene a Court-Martial for Arderne when this was all over. He would, in fact, later go on to become the Chairman of the Indian National Army Courts-Martial in New Delhi, and become the bane of many a man like Arderne. With that, he finally ordered MacGregor to extend his lines east of the Al Hartiyah settlement just north of the two palaces, determined to cover and defend them as best he could. If Arderne couldn’t follow orders, Blaxland bloody well could.

Far to the northwest, Westhoven’s envelopment attack was breaking through the seam between Langran’s 9th Indian Brigade, and Kingforce. Jumbo Wilson’s warning to Kingstone had come true. While there was no cause and effect in play here, Kingstone had pushed on that flank when he ordered his Warwickshire battalion to get after the 78th Division. Now he got back a storm of mechanized panzer troops, backed up by a good many tanks.

KG Kufner and a part of Westhoven’s Division were storming into the small hamlet of Kharisan, and the Warwickshire Battalion was only half a kilometer to the right. Now Kingstone could see the dark, squat shapes of tanks lumbering his way, and he cursed under his breath. He could see that Langran’s men were already in retreat, falling back through the marshy ground through the few good gaps and reforming just north of the Slaughterhouse on the main rail line to Basra. Kingstone knew his position on the outer bund would soon be compromised, and he called Wilson’s HQ on the radio to confer, but could not reach the General. Wilson was too busy trying to get set up at the Hotel Sinbad, so Kingstone had to act on his own.

It’s no good here, he thought, and to hell with these bloody flies. “Staff Sergeant!”

“Sir!”

“Get word to all the battalions out on the Bund. We’re moving out. They’re to fall back to the Kayam Quarter. Map Grid 46 by 89.5. There’s good ground there for defense. We’ll cover the East Barracks and Rail Station with this move. Smartly now.”

Arderne held on until dusk on the 25th to pull out of his sticky situation under cover of dark. Schmidt was only too glad to let him go, because the Brandenburg 3rd Regiment was only now crossing the airfield under cover of that same cloak of darkness, and 4th Regiment was mopping up the last of Barker’s 27th Brigade. Poor Barker’s guns were overrun on the field, long ago abandoned by the gunners. The last of his men were holed up in the hovels of Sulaymaniyah, and he, himself had fled to the Isolation Hospital just north of the airfield, where he was soon found by elements of the Lehr Regiment. When Arderne got to the Washash Camp, he found the Germans trying to infiltrate there with a company from their recon battalion, and promptly set his men on them. He would get his brigade into that camp, and then he was determined to follow his latest order from Blaxland, and hold it.

Selby saw what he was doing, and needed no further encouragement to fall back on his right. Most of his men got back, though one company got trapped in the Museum and would be lost. He did not have enough men to extend his line all the way east to the river, so that flank would still be hanging in the air, where only a few companies of railyard workers and supply service troops were milling about.

In effect, Blaxland’s whole 10th Indian Division, plus Selby’s Brigade from the 6th Indian, were now cut off in the south. Behind them, the wide sweep of the Tigris turned west in a big hairpin loop and the river was very wide there, with no more bridges. The Germans had the west end of all the main bridges entering central Baghdad, and even managed to get two more companies across the southernmost Al Jisir Bridge.

There, the 4th Brigade of the British 2nd Infantry Division was finally arriving under McLennan. They would reach the bridge just in time to stop the Germans, where they immediately organized a counterattack with two battalions backed by the armored cars of the recon battalion. So the Germans would hold the west end of all those bridges, but they could not exploit to the east bank over any of them.

Yet the day had seen dramatic developments that delivered the whole railyard area and Al Muthana Airfield into German hands. They had seized the British Embassy, sending Wilson packing, and the Abwehr was already there, rifling through the place to scrutinize anything of potential value they could find. They also had the radio station, and the parliament building complex, a key political objective. There they hoped to invite Rashid Ali back to begin setting up a new Iraqi government in opposition to the British he hated so deeply. He was already on a plane, bound for the newly captured airfield.

As for the remaining British troops west of the Tigris, if the Germans continued to press Arderne and Selby the following day, the only way those brigades could reach safe ground now would be at a few ferry sites on the big hairpin bend of the river. Blaxland could pull out MacGregor and his last brigade at the Royal Palace under Finlay if he wished. They could still move along the rail line south around that big hairpin, where they would eventually follow in the footsteps of Glubb Pasha.

All the rest of Wilson’s army was still deployed in an arc defending central Baghdad, bounded by the Tigris on the left, and the inner bund and marsh line on the right. Westhoven’s maneuver had attempted to flank that line, and now he was only 600 meters from the slaughterhouse he had been told to take, facing off against Langran’s 9th Brigade of 5th Indian Division. Now Guderian would meet with Hube to assess their prospects for the following day. (Battle Map 6)

“We might reach that slaughterhouse tonight if I continue to attack,” said Hube. But the men need some rest, and it will take more time to get supplies down there, over all those little canals.”

“But it was a good move,” said Guderian. “It forced them to abandon the outer bund line. We’ve cut off the last of their men west of the river, and for all intents and purposes, we’ve got the rest of their army penned up in central Baghdad. The only question now is whether or not we can kill it.”

“That won’t be easy,” said Hube, “and it will take time. It’s taken these four days of hard fighting just to clear out most of the west bank.”

“True,” said Guderian, but now we have the rail yards and airfield, and I can move supply into both places. I was hoping to get over one of the river bridges, but they got up a fresh infantry division last night, this time British regulars. We’ve taken all the crossing points on this side of the river, but thus far they have been bridges to nowhere. We haven’t been able to get a strong force into the central city on any of them. They’ve found reserves just when they needed them most.

“What else do they have coming?” asked Hube.

“The Luftwaffe says there doesn’t seem to be anything more heading north from Basra, but it would be good if we cut that rail line soon. What are your prospects with Westhoven’s division?”

“That whole flank will not be easily turned. There’s a lot of marshland, with only a few places where the armor can get through, and those will be easily defended. Then there’s another bigger canal system to the south, screening off the rail line to Basra. That one will need pontoon bridging, and we’ve used a lot of what we had to get over the little canals. What we really need now is another couple infantry divisions.”

Guderian smiled. “There was still one more division assigned to 12th Infantry Korps, but it has not made the transit through Turkey yet. So the only infantry we might pull in would be a regiment of the 22nd Luftland.”

“You know what Manstein would say—this isn’t a fight for Panzer Divisions. Pull them out and wait for the infantry.”

“Yes,” said Guderian. “He might say that, which is exactly what he did at Volgograd. But Hitler is waiting too, for news of the outcome of this battle, and I don’t think he wants to hear that we’ve pulled your Panzer divisions out to wait for infantry we may never see.”

Hube nodded. They had bested their enemy at every battle these last four days, but what had they won but bridges to nowhere. The airfield would be useful now, unless the British kept it under their guns. They seemed determined to hold the city, and now they had the equivalent of four infantry divisions, one freshly arrived, and two armored brigades. “They’ll dig in tonight,” he said.

Guderian shrugged, and rubbed his brow.