Three Kings

Chapter 19

The Germans were pounding Malta from the air. In the weeks while Rommel was gathering up his 5th Light Division and making the long journey south from Tripoli, smiling Albert Kesselring was quietly setting up Luftwaffe liaison officer groups on key bases in Italy and Sicily. Squadrons of Bf-109s, Ju-87 Stukas, Ju-88s and He-111s were being moved by night from airfields in Germany and France to these new fields, and setting up for action under Fliegerkorps XI. Meanwhile, the trains had quietly transported companies of tough, hardened men in grey camo fatigues, the battalions and regiments that Kurt Student had been assembling under his 7th Flieger Division. They would soon be joined by flocks of Ju-52 transports, the three engine workhorse of the Luftwaffe that was affectionately called “Tante Ju” or “Aunt Ju.”

Aerial reconnaissance and photography had been ongoing for the last two weeks, always using Italian planes. The Germans were closely watching the airfields for any sign of fighter buildup there, and also waiting to pounce on any Royal Navy convoy that appeared to be bound for Malta from the east.

None came.

British air power was still rather lean in the Middle East, and now Greece was calling on her for additional support. The political necessity of supporting an ally had already forced Wavell to make some very hard decisions. He had already taken half the wind out of O’Connor’s sails when he withdrew the 4th Indian Division weeks ago and sent it to Sudan. Now divisions that had been earmarked as reinforcements for O’Connor were being rescheduled for movement to Greece.

O’Connor had gladly accepted the 6th Australian when he lost the Indian division, and he had put it to good use, fighting all the way across Cyrenaica to the Gulf of Sirte. He was all set to continue his drive when Wavell again intimated that the now veteran 6th Australian Division may have to go to Greece, along with the newly arriving 2nd New Zealand Division, and a brigade of armor taken from the 2nd Armor Division. In return he would get the 9th Australian Division, but O’Connor had argued that to move that division from Cairo all the way out west while the 6th was making the same journey east would be a terrible waste of time and petrol. Eventually Wavell agreed and decided to send the Greeks the 9th Australian, and the necessary shipping was being gathered at Alexandria just when Rommel started his counteroffensive.

Cyrenaica had been relegated to the status of a buffer zone in Wavell’s mind, though he continued to encourage O’Connor’s plans. That said, he did not believe that he could possibly reach Tripoli with German troops landing there, and told O’Connor to wait until they could sort out the Greek mess before planning any real move. Until then, he was free to probe along the southern coast of the Gulf of Sirte to determine enemy intentions, and seek the best defensive ground in that sector. Mersa Brega and El Agheila were desirable for the water available there, and an airfield. O’Connor had taken the former, and was preparing to drive on the latter when Rommel struck with his own Operation Sonnenblume.

The instant O’Connor reported on what was happening, Wavell knew there would be no further offensive to the west for some time. “We are in no position to reinforce you,” he had said. “All you can do now is fall back. Preserve your force as much as possible, particularly the armor. Even Benghazi is to be considered expendable and held only insofar as it seems practical to cover the retreat of the garrison there.”

O’Connor had agreed, even though it meant he would now be handing back all the hard won ground he had taken from the Italian 10th Army in his lighting dash west. And so he pulled back, moving the 6th Australian Division north through Benghazi, while he gathered up what was left of his armor and back-tracked east. Rommel ended up striking nothing, reporting to Keitel that he had been sent there to stop O’Connor, but there was nothing to stop! His counteroffensive had turned into little more than a brisk reoccupation of the ground lost by Graziani, with surprisingly little fighting.

It was what came next that was the real bolt from the blue. The grim faced Falschirmtruppen were lining up on the airstrips near Taranto, Naples, and at Comiso and Gerbini on Sicily after a week of intense air duels and bombing over Malta.

Squadron Leader A.C. ‘Jock’ Martin, the Commanding Officer of R.A.F. Luqa, had limped out to his plane for the twenty-fifth time that week, but there were all too few left. He had lost some very good men, including Flight Lieutenant Peter Keeble and his Flag Officer William Woods, old ‘Timber’ as he was called by the men. The German 109s had cut down his Gladiator, which was no match for the faster, more modern fighter. Now he wondered how long they would have to wait for help from Alexandria, and he feared it would be a very long time indeed.

Now he was patrolling in a Hurricane when tower control radioed the heading of yet another incoming formation of enemy planes. There was no one else up on CAP, and so he decided he would have to go in alone. What he found was a formation of twenty S-79s of the 34^o Stormo intending to strike the airfield at Luqa. Martin knew he could not possibly stop a formation of that size, but he could raise hell and try to break them up as they approached the field. He got in one good pass, like a hawk falling on a formation of geese flying south, and managed to down one plane, wheel about and take a second from beneath, starting an engine fire. Then he had company with the arrival of Italian Sergente Abramo Lanzarini of the 72nd Squadriglia in an MC-200 fighter.

The two pilots maneuvered for advantage, each one skilled enough to send hot tracers zipping perilously close to the other. Then Martin hit his flaps, radically altering his speed to allow the Italian fighter to sweep by. He kicked the plane over to follow, poured on power with his guns blazing and ended the duel as the MC-200 went into an dive, smoke trailing from the tail.

Martin saw the Italian pilot had managed to leap from the plane, a loose strap from his seat harness sheared off as he did so, but to his horror, he saw no parachute open. The equipment had failed in the one task it was made for, and Sergente Abramo Lanzarini plummeted to his death.

It was difficult to witness such an event, but Martin tried to remind himself that he was shooting at planes, not the men inside them. It was a thin emotional barrier he surrounded himself with, knowing inherently that Lanzarini’s death could have been his own fate, as every pilot had an inbred kinship with the men he faced in the sky.

Lanzarini’s death had not been in vain, for his brave intervention had at least drawn Martin from his attack on the bombers. Now they were over the airfield at Luqa, and trying to hit the hangers where the work crews were fitfully struggling to get another Hurricane engine operational to give the hard pressed Squadron Leader some help.

The other main airfield at Hal Far had been hit very hard the previous day, and several Hurricanes had been lost on the ground. Lieutenants John Waters and Peter Hartley had been out from that station in their Swordfish when they got word that a naval flotilla was heading for the island. What they saw was more than they could deal with given the few planes they had. The Italian Navy was coming out to fight. All the battleships that had been at Taranto had sortied days before the long planned carrier raid by Admiral Cunningham’s fleet. Now they were gathering ominously in the Central Mediterranean, and the increased air activity over Malta began to take on the darker prospect of imminent invasion.

Then word came that the French Navy was at sea, getting up steam from their major base at Toulon. There were no details as to what had sailed, but the movement of “several large capital ships” was deemed most disturbing.

Now the meeting was being held to determine what to do about the impending crisis on Malta. Yet the allies did not yet know the full scope of the plans their enemy had for the island, or that even as they spoke, the engines were turning over on the German Ju-52s at four airfields to the north.

Wavell and Cunningham entered, all the men standing to greet them, and then Wavell came right up to Admiral Volsky and extended a hand in a hearty greeting.

“That was quite a display just now, Admiral,” he said in perfect Russian, for Wavell had mastered the language when he served as a military observer with the Russian Army in 1911, and was eager to have a chance to use that tool. “We have seen the smoke, and I have no doubt that there is more fire behind it than meets the eye.”

Volsky smiled, glancing at Fedorov to make the introductions. “You speak Russian — a very pleasant surprise. Our Mister Nikolin here is adept in English, but now he will not have to carry so much water from the well.”

“Indeed,” said Wavell, shaking Fedorov’s hand as he was introduced. Then to Admiral Tovey he said: “General O’Connor was supposed to be joining us, flying in from Tobruk this morning. It appears he’s running late, so we may as well begin. Gentlemen, we have a good deal to sort out here. The wolves are on the move in the desert again, and they will soon be on our doorstep. I also regret to inform you that Malta is again under heavy air attack. Things are heating up. I must admit I did not expect the Germans to reinforce the Italians here in North Africa this quickly.”

Fedorov was not surprised to hear this news for he knew the Germans would intensify their air attacks against Malta. He also knew they had developed a plan to invade the island, though it was not until 1942 that this came anywhere close to fruition, and the operation had been cancelled.

Wavell continued his briefing. “I have ordered General O’Connor to withdraw to Tobruk, as there is no way we can hope to hold on to Cyrenaica with so many troops earmarked for Greece.”

Fedorov gave Admiral Volsky a sidelong glance, but Tovey spoke next.

“If I may, general, I have some information to convey from Bletchley Park.”

This was the plan that Fedorov had arranged. He had prepared intelligence on Rommel’s true intentions to try and demonstrate the real threat to Egypt. Now Tovey handed Wavell a thin report showing the planned German buildup in North Africa. It listed every unit that had been sent in the history Fedorov knew, 5th Light Division, later reinforced to become the 21st Panzer Division, the 15th Panzers, 90th Light, 164th Light and eventually 10th Panzer Division.

“My goodness,” said Wavell. “We knew about the plans to move their new 15th Panzer Division, but not these others. Five divisions?”

“BP isn’t sure of the timetable, but they believe these units will eventually form for service in North Africa given present intelligence. Some are new formations, others don’t exist yet. And as for this present action now underway, your intelligence characterizing Rommel’s move as being merely defensive in nature is mistaken. Bletchley Park now believes he intends to drive all the way to Alexandria, and may bloody well do so if we let him.”

Tovey was stretching the matter here, but he knew he could rely on the ingenuity of Alan Turing at BP to generate any intelligence required to make his assertions ring true. This had been the plan they agreed upon at their crucial Faeroes conference, that Fedorov would feed intelligence to BP through Turing as they all struggled to steer the unwieldy ship of war.

“I see…” Wavell folded his arms, obviously concerned, yet taking the news with calm professionalism. “And how certain is Bletchley Park on this? Haven’t they informed Mister Eden and the Prime Minister?”

“At the moment it seems Mister Churchill has politics in mind concerning any movement to support Greece, and not military matters,” said Tovey, “which brings us to the heart of this business. Our Russian friends here also have an intelligence arm, and good men on the ground throughout the Balkans. Here is the German plan to take Yugoslavia and Greece — Operation Marita — and they believe this information is quite sound.”

Now Cunningham’s face truly darkened. “My God,” he said. “This is certainly not a force we can hope to hold for very long.”

“Thirty six divisions in all, including reserves,” said Tovey, “and note the heavy concentration in armor, a full ten Panzer Divisions will be committed. In this light, you may wish to reconsider your present plans to reinforce Greece.”

Wavell scratched his head, clearly surprised by the intelligence, yet experienced enough to realize that was all it was, the best guess of a web like network of men, with information gleaned from brothels, bars, and hotels as much as through signals intelligence or any real reading of enemy plans and orders. Intelligence was a shadowy cloak and dagger world of whispers, rumors, and elaborate deceptions, so he took the information with a grain of salt, while giving it thoughtful consideration at the same time.

“I’ve scraped the bottom of the barrel as it stands,” he said. “If I send anything more to Greece there will be nothing but the sand and sky between Alexandria and this General Rommel.”

“You misunderstand me,” said Tovey. “I am a naval officer, General, but given this intelligence it would be my conclusion that any effort to reinforce Greece at all would be foolhardy.”

Wavell smiled. “I have thought as much, but you must realize these dispositions were not entirely of my own making. In my last meeting with the Prime Minister, the man questioned me on the posting of each and every battalion at my disposal. Churchill can be somewhat insufferable, with all due respect, and he is rather insistent that Greece be strongly reinforced. I informed Mister Dill and others in London that the real danger here would not occur until the Germans sent motorized units and armor to North Africa. Now that whirlwind is upon us, and our own General O’Connor is in full retreat, trying to save what little armor we have left there while I send half the cupboard off to Greece.”

“Well General,” said Tovey. “I am aware that the First Sea Lord met with Churchill and determined that Egypt would be Germany’s next move should they fail to break us with the Luftwaffe. The loss of Gibraltar has made that threat even more perilous for us and possible for the enemy.”

“Agreed,” said Wavell. “Yet the Prime Minister seems adamant on the matter of Greece.”

“I am well aware of his determination,” said Tovey, but HMS Invincible is here for a reason, which I must now disclose.”

There came a knock on the cabin door and an adjutant appeared with a rush of urgency, bearing a single page message from the W/T room.

“Please excuse me, sir” The man came in and quietly handed Wavell a message, saluting and withdrawing as he had come.

Wavell took a long breath as he read the paper, then fixed them all with a steady gaze. “Well gentlemen, we have yet another problem. The Germans are landing paratroops on Malta.”

Chapter 20

They came out of the grey pre-dawn sky, the lines of planes seeming endless to Squadron Leader Jock Martin, at R.A.F. Luqa. He was up in a Hurricane with Squadron mate George Burges. They had the only two serviceable planes at the field that morning, and they were going to be quite busy.

The island was simply not ready for the storm blowing in on the cold morning air. It was led by another formation of eighteen S-79s of the 34th Stormo, only this time there were twelve C200 fighters in escort. They were coming out of the northeast, and in so doing they pulled the two British Hurricanes off in that direction, a deliberate ploy to draw off any resources from the main attack. Over 150 Ju-52s transports carrying the leading waves of enemy troops.

34th Stormo was just one of six formations assigned to the bombing that day. They would hit the Grand Harbor, the seaplane base at Kalafrana, the airfields at Ta’Qali, Luqa and Hal Far and targets of opportunity all over the island. The air raid sirens droned mournfully as weary crews of the 7th AA Regiment ran to man their batteries. It was the tenth consecutive day that had begun like this, and in spite of some success in shooting down fifteen enemy planes, the bombers were getting through the relatively thin defense and doing a good deal of damage on the ground.

Malta was not ready, not the island fortress that Lieutenant General Dobbie called it in his address to rally the troops. In his Order of the Day he announced that the Germans had landed paratroops on the northern island of Gozo twenty minutes earlier, and the fight was on. “The decision of His Majesty’s Government to fight until our enemies are defeated will be heard with the greatest satisfaction by all ranks of the Garrison of Malta,” the order began. While they might finally get a crack at their tormentors face to face on the ground, the hard truth of the matter was that the troops would have little satisfaction in that.

“It may be that hard times lie ahead for us, but I know that however hard they may be, the courage and determination of all ranks will not falter, and that with God’s help we will maintain the security of this fortress.” Dobbie’s order was an understatement, as the troops were going to need God’s help if they had any chance to weather the storm that was coming.

By 1942 the British garrison would triple in size, with a hundred aircraft ready to oppose an attack. Yet now, it was a pathetic shadow of that force. Before the war, the British thought the island would be indefensible. The Italian Regia Aeronautica could count 5400 aircraft in Italy and North Africa. Malta received only a few old fighters in packing crates, the famous Gladiators that had been left there as spares for the British aircraft carriers. They would take the names “Faith, Hope and Charity” before the Hurricanes arrived, but after ten days of steady air attacks, the old Gladiators were long gone.

The Island itself was commanded by a throwback from the First World War, Lieutenant General Dobbie. He had been ordered to retire, but made an appeal to the Chief of the Imperial General Staff, Edmund Ironside, who managed to get him a serving command as Governor of Malta. Old gladiators, in the air and on the ground, held the “fortress” in the early going, and little help had arrived by the end of 1940. It was going to take the heavenly intervention that Dobbie was counting on to stop the German attack. Malta had no more of a chance than the Rock of Gibraltar had, and it would not last long in spite of a dogged defense.

When the skies over the main island darkened with parachutes, the weary defenders saw the leading edge of what they would be up against. The planes had come in from airfields all over southern Italy and Sicily, Brindisi, Lecce, Foggia, Palermo, Comiso, and Trapani. The troops landing on Gozo were those of the Italian Folgore Parachute Division, who had claimed the honor of putting men on the ground first. They would secure Victoria and seize the small fishing port and ferry site at Mgarr harbor on the southern tip of that island. Lightly defended, largely by local militias, Gozo would become a reserve staging area for supplies, and a place to get wounded off the main island where field hospitals would be established.

The main attack would be a German operation, and their first targets would be the airfields at Ta’Qali, Luga, and Safi. There were several open areas where aircraft dispersal fields had been sited at Mqabba and Qrendi. They were not as heavily defended as the main fields, and made excellent landing sites for the Fallschirmjagers. Tante Ju came in very low that morning, with the flights of Ju-52s at no more than 500 feet to achieve a tight concentration of troops on the target area. Student had been training his men for these low level “Sturm” jumps for months.

The troops were preceded by a company of Brandenburger commandos, the first lightning in the storm, just as they had been in the attack against Gibraltar. These men came in on agile Storch reconnaissance aircraft, capable of landing on very short airstrips, roads, or even fields. They would put down what amounted to a company of men, who would spread out to cut telephone and telegraph wires and sow discord all over the island. A platoon size force was able to seize one of the secondary airfields to silence the four AA batteries there, and the Ju-52s came in ten minutes later.

All the paratroops dropped with weapons, K98 rifles, MP40 MGs and extra ammunition in canisters that fell with the troops by parachute. They would be ready to fight the moment they hit the ground, though the low altitude jump saw many with sprained ankles and other injuries. Yet the bulk of the troops weathered the drop, and soon a regimental sized force was building up near Ta’Qali. A Luftwaffe forward air controller was assigned to every company to call in the lavish air support that was just fifty to sixty kilometers away in Sicily. Soon the morning skies would hear the scream of Stuka close support squadrons that were already in the air to loiter on call for the troops on the ground.

The entire 7th Fleiger Division, three regiments, would be augmented by a special Sturm Regiment in the attack. The reserve force would be the 22nd Luftland Air Landing Division, flown in to Italian airfields from Romania in the days prior to the attack. A full regiment of German mountain infantry was also staged at Syracuse and Catania on Sicily, with all the assault shipping and transport that the Italians could provide. They would be sent only if the Italian Navy could first assure the Germans that they could achieve naval superiority.

Adding in the Folgore Regiment, the Axis forces available came to nine full regiments. Against this, the Malta Garrison at this time was no bigger than the one that had defended Gibraltar. Lieutenant General Dobbie commanded 2nd Battalion Devonshire Regiment, 2nd Battalion of the Queen’s Own Royal West Kent Regiment, 1st Battalion Dorsetshire Regiment and the 2nd Battalion Royal Irish Fusiliers. The 8th Battalion Manchester Regiment had been the only reinforcement sent to the island after the outbreak of the war, making five British battalions in all, and one Maltese battalion. They would be outnumbered twelve battalions to six in the crucial first six hours of the assault, and if the Germans could quickly seize one of the key airfields, the 22nd Luftland could fly in directly there to rapidly build up troop strength on the ground.

At sea the Italians would initiate the first stage of the naval operation. The battleships Veneto, Roma and Littorio were staged from Naples with a strong escort of cruisers and destroyers. Their mission was to provide close artillery support and directly engage the harbor shore batteries. The distant covering force was staged from Taranto, and it was comprised of the battleships Cesare, Doria and Duilio with an equal escort force. It’s mission was to fend off the expected sortie of the British Navy from Alexandria, and the Admirals meeting to discuss the matter would not disappoint.

“We simply must get the navy out in support of Malta,” said Cunningham. “I see no other course. We were damn well chased out of Gibraltar when the Germans hit us there, and to let them pound Malta from the sea unchallenged is simply intolerable. My ships are ready. We were all set to have a go at Taranto, and now the Italians have put to sea. We should be right in their faces, and let them know who they are dealing with.”

“They won’t be alone,” said Tovey with a guarded edge in his voice. “I was just about to disclose the latest Enigma decrypts we received from Bletchley Park.”

At this Wavell raised an eyebrow, waiting patiently.

“As you may have heard, gentlemen, the Germans lately managed to slip two warships past our guard to French ports. When this conference was proposed I met with Admiral Somerville of Force H to aid in the planning of the occupation of the Atlantic islands, operations which we have lately concluded, all while keeping a watchful eye on the German ships at Brest and Saint Nazaire. Well, the foxes have slipped out of their dens. We were led to believe they were being recalled to Germany. Instead they turned south for Gibraltar, and with Somerville covering the operation in the Cape Verde Islands, there was nothing we could do about it. I departed for this conference, and the Germans were kind enough to sit tight at Gibraltar. Now I’m afraid the Germans are on the move again.”

“In the Atlantic?”

“No sir, in the Mediterranean…” Tovey let that sit there, allowing Wavell and Cunningham to appreciate the implications. I’ve Admiral Holland back with the Battlecruiser Squadron to look after the North Atlantic. Now, however, we have a new problem on our hands. The French pulled out of Dakar and reestablished their Atlantic Force de Raid at Casablanca — absent one ship, the battleship Normandie. It has moved into the Mediterranean as well, along with the German ships from Gibraltar, the Bismarck and Hindenburg. I must now report that these ships are moving east. Something is afoot, gentlemen, and this news of the attack on Malta is the root of it all. The reinforcement of your fleet is timely with the arrival of Invincible here.”

“Indeed,” said Admiral Cunningham. “This news, coupled with movement out of Toulon by the French squadron there, and movement by the Italians out of Taranto — well I’m afraid we have a real nightmare on our hands at the moment.”

“Correct,” said Tovey. “We now know that the battlecruisers Strasbourg and Dunkerque have sailed with that squadron from Toulon, and the Italians have sortied with at least three of the five battleships they had at Taranto. Simply counting the capital ships, we now find ourselves outnumbered two to one, even with Invincible thrown on the scales.”

“Welcome to the party, gentlemen,” said Wavell. “Our situation at sea is as precarious as our prospects for reinforcing Greece while trying to hold off the Germans in the Western Desert.”

“Precisely,” said Tovey. “You have not yet started moving troops to Greece, though I see the shipping gathered here in the harbor to do exactly that. I must tell you, General Wavell, that given these movements on the part of the enemy at sea, I do not believe the navy can dispose to cover your planned reinforcement operation for Greece until we can achieve at least parity with the enemy. Admiral Cunningham’s plan to catch them napping at Taranto was our bid to go one up on the Italians. Now, however, with the French and Germans weighing in, the whole balance of the war at sea in the Mediterranean is now on the fire. Naval supremacy would be much preferred for your movement to Greece, but being outnumbered eight to four in capital ships at the moment, we cannot give you that luxury, nor any assurance that your divisions will ever reach Greece safely.”

Tovey had played his hand, and Wavell listened, realizing that naval operations were at the heart of the matter, in spite of what Churchill wanted now, or what he had determined to do himself. If he could not move his divisions safely, then they would simply have to stay where they were.

“Well,” he said quietly. “These developments will force me to wait. Mister Churchill won’t like it, but I shall have to hold the ANZAC divisions here in Egypt for the time being. Yet given that order of battle you have just handed me on the German strength in the Balkans, it appears we will not have much time at all. As to the movement of the Italian ships, I must leave that to the Royal Navy. I’ll have enough to deal with on the ground in Libya.”

“We’ll deal with the Italians easily enough,” said Cunningham, his confidence unbowed.

“We must also consider the French and German squadrons,” Said Tovey.

“Yes, but at the moment those ships are still well west of Sicily. If we make a hard run at Malta now, the Italians will have to cover this German parachute operation, and come looking for us.”

“That they will,” Tovey shrugged. “They’ll have six battleships at sea now from this latest report. Duilio and Andria Doria have just left Taranto.”

“And we’ll have four. Good enough.” Cunningham was ready for a fight, though he knew the odds were against them now, an unusual situation for the powerful Royal Navy.

Tovey was more cautious. “Now we see the hardship imposed on us with the loss of Gibraltar,” he said grimly. “Somerville would normally be in the Western Mediterranean with three more battleships in Force H, and we always had two good arms when we thought to spar with the Italians. Now we’re fighting with one arm tied behind our backs., and two other fellows have jumped in the ring! There is no way we can expect help from Force H. Even if Somerville could run the Straits of Gibraltar and survive the thickets of U-boats and Stukas there, he would soon find himself facing the entire French Squadron at Toulon, lately reinforced by the battleship Normandie from Casablanca. Throw Bismarck and Hindenburg into the mix and any sortie on his part would be suicidal. So we’re in this fight alone here, gentlemen, and as I count it now, we will be outnumbered eleven capital ships to four adding in both Strasbourg and Dunkerque, and two to one in cruisers and destroyers.”

There was a long silence and Cunningham folded his arms, looking at the map. The second knock on the cabin door seemed loud when the adjutant came again with another message. Wavell took it and read quietly, expecting it was an update on the situation on Malta, but seeing more bad news instead. He cleared his throat, and the other men looked up from the map, waiting.

“Well,” he began. “It seems we have lost our General O’Connor.”

Nikolin had been quietly translating all this, whispering near Fedorov, who shrugged when he heard this news. He knew that O’Connor had been captured during Rommel’s advance, just as he was about to turn operations over to General Neame. He had hoped to prevent that at this meeting, but it seemed fate had a way of keeping its hand on the back of a man’s neck, no matter what world he served in. Yet this time the news was different.

“O’Connor’s plane ran afoul of a German fighter and was damaged,” said Wavell. “They ran south into the desert to evade and were forced to make an emergency landing somewhere north of the oasis country near Giarabub and Siwa. The Italians still have troops at Giarabub, and we have a few patrols operating out of Siwa. We got one radio message, then lost contact. The good news is that O’Connor is alive, but given his circumstances surviving out there in the desert is no easy matter. The Italians might be also out looking for the plane if they saw it go down. I would hate to lose a man like O’Connor, but his chances may be very slim.”

Fedorov’s eyes brightened at this, a quiet fire there, and he whispered in Admiral Volsky’s ear, an urgent tone in his voice that even Wavell could pick up from where he stood across the table. On the spur of the moment, he had come up with another of his crazy ideas.

Chapter 21

“This news seems to have your interest,” Wavell said in Russian, catching Fedorov’s eye.

“Excuse me, sir,” said Fedorov. “After such a brilliant campaign against the Italians it would seem a cruel fate to lose General O’Connor at a time like this.”

“That it would,” said Wavell. “I shall have to make arrangements to see that General Neame hangs on to what is left of the Western Desert Force. This General Rommel has moved like quicksilver, and stolen back everything O’Connor had in hand after his operation out west. Losing O’Connor will be salt in the wound, but we may be deprived of his services for some good while.”

Now Admiral Volsky cleared his throat, speaking up.

“Well, he said quietly. “Then we must do something about this situation. Yes? I have some very good men aboard my ship, and the means to get them anywhere in the desert in a matter of hours.”

“A matter of hours?” Wavell smiled politely. “The desert is quite extensive out west, Admiral. It is well over 250 miles to Giarabub from Alexandria, and given the terrain and lack of useful roads, that is a journey of many days.”

“I can put men on the ground there today if you wish. We can go by aircraft.”

“By air? I suppose you could fly into Siwa, but we have a patrol there from our Long Range Desert Group. Perhaps they could handle the matter and spare you the trouble. The Italians have a few fighters at Giarabub that could cause problems for any air search we attempt. That said, it could take days or weeks for desert patrols to locate O’Connor’s plane.”

Volsky smiled. “We can find it by nightfall. We have some special equipment we can use to conduct a search for this aircraft. It will stand out as a heat source in the desert, will it not? We have equipment that can find it, even at night. As for the Italian fighter planes, they will pose no threat. Our aircraft can make use of the rockets we demonstrated earlier, and defend itself quite easily.”

Wavell raised an eyebrow at this, somewhat surprised. “Well… if you’d care to have a go at it, I can send word to my people at Siwa to expect company. I don’t wish to sound discouraging, but it may be more difficult to locate this plane than you believe, Admiral.”

“We have a way of overcoming such difficulties, General Wavell. I will give the order for the search and rescue operation to proceed at once. Mister Fedorov? You seem very eager to see General O’Connor safely returned to the fold here. This sounds like a good job for our Sergeant Troyak and the KA-40. Please handle the matter for me.”

“Thank you, sir. I would be honored.”

“And as to your other problem,” Volsky now turned to Admiral Tovey where he was still consulting the map with Cunningham. “It would seem that my ship is available to help you even those odds.”

Tovey looked over his shoulder, then turned to face the Russians with a grateful nod. “I thank you for the offer,” he said. “Yet we still have that delicate political issue to consider — a Russian ship pulled into the conflict when your own country has not yet openly declared war on Germany, let alone Italy. If you were to become an active combatant here that could cause… difficulties.”

“True,” said Volsky, “but I have given this some thought since our last discussion when you informed me of your Admiralty’s decision to relieve our watch on the Denmark Strait. It seems the whole question comes down to the flag flying from our main mast out there, and it occurred to me that is something that can be easily changed.”

Wavell needed no translation to realize what Volsky was suggesting now. His instincts were as good as his Russian, and he immediately knew that Volsky was offering to re-flag his ship under British colors.

“Your government would permit this?” he said directly to Volsky.

“This may come as a surprise to you and others here,” said Volsky, “but while I am empowered to represent the interests of Sergei Kirov’s Soviet Russia, I also remain an independent force de jure, as the French might put things. I can act on my own accord, and exercise my own judgment here. It was my intention to attend this meeting as an observer and advisor, yet the situation you describe seems quite dire. How can I claim to stand with you as an ally, and yet stand aside when it comes to battle, particularly in a situation like this?”

“Your government makes the claim of alliance with Great Britain,” said Wavell directly in Russian. “Are you saying they have empowered you to assume the role of an active combatant?”

Volsky knew this question would arise, and he had informed Sergei Kirov that it might be necessary to take a more active stance in the war. Kirov had simply replied: “Do what you must. We stand ready, and if the Germans want to do anything about it, let them try.” Volsky knew that he could not tell Wavell he was operating independently of the Soviet government without raising suspicions and questions he would rather not answer here, so he and Sergei Kirov had determined what he might do — re-flag the ship.

“The Americans have lately sold you a number of destroyers for use in the Atlantic, have they not?” Volsky smiled. “Consider this an offer to lend the Royal Navy the support of my ship — all authorized by my government. Think of it as a kind of lend lease. The only condition I impose will be that my vessel remains under my direct command, crewed by my men as it stands. Otherwise, I am willing to re-flag and fight in cooperation with your Royal Navy, and I think I can even the odds considerably in this grave hour.”

“A very generous offer,” said Cunningham. “Yet that makes it eleven to five in capital ships. You realize what you now propose, Admiral Volsky? If we choose to fight here, we do so with the intention of placing our entire force at considerable risk. I assume the Admiralty has no qualms about that?” Now he looked to Tovey, lately dispatched by their Lordships at Whitehall.

“If they had any hesitation, our Mister Churchill has beaten that out of them by now.” At this they all smiled, for they knew, without any doubt, that Churchill would be the first to demand the Royal Navy now beat to quarters and come to the defense of Malta.

“Yes,” said Cunningham. “Churchill will raise the flag high and sound the trumpets in the House of Commons, but it will be our ships and guns on the line, and our crews at battle stations here. I remain assured that every man will do his utmost, but I am a realist as well. Even with your ship thrown in, odds are that we may face certain defeat, no matter what we do.”

“Which leads us to the question of whether we should spend the coin we have in hand now on Malta, or save it for a darker hour that may yet come.” Wavell raised the one question that had not yet been considered. “You have just informed me that we haven’t the strength to guarantee the safety of our planned reinforcement of Greece. Remember also that my force here relies on a supply line stretching over 12,000 miles by sea. And we also have troops on Crete and Cyprus that will need to be supported. If we lose what naval power we now have, those islands will be in jeopardy as well.”

“True,” said Tovey. “If the Germans are now planning to move on the Middle East, then we must preserve a strong naval presence in the Eastern Mediterranean. We must have the means of preventing the Germans from projecting power against Egypt and Palestine, and the islands you mention, General Wavell. The navy is the one tool for that job. If we use it now in defense of Malta we must be resolute, but ever mindful of the consequences should we lose our battle. I remind you that things have not gone as well for the Royal Navy as we might have expected. Our initial encounter with the Germans in the North set us back for some months. We only now have the services of the Battlecruiser Squadron and Admiral Holland on that watch, and thank God for King George V and Prince of Wales, now that we have those ships at sea. Yet we remain spread very thin. Somerville needs all of Force H just to keep an eye on the two French battleships still at Casablanca. We will need everything we have here to save Egypt and Palestine. So I put it to you all — should we fight now? The consequences of a defeat here will have dramatic repercussions.”

Tovey left that in the silence as each man considered the situation. The Royal Navy had always been the master of the seas, and could presume to back down any other navy in a one on one conflict. Yet the actions against the new Kriegsmarine, and off Dakar against the French, had exposed a weakness in the fleet that was of some concern.

The Royal Navy was aging, with 80 % of its ships still dating from the last war, many which had seen service with Jellicoe and Beatty at Jutland. Where it had the speed to catch its foe at sea, the armor was thin, except on HMS Invincible. Where it had the guns and armor to stand in any good fight, the battleships were slow, and could be easily out maneuvered by the fast new ships of their enemies. There were too few ships combining the speed and power necessary to prevail in the new war at sea, and the Invincible could not be everywhere.

“Well,” said Admiral Volsky. “The consequences of a defeat would be too severe to contemplate. So the solution is a simple one. We will win. Yes. I have an answer for you, Admiral Tovey. We will not be defeated. I will give orders that my ship be made ready for action immediately, and if you would be so kind as to entrust me with your naval ensign, I will proudly raise it and stand with you, here and now. We will fight and we will win. Of this I have no doubt.”

Tovey was the only other man in the room who knew that Admiral Volsky’s words were no idle boast. “That’s the spirit,” he said quickly. Cunningham nodded his approval.

“We thank you for your offer,” said Tovey, “and I will accept it and be grateful if you would receive my own naval standard as a way of welcoming you to the fleet. It is no ordinary ensign. In fact, it was flown by our very own Horatio Nelson at Trafalgar, and I have been privileged to raise it on my mainmast aboard Invincible. Now I am honored to offer it to you in trade for your able services, and I know it will be in good hands.”

Volsky fully appreciated the significance of this offer, and knew the history that had been sewn into that flag over many centuries. “The honor is mine,” he said. “And whenever you see that ensign raised on my mainmast, you will be looking at HMS Kirov.” He smiled, extending his hand, which Tovey shook with eager warmth.

“There we are,” said Wavell. “A rescue operation for General O’Connor, and a new ship for His Majesty’s Fleet. I’d say that is a favorable turn of affairs given all this bad news of late. As for this search and rescue operation, I have a man I should like you to meet, Admiral Volsky, a man named Vladimir Peniakoff. We call him Popski, as most have trouble with his real name. He’s a bit of a self styled soul, expert in special operations in the desert, and he has a private little army of like minded fellows that may come in very handy during this mission you are planning.”

“Excellent,” said Volsky. “We would be honored to operate with him, and it will serve to solve the communication issue between our people and yours. Our Mister Nikolin here will be needed aboard my ship, so perhaps this man of yours can accompany our team and serve as a guide and liaison with your own forces.”

“My thoughts exactly,” said Wavell. “Popski is fluent in English, and a very useful man. I know your people must be very capable, but there are many hazards in the desert that can trip the best of men up if they are not aware of them. Popski knows the desert very well, and I would feel much better to have a man like that on your team. I will make the arrangements. Might I have him sent aboard your ship?”

“Certainly,” said Volsky, and the matter was settled.

“Now all we have to worry about are those damnable Fallschirmjagers over Malta.”

“Fallschirmjagers?” Admiral Volsky tried to repeat the word, though he mangled it a bit as he did so

“The German word for Paratroops,” said Fedorov. “It loosely translates as ‘Parachute Hunters,’ but I have always called them the Hunters from the Sky. They are elite troops, and the garrison on Malta will have a hard time if the Germans throw their entire 7th Flieger Division at the island. Malta had only one Brigade in defense in late 1940…” He stopped himself, realizing he was rambling on, and referring to present events as past history. Wavell could not help overhearing him, picking up the Russian easily.

“You seem to be very well versed in military matters and up to date on current intelligence,” he said to Fedorov. “We’ve only just confirmed that the German 7th Flieger Division went operational. Now I’m afraid they’ve gone an done exactly as you suggest and thrown the whole division at Malta. We have some good men there, but only four or five battalions and too few fighters and anti-aircraft guns to hold off the Luftwaffe. This is the second time Jerry has surprised us, and caught us unprepared to make a good showing. I know our boys will fight, but frankly, I give them no more than a week, and until we settle this naval business, there is no hope of sending them any reinforcements.”

“Agreed sir,” said Fedorov. “Yet in one respect, we may look at this as a bit of a godsend. Had you sent the 2nd New Zealand and 6th Australian Divisions off to Greece, your situation now in Libya would be very much in jeopardy.”

“I’m inclined to believe things hang in the balance even with those good divisions still in hand.”

“Might I ask what your plan is, General?” Fedorov knew he was being presumptuous. Here he was, a Captain in the Russian Navy trying to stir the borscht with the Theater Commander of the entire Middle East. Yet Wavell was most gracious in responding.

“To be frank about it, we won’t stop this General Rommel in Libya. I’ve ordered the entire Western Desert force to withdraw to Tobruk. If we can’t hold there, then it’s back to our positions near Bardia and Sollum on the Egyptian border.”

“Then you’ll abandon Tobruk?” Fedorov knew the British held on to that key fortress in the withdrawal.

“Not bloody likely. We’ll hold it as long as we can. It will be a difficult decision should it come to a siege. I’ll have to leave the 6th Australian Division there. The Aussies were a leg division, and we had them well to the west when this German counteroffensive began. Thank God for the Italian trucks and fuel we captured on the way over, or we would have never been able to get those boys back to Tobruk. The 6th Division would have had to foot it over a hundred miles from their present position, and with enemy tanks nipping at them like a pack of wolves the whole way. So I pulled them into Tobruk. Now, however, most of those trucks have empty fuel tanks or broken axles after the mad dash to the east. If need be, we can get them out by sea, but it is my preference that they hold on there as long as possible. We’ll cover their desert flank, if feasible.”

“Tobruk is certainly a port of great strategic value,” said Fedorov. “That and the best airfield in North Africa at El Adem make it a prize worth holding, and it will tie down an entire Italian Infantry Corps if Rommel wants to move east towards Egypt.”

“Precisely,” said Wavell. “My, you are well versed in military matters. May I ask if you have served in the Russian Army?”

“No sir, I was always a navy man, a navigator by trade when I signed on, so I can read a map, and I have studied military history all my life.”

“I see. Well, Captain Fedorov, what do you make of our chances in this fight? We’ve had a fairly rough ride since things started last September.”

“Germany is, and will be, a formidable foe, sir.” Fedorov knew he had to speak carefully here, and not sound as if he knew the outcome of these events. In truth, he did not know, for the German Malta operation was now another major point of divergence in the overall course of the war. “Something tells me the British Empire has a good bit of fight left in her. This is far from over.”

Admiral Volsky had been listening in, with some pleasure, seeing the delight Fedorov had in speaking to Wavell, as if he had leapt into the pages of the history he so loved, to interact with these towering historical figures. In fact, he had done just that, and now they were all about to write a new chapter of that history together.

“Well,” he said. “I think we had best get our own Sky Hunters on the move, Mister Fedorov. Your General O’Connor is out there somewhere, so let us not keep him waiting.”