Turning Point

Chapter 31

Admiral Ugaki and Lieutenant Commander Fukada had come to an understanding, though it was one that was going to pose a problem for Yamamoto in the weeks and months ahead. Their rambling conversation had turned to the future course of the war, and the millstone that the invasion of China had placed around the necks of Japanese leaders.

“If I told you China would one day rise to be one of the world’s great powers, what would you think?” said Fukada.

“China? There are 500 million of them over there, and we have only 70 million, yet we ride the Dragon’s back, and tame it well. They have no real military capacity, but they come in their millions to pose a challenge. The Army has been bogged down in that war, and that will likely remain the case. The Chinese cannot defeat us, but real victory has also eluded us there.”

“And the Siberians?”

“A mere nuisance. Yamashita will deal with them. If your ship can find this Mizuchi we face at sea up north, then we will settle that issue as well.”

“Well we must be very diligent with the Chinese. They could pose a real problem in the years ahead.”

“Yamamoto fears the Americans more,” said Ugaki.

“As well he should. This is only the beginning of the war. The Americans have tremendous industry. They will out build us, even as I spoke earlier.”

“Nonsense,” said Ugaki. “And what was that garbage you told Yamamoto about the loss of all our carriers?”

“Anything could happen,” said Fukada, hedging his bet. “Yet it is now incumbent upon us to make certain no such disaster ever takes place. What are your thoughts concerning our best bet for renewed offensive operations, if I may humbly ask?”

“We always planned to fight a short war, swift, and even brutal if need be. Yamamoto hoped to eliminate the threat from the Americans at Pearl Harbor, but it is regrettable that there were no carriers at the harbor when Fuchida led the attack in that morning. They were lying in wait for us, and we managed to sink one. Now we must find and sink all the others.”

“You sunk one?”

“The Lexington. Where have you been? On the one hand you make pronouncements as if you were privy to intelligence that only the Kempeitai might ferret out. On the other hand you seem surprised to hear of things that even rank and file crewmen might know.”

“Due to the secrecy surrounding this ship,” said Fukada, thinking quickly, “we were kept very isolated. Yes, much news of the war in recent weeks has not come to us.”

“Well you will learn soon enough. The offensive has gone very well, and we are poised to take Sumatra, Java ,and the barrier islands. That will be the outer wall of our defensive line, and we will make it impregnable to enemy counterattack. Yet the best defense remains a good offense. Yamamoto is of a mind that we must still seek out the American fleet and destroy what remains of it in one great decisive battle. Yet you have the audacity to tell him this will end in our defeat. Believe me, he was very forgiving of your impudence earlier.”

“I meant no disrespect. I only said as much so that we could steel ourselves to avoid any possible mistake, and achieve the victory I know we can now have easily enough. Takami can make us invincible. And yes, we must destroy the American fleet, just as I spoke earlier. We must push them all the way back to their west coast, and keep them there.”

“And this terror weapon you blather about? What if they attack us with that?”

“They do not have the weapon now,” said Fukada. “And we must take steps to make certain they never obtain it.”

How he thought they could do that, Fukada did not say, or even really know himself at that moment. One thing was clear, however. His mind was firmly set on how Japan could prevail in this war, and talk of peace was the farthest thing imaginable as the wheels of his thinking slowly ground on through the saké.

“I must tell you one thing that I hope you will take very seriously, Admiral Ugaki. It is a matter of grave importance, no matter what plans might be devised for the future course of the war. The Americans have broken our naval code system.”

“What? How can you know this?”

“It is what I believe. How else could they have cleverly moved all their carriers out of Pearl Harbor just days before our planned attack?”

“I have had my suspicions concerning that.”

“Well founded suspicions this time, Admiral. They have broken our code, and we must make every effort to change it at once.”

“This is the ship’s Library, sir,” said Captain Harada.

Yamamoto looked around, somewhat confused. “But where are the books? I see nothing here but these tables and chairs, and those strange flattened typewriters. And what are those dark panels?”

“Information screens. This is what we call a virtual library. Those keyboards can be used exactly like a typewriter. You can use them to search our library data files, which are most extensive, especially concerning the Pacific War. Simply type what you wish to look for. You may also sit down before any of those panels and speak your request. Here, let me show you.”

Harada sat down, and then began speaking. “Shattered Sword, Midway.” Immediately a reference came up to a book by that title, Shattered Sword: The Untold Story of the Battle of Midway, by Jonathan Parshall.

“This man has done an extensive analysis of a battle you have yet to fight, the decisive engagement my First Officer was commenting on earlier, the Battle of Midway. It was there that we lost all four fleet carriers assigned to the Kido Butai, and over 300 planes with our best pilots, effectively ending our ability to cover offensive operations with naval air power. You are a great proponent of the naval air arm, and so you must realize how much this hobbled us and forced us on to the defensive. That was the great turning point in the war here, at least as we know the history. After Midway, the Americans took the offensive, and never relinquished it until they finally leapt from one island to the next, ending at Okinawa and planning the actual invasion of our home islands. It was then that the war ended, in August of 1945, with the terrible bombing of two of our cities, Hiroshima and Nagasaki, each destroyed by the weapon Lieutenant Commander Fukada spoke of earlier. Here, let me show you campaign maps and photography.”

For the next hour, Yamamoto sat mesmerized before what he had first called a flattened typewriter and strange black panel, which suddenly bloomed in full color maps overlaid with thrusting arrows showing the inevitable Advance of the United States Navy and their Allies. Then he was stunned to see the images presented, of the ships, planes and men he knew so very well. The images would haunt him for the remainder of his life, particularly those of his carriers burning, the sinking of Yamato and Musashi, the terrible bombing of Japan, and the massive mushroom cloud over Hiroshima, the utter devastation after that bombing, and the terrible aftereffects.

He closed his eyes, thinking. Everything he had feared was depicted in these images and maps, written up in these documents with such astounding detail, as if it had already happened. How was this possible? Who could have concocted all this material, built this ship, crewed it with these men, and sent it to me like this? It makes absolutely no sense… Unless… their story is true.

After leaving the Admiral quietly at his workstation, Captain Harada finally returned and waited respectfully at his side. “Have you seen enough, or would you care to see more?”

Yamamoto turned to him, with an almost leaden slowness. The renowned leader was not a big man, only five feet three inches tall, and now he seemed smaller yet, as if weighed down by all he had seen, carrying it on his shoulders like a shroud in black and white. He rubbed his brow. Feeling the same dark mood that had fallen on him just after the successful, yet abortive attack on Pearl Harbor. They were going to lose this war, he knew. It was only a matter of time. Hiryu was already gone, Akagi and Kaga in the dry docks for upgrades. Mutsu had been pummeled by a ship they had never even seen, Mizuchi, the demon of the sea. Something warned him that if he ordered a major operation up north to secure that flank of the Empire again, that unseen demon would wreak havoc, and exact a terrible cost.

Could it also be a ship from the future, as Harada suggests? If so, what chance have we against its terrible weapons? Even as he thought that, he realized the answer to his fears was right beneath his feet. The Java operation had been rudely upset by the rage of nature, and then this strange ship and crew appeared, and with the most preposterous and outrageous story he had ever heard, but with a ship that dazzled him with its incredible capabilities, equipment and weapons.

“Admiral,” said Harada, “I urge you to find a way to seek terms with the Americans—now, while we still have the navy mostly intact. Even if that means we must concede certain territories we have already taken, would not peace under those conditions be infinitely more preferable than the war you were just looking at, especially considering the outcome. Seek terms, sir. Get the best deal you can for Japan while we still hold the advantage.”

“Your incredible story aside,” said Yamamoto, “what you say makes a good deal of sense. But realize that such decisions may not be entirely up to me. Tojo commands the Army, and I do not expect that he will wish to relinquish any of the territories this offensive has seized, or even consider what you are suggesting.”

“What about the Emperor, sir. You could go to Emperor Hirohito and make a direct appeal. If he could be persuaded, Tojo might be forced to comply with his wishes.”

“Perhaps…” The image of a child burned in the searing fires of Hiroshima was the last he had seen, and it lingered on the screen, haunting him. He stood up slowly, looked around the room, seeing nothing on this ship that in any way looked like the other ships in the fleet he commanded. It did, indeed, appear as though it had been built in another world.

“I have asked you to accept an impossible story,” said Harada. “I have tried your patience, or perhaps even courted death in what I came here to do. Yet in those images you have just clearly seen my motive. I urge you to strongly consider what we have proposed.”

“I will do this,” said Yamamoto, “but it seems your First Officer has other ideas.”

“I will deal with him privately, sir. That is my concern.”

“Very well… Captain Harada, I hope you realize the difficulties in what you ask. Suppose I do manage to convince the Emperor of the folly in continuing this war. Suppose he orders Tojo to find a way to negotiate terms? Then we have others to convince, the British, The Siberians, the Americans. They will demand we give back every territory they once possessed, and then Japan will be returned to the state it was in before the war. We struck south for a reason, to secure the oil and resources our Empire needs to survive. The American embargo had much to do with our decision to strike them at Pearl Harbor, even if it does seem misguided in light of the things I have seen here.”

“That is what we must negotiate, a lifting of that embargo to allow Japan free access to those resources. Yet instead of seizing them by force, we will purchase them from the Dutch.”

“That may sound reasonable, but realize that many men have died in this war. The Army, and our own SNLF Naval troops have taken a very hard line, particularly in China.”

“That is another problem. China fights Japan now, and our presence there comes to no good. It sews the seeds of enmity for decades, even to my time. China will be torn by a terrible civil war after we leave, and the government that arises will be very austere and oppressive at the outset. Then, ironically, China becomes a major world power, with a massive economy and industrial capacity even exceeding that of the United States. Their navy has nearly 700 ships by 2021, while we have barely 150. Their vast population sees over 600 million men fit for active service, and another 20 million men reaching military age every year. No nation on earth could ever invade or occupy China again, and in my time, they are the ones seeking to use that navy to expand their grasp of vital natural resources.”

“It never ends,” said Yamamoto sadly.

“Unfortunately, the war we were facing in my time was far more serious. The terrible weapons that ended this war will threaten to destroy the entire world, civilization itself. If that could be prevented somehow… If a way could be found to make amends with China.”

Yamamoto smiled, then his face seemed lifeless and forlorn. “Does your library record an incident at the city of Nanking?”

“It does.”

“Then you know what the army did there…. I think it will be very difficult for the Chinese to forgive or forget. Captain, should I attempt to do what you ask, and fail to secure the cooperation necessary to achieve peace, then what? We will be forced to walk the road we have already chosen. Will your ship and crew fight for Japan, or for the enemy that became your friend and ally?”

“Sir, we were in the process of trying to answer that question among ourselves. This mission, to try and reach you with this proposal, was the first option put forward.”

“I see… And what other options did you consider?”

“Burning this ship, and marooning ourselves on some isolated place. That was one possible choice that entered my mind, yet my First Officer argued strongly that we had the ability to affect the outcome of this war—not only with Takami, but with the knowledge we possessed in this library. Coming here like this was a risky thing to do. Your Chief of Staff had his hand on the hilt of his sword all too often when we told you who we really were. Then we learned of this Russian ship, and when I realized what this vessel might be, and who its Captain might be, I felt very conflicted. The Russians, you see, were our enemies in my time as well. You say there was already an engagement fought with this Russian ship, and you have seen the results. Be very careful, Admiral, very cautious. If that ship is the battlecruiser Kirov, it is extremely dangerous, with an array of ship killing missiles that you could not oppose. Do not send another task force north to confront this ship. Your losses will be very heavy, and I doubt you will ever see the enemy that inflicts this harm.”

“What about this ship, Takami? Your First Officer suggested we should fight together to vanquish this foe. Would you be willing to do this if so ordered? For that matter, are you willing to concede authority over the deployment of this ship to me, as Admiral of the Combined Fleet, or do you anticipate attempting to operate independently?”

Now Harada shrugged. He had not yet thought all this through, but he knew he had to give Yamamoto something here in exchange for all he was asking of this man.

“It was our faith in you that led me to choose this option and take the risk in coming here like this. Revealing the information I have just shown you was also a very great risk. Telling you I know the hour and day of your death was a daring thing to do, and I beg your pardon if I have offended you. Yet decisions are for both Captains and Admirals to make, in spite of Ugaki’s opinion, so I will make one here and now. Sir, I would be honored to serve under your command.”

Yamamoto nodded. “Then this day, we sail for Japan—Yokohama. I will request an audience with the Emperor, though I do not think it would be wise to reveal the things you have told me here, or even reveal the existence of this ship. When it comes to Tojo, I may have to take a different approach,”

“I understand, sir.”

“Very well, let us go and see if Admiral Ugaki has taken your First Officer’s head. These events have certainly taken mine, and I must find another if I am to command this fleet from this day forward. This war has only just begun….”

Chapter 32

For Britain, the war was already very old, a weary struggle that had seemed to have no prospect for real victory. The coming of Kirov had been the first ray of hope, and these strange interlopers from another time had come like King Arthur’s Knights returning in time of greatest need. Churchill was delighted and relieved, seeing the arrival of Kinlan in the desert in just that same light. Now he was preoccupied with the shifting of forces precipitated by the withdrawal of the 6th and 7th Australian Divisions to the Pacific. To replace these troops, it had been necessary to call on the services of the South Africans, and they sent two divisions. To these they added the 70th Infantry division, and then began to make arrangements to send another first line unit, the 50th Northumbrian, from the UK. These troops, and the 4th and 5th Indian Divisions, were enough to hold the line in North Africa.

One Brigade of the 2nd New Zealand Division had already been sent to Singapore, and there were rumblings that the other two would soon have to go along with them. Yet Churchill was chafing to get the war moving in the other direction. It was one thing to make a brave stand, as Montgomery had done at Tobruk and Singapore. What he wanted now was some kind of an offensive that could put the enemy on notice and also convince the Americans that Great Britain was going to be a force worth supporting to the very end. Before these able troops from New Zealand were also withdrawn, he therefore began pressuring Wavell to plan yet another major offensive aimed at liberating all of Libya, and finally defeating Erwin Rommel.

“Rommel is weakened by withdrawals to support this German attack into the Canary Islands. We shall have to hold on there as best we can, for the Americans will soon be at our back with strong support. In the meantime, now is the hour to strike at Rommel, and roll him back to Tripoli! If this means that we must employ the whole of our special brigade, then by all means do so. That we should have such an asset in hand, and fail to use it, would be a great error. It has served us well as a steady shield, but now let it become a flaming sword, and the bane of Hitler’s aspirations in North Africa once and for all.”

That letter to Wavell precipitated a major planning session in Alexandria, with General O’Connor, Wavell, and Brigadier Kinlan. It was clear to them all that they could not languish on defense through the long year. Churchill’s urgings would become an operational necessity, and with each day that passed, the importance of that effort would be strengthened.

“The Yanks are in it now,” said Wavell. “I’m to meet with General Eisenhower next month to plan how joint operations can be arranged for this theater. If we’re ever to win this thing we’ll have to join hands with the Americans and start the long road back. The defeat of French forces in Northwest Africa is already being planned, and that will mean we’ll have to also take a crack at Franco and kick the Germans off the Rock. For our part here, the Yanks can send us material support, tanks and planes, but we’ll have to show Rommel the door.”

“My men are ready,” said Kinlan. “We’ve been languishing back near the old railhead for months now, and holding your coat, but we can have a decisive impact in a campaign like this. I agree wholeheartedly with Mister Churchill. Now is the time to act.”

“It’s been four months since Crusader,” said O’Connor. “We’ve got in shipments of those American tanks, and better cruisers from the UK. General Kinlan, the leg up you’ve given us concerning tank design has certainly helped. The Germans have also been reinforcing their three Panzer Divisions with new heavy tanks.”

“That’s been your problem,” said Kinlan. “The Germans were only supposed to have had two Panzer Divisions here at this time, the 21st and 15th. That third division, the 10th, was supposed to be in Russia.”

“If we don’t act soon, and destroy Rommel’s armor once and for all,” said O’Connor, “then he’ll use it to check every offensive we tee up. So if we go again, then I’ll want your full support. I realize there is a question of limited ammunition, but if we must spend it, then why not do it here and win through to Tripoli. That would put us in a very good position to coordinate with any operation the Yanks pony up out west. That’s what it will eventually have to come to. We’ll have to push the French out of their African colonies as General Wavell suggests, and then squeeze Rommel from east and west.”

“You have it exactly right,” said Kinlan. “That, in effect, is what happened in the history I know, and we can write that book again, here and now. Perhaps we can do a little better and box Rommel up in Benghazi.”

“That sounds interesting,” said Wavell. “If we do attack, what would be the plan of operations?” his eyes were moving from O’Connor to Kinlan, a weariness on him now that was evident to them both.

“Rommel has been sitting on his Gazala line ever since Crusader,” said O’Connor. “He’s built up Mechili as his major forward supply depot. Any offensive we plan will have to strike up the main coastal road along the Via Balbia. It’s what Monty advocated all along. Once we take Tmimi, and push on to Derna, then Rommel will have to give up Mechili. But that will be work for the infantry, supported by whatever is left of the Matildas. As for our main armored force. I propose we muster the whole of 7th Armored here at Bir Hacheim,” he pointed to the map. “From there we drive for Tengeder—that’s where Rommel has posted the bulk of his panzers. If we take that, then we cut off Mechili from the south, and we can run right down the Trig el-Abd to Agedabia.”

“Agreed,” said Kinlan. “Only this time my brigade should be the tip of the lance. If you lead, it’s likely Rommel will have just enough to stop you, and then, with your force expended, we’ve nothing to make that run to Agedabia. So I propose that my 7th Brigade should lead. We’ll blow right through them—blow them to hell, and then you can run right on through the hole we make and cut the whole Afrika Korps off in Cyrenaica.”

“And how might Rommel react?” asked Wavell.

“He’s cagey now,” said O’Connor. “He hasn’t had the strength to attack, and I think it has been his plan to hold his panzers in reserve, and to try and use them against our infantry. I agree with Brigadier Kinlan. If I lead, then we’ll just have a repeat of Crusader. We need to supercharge this attack right from the outset. Kinlan’s force is our trump card, and now’s the time to play it out.”

“Once I take Tengeder,” said Kinlan, “then Rommel will have no choice other than to take this inside track, retreating from Mechili to Msus, Antelat and onto Agedabia. It will be a race to the gulf of Sirte, and that’s one I think we can win. If we do win through, then Rommel has no choice other than to fall back on Benghazi. If we can bottle him up there, all the better. Otherwise we’ll have to chase him all the way to Tripoli, and beyond. I can tell you he fell all the way back to Tunis before he was finally cornered and destroyed. On that note, it would be my advice that General Montgomery should be recalled from Java.”

“Montgomery?”

“No offense, General O’Connor, but as you’ll be on the southern flank with me, we’ll need a stogy old warhorse to push up Via Balbia. That’s what Monty would advise if he were here. He’s stopped the Japanese at Singapore, and now he’ll just sit there on Java. He’s another asset that should not be wasted at a time like this.”

“I tend to agree,” said Wavell. “We did what Churchill demanded. The Rock of the East, that’s what he called Singapore. Unfortunately, that rock became nothing more than a millstone around our necks. There were a million hungry mouths to feed in Singapore, and we could only supply them by sea. It was all we could do to fend off Japanese air power long enough to stop them from storming the city, so the prospects for that were very dim. I know it was a very difficult decision for Churchill, but he’s finally seen the cold reality of the situation. We were damn lucky to get the 18th Division out, but who could have foreseen this business with Krakatoa? It gave no indication it was about to erupt until the lid came off.”

“That put the Japanese in the stew,” said O’Connor. I heard they lost most of their 2nd Division off the Sunda Strait.”

“Hell of a way to go,” said Wavell. “Yet the fact remains that they retained command of the Java Sea. This means they could land troops anywhere they pleased along that northern coast, and Monty’s plan to try and hold Eastern Java was fatally compromised. We’ve pulled him out, and the 18th Division is being sent to Burma, where it should have gone all along.”

“Very strange,” said Kinlan. “That was never supposed to happen—that damn volcano.”

“Well you were never supposed to happen either, General,” said O’Connor, but we’re grateful you are here. So does Monty go to Burma with the 18th?”

“No, I’ve made the request to have him transferred back,” said Wavell. “He’ll be here by the time we’re ready to go, his feathers ruffled a bit, but undoubtedly glad to be out of the wet heat of Java and back in the good old dry heat here.”

“Out of the frying pan and into the fire,” said Kinlan.

“And most likely keen to get on with the war,” said Wavell. As for Somerville, he’s building a fast carrier task force to buck up any land based fighters we can send, but quite frankly, I don’t think he contemplates any offensive actions with the Eastern Fleet. We’re still completely on the defense in the Pacific. Now that we’re giving up Java, we’ll have Australia to worry about, and that would be very serious if the Japanese push on to Darwin.”

“Have they hit Darwin yet?” asked Kinlan. “The setback at Singapore may have affected their timetable, but it’s on their list, General Wavell.”

“Oh, they’ve hit it once or twice, but there’s been no sign of an impending invasion. That volcano certainly stirred up the pot over there. That said, Australia is a prize we cannot lose. Singapore was just a useless medal we can pin to our chests. The Yanks won’t counterattack along that axis, and we certainly can’t do so this year, if at all. We’ve spit in Tojo’s eye, and given him a good stiff punch in the nose, but now it may be time to bow and make a graceful withdrawal to Australia. Churchill will have the final say on where Monty goes, and I think Brooke is of the same mind as I am on the matter. The Prime Minister has been gnawing on my leg to attack here, and I’m glad you gentlemen believe we can easily get this done. Churchill will want his hero of Singapore to return to Tobruk. That’s the way I’ll paint the picture, and I’m sure he’ll like it even better if we paint Rommel right out, and with a very heavy brush.”

“Good enough,” said O’Connor. “Perhaps there will be room for another hero or two when we push on through to Agedabia.”

“Here, here,” said Wavell. “Now then, we’ll want to mask the presence of Kinlan’s brigade as long as possible. I think that will be work for our Mister Dudley Clarke.”

Clark was a master of deception, and a man with a love of special operations that led him to assist in the founding of the British Commandos who had been fighting so stalwartly on the Canary Islands. He had set up a special command known as “Force A” that was tasked with the planning and execution of deception tactics. It had covered everything with his sleight of hand and magician’s cape, including the creation of a phony new order of battle that was leaked to deceive the enemy as to real British strength.

“I wish I had half the troops he’s dreamt up,” said O’Connor. “That bogus 10th Armored Division would come in handy.”

“We’ll just have to make do with the real divisions we have in hand,” said Wavell. “But Colonel Clarke says he already has the makings of a good plan. First off, there will be false radio traffic under a fabricated code name that we’ll intend the Germans to intercept. We’ve already planted a bad seed or two, taking unfortunate casualties of those recent German Stuka strikes and setting them out in the desert with a bag of false information on a wrecked motorbike. We’re relatively sure the Germans took the bait.”

“Good enough,” said Kinlan, but my Challenger IIs will be difficult to hide.”

“That is Dudley Clark’s specialty. He’s proposed holding your units back from the front as always, in what looks to be a reserve position. Then he’ll set up a phony forward position that appears to be a motorized infantry unit. We’ll use real trucks there, quite openly, but the night before the attack your boys will switch places with them, and he’ll work up dummy tanks to leave in your old position so the enemy won’t pick up that move at dawn.”

“Splendid,” said Kinlan.

“He’ll do a lot more—double bluff games with the artillery, a phony water pipeline leading to a bogus assembly area, complete with fake water towers, pump houses, and straw men in attendance. We’ll also have units assigned to simulate the movement of a massed armor formation, on the coast road coming up from Mersa Matruh. They’ll think we mean to heavily reinforce that portion of the attack.”

“All well and good,” said Kinlan. “Gentlemen, when do we kick off this attack?

“15 March,” said Wavell. “We’re just waiting for 2nd South African to come up from Alexandria, and for Monty. He has a long way to fly.”

“And what might we call this operation?”

Wavell thought for a moment. “I believe General O’Connor had something there a minute ago. Supercharge. That will do quite nicely.”

Chapter 33

Rommel couldn’t see it just yet, or even hear it, but he could feel it in his bones. A warrior’s senses keened up at the edge of a battle, and strange unconscious things stacked up in his mind, quietly whispering a warning to him while he dealt with the humdrum business of the day. At night, asleep in a tent, set well away from his command vehicle as a precaution against air attack, he thought he could almost sense the faint rumbling of heavy vehicles on the move, the vibrations carried through the sand and shale to find his well schooled ear in the quiet of the desert evening.

Something was afoot. There had been three instances where his daily recon patrols had turned up what looked to be a bounty of new information, which was very rare. They had come by a fallen soldier and his motorbike, right at the edge of a crater in the dry earth, the apparent victim of a bomb or artillery round strike. A nearby brief contained papers and even a map showing what looked like a major plan to strike up the coast at Timimi towards Derna. The name “Montgomery” was boldly written into that sector, which raised an eyebrow, for that General was still thought to be in the Pacific.

Another instance of a slipped radio transmission that went out in the clear seemed to approve petrol and ammunition delivery in a special flying column that was scheduled to be on the road leading up to the front in that sector—a most tempting target for the Luftwaffe. Lastly, there was a good deal of talk in the bars and brothels of Cairo, but the message was too harmonious. That many slips of the tongue could not form such a sweet chorus, he thought, and all these little windfalls also point to the same thing, a big attack on the coast, supported by the Royal Navy. The British were going to try to kick in the front door and storm into Cyrenaica.

He didn’t believe a word of it.

Instead he went to find Hauptmann László Almásy, the Hungarian born desert scout leading his long range desert patrol, the Sonderkommando. “Are your men out on the far southern flank as I ordered?”

“Yes, Herr General. The 300th Oasis Battalion is just east of Wadi Thiran watching that road.”

“Good, because I believe they are about to have visitors. It may take you all day, but get hold of a good radio and get down there. I think the British are looking to try and turn our flank again. There are three tracks leading west in that area, one through the wadi itself, and two more north of the wadi itself. I think they will use them, and they all lead to one place.”

“The lodgments of our 15th Panzer Division,” said Almásy.

“I see you have already been snooping around. Well, stop there on your way and tell Crüwell I want to see him at this hill, number 535, an hour before sunset, but be sure you tell him personally, not via radio.”

“Of course. Do you think this will be a feint or probe? It is very far south.”

Rommel pursed his lips. “I think you may soon find more of those odd vehicles you first discovered south of Bir el Khamsa. I’m relying on you, Hauptmann. If you do see evidence of those vehicles, then contact me at once. Use the code word Löwenbräu, the Lion’s brew. Understand?”

“I will see to it at once.” Almásy saluted stiffly, adjusted his eye goggles, and was on his motorcycle heading south in no time. That afternoon, as Rommel had directed, he was up on hill 535, a high rocky crag that thrust out from the edge of a shallow escarpment. It overlooked a tumble of broken stone and dry wadis, terrain that was mostly impassable for vehicles, and even tortuous work for infantry. Beyond that ground, to the northwest, was the encampment for Ravenstein’s 21st Panzer Division, well behind the front line manned by the 90th Light Division. Crüwell’s 15th held the southern flank, reinforced by troops freshly returned from Russia, the Hermann Goering Division, though only a single brigade had arrived. The last of the three panzer divisions, the 10th under Fischer, was due north of Ravenstein’s positions, astride the Trig el Abd leading to Tobruk.

“There’s a battle coming,” said Rommel. “I can smell it. So we gather here to make certain there is no freelancing this time. The enemy has apparently gone to great lengths to convince me he is going to put his main effort up the coast road in a drive to Derna. They have even gone so far as to recall Montgomery from the Pacific. We learned that from Berlin at noon today. Well, I don’t buy it. Instead I think they will make their main effort well south, possibly even as far south as your positions, General Crüwell.”

“There is nothing down there but empty desert,” said Crüwell. “Believe me, I’ve been standing watch over it for weeks.”

“That desert is about to get very busy,” said Rommel. “ I sent the Hungarian with 300th Oasis Battalion out to have a look. In the meantime, have a look at this map. These three tracks lead right to your lodgment with 15th Panzer Division. I believe they mean to hit us there, and attempt to cut off the entire Afrika Korps.”

That would leave their attacking force dangerously exposed,” said Crüwell. “We could simply move the other two panzer divisions through 90th Light and counterattack. Tit for tat, then they will be the ones cut off.”

“Not if my suspicions are correct.”

“Your suspicions? What was it this time, tea leaves, a twitch in your left eye?”

“Don’t be flippant, Herr General. I have been out here long enough to earn my keep. No. The last time they hit us in the center, and led with their 7th Armored Division. We stopped them.”

“Yes, thanks to my timely counterattack.”

“Which cost us months on the defense while I had to rebuild all three mobile divisions,” said Rommel. “So let me assume our enemy learns from his mishaps, just as I hope you do. If they lead with their older armor as before, we’ll stop them again. This time I think they will do the opposite. They will hit us with the best tanks they have, the same monsters we faced at Bir El Khamsa, and again when your fabled counterattack was nearly smashed south of Tobruk. Thank God I got there in time to get the men out, and the enemy was too unprepared to pursue us. So we have sat on our Gazala line for months, slowly receiving our new tanks from Germany. The Big Cats now flesh out all three of our panzer divisions, and we have the Pz-IVF2 as a good medium tank, and even a few of the new Panthers. That is a rare privilege. Ask anyone back in 2nd Panzer Army about it in Russia and they will wish they had such tanks. But, as good as they are, the enemy has something even better. I think we will see those heavy tanks deployed in force this time.”

“Then what do you intend to do?”

“At the first sign of trouble, Ravenstein will move by this track here, past the old fort and Hill 522. That maneuver covers the rear of our main infantry front, which they will most likely assault with their own infantry divisions.” He looked at Crüwell now. “Your job is to delay. Get your recon and pioneer battalions well forward, and dig in. Keep the armor and Panzergrenadiers back, and be prepared to move quickly on my orders. And general—follow those orders to the letter, in spite of any opinion you might have to the contrary. I will want you to execute a quick withdrawal maneuver, and then regroup for a counterattack here.” Rommel pointed at his map.

“Why not deploy the whole division on the line to stop this attack?”

“Because you won’t stop it,” said Rommel. “We couldn’t stop them at Bir el Khamsa, nor in the attack they made south of Tobruk. Steiner couldn’t stop them in Syria either, and he had two divisions on the line. So they will get through. The only question is at what cost to us? If I read my tea leaves correctly, the purpose of this attack will be to go all the way.”

“All the way?”

“To the Gulf of Sirte. Yes. If they do stack up east of Wadi Thiran as I suspect, then they will push hard for Agedabia. We cannot allow them to occupy that position in force. It would leave the entire army bottled up in Cyrenaica, with Benghazi our only supply source.”

“Then what do you propose to do? We either stop this attack here, at the outset, or they will get through to take that position.”

“Their spearhead will get through, but not the shaft of that spear. I intend to let this heavy leading force pass, with as little cost to our mobile divisions as possible. Then we hit the troops that must inevitably be following that spearhead, and we hit them with everything we have.”

“And what if this spearhead does not proceed as you suggest? What if their intention is to engage and destroy our panzers?” Crüwell was covering ever possibility.

“In that instance, the divisions will adopt the hedgehog defensive formation we have drilled on these last few months. In every engagement where you are faced with these new heavy tanks, the infantry is to make liberal use of the new Panzerfaust, and form the outer crust of your line. If they can get mines out in front of them, all the better. The panzers are to be held behind that front, and hull down wherever possible. They have a new main gun as good as our 88s, and with very long range. They were killing tanks well over a kilometer in range, so keep that in mind. Deploy your artillery and the infantry will call it in, but be ready to move it immediately. Their mastery of counter battery fire is demonic.”

“You have said nothing about my division,” said Fisher.

“Ah yes… On my signal you are to move it smartly, back through Mechili, to this position here. Place your main front here along this wadi, and the bad ground to either side will protect your flanks. Gentlemen, if these dispositions are carried out as ordered, we will then have all three panzer divisions abreast, and we will attack south in one united push. Our intention will be to cut off the spearhead of their attack. Once it is isolated from the shaft of the spear, which I believe will be the regular 7th Armor Division under O’Connor, then that leading assault unit will have only two choices. It can either go on to Agedabia by itself, or it can turn to attempt to re-establish contact with O’Connor.”

“And after that?” Crüwell frowned.

“Well, let us see what happens first, General Crüwell. Let us see if my tea leaves tell me the truth.”

They looked out from the high point they were on, the bleak desert now swathed in hues of red and gold with the setting sun. Rommel took in the stony smell of the land, with just a hint of cooling in the air as night approached. The desolate beauty of the scene impressed him, but the thrum of anxiety within him belied the peaceful aspect of the land. This empty, forsaken place was soon to become a battlefield, and one where the fate of his Afrika Korps might be written in the sands with blood and steel. He could feel the night coming, growing, an ominous thing building at the edge of that painted horizon.

“The moon, such as it was, is already down,” he said quietly. “It will not rise again until a little after 05:30 tomorrow morning. After that sun out there finally sets, it will be dark as Satan’s cape. This is when they will come. So get to your units, gentlemen. If you hear me speak of the lion’s brew, that will be the code indicating the enemy is acting as I believe he will. On receipt of that signal, move like lightning, and make certain your pathfinders mark the route well. Notify me the instant you have your divisions on their assigned positions, and go with god, because the devil is coming to dance with us this night.”

“And if this battle does something you don’t expect?” Crüwell remained the Devil’s Advocate.

“I am more concerned that you may do something I do not expect, General Crüwell. But, if the situation deteriorates to the point where I believe a withdrawal is necessary, I will send the signal Westfallen.”

“What should that mean?

Rommel smiled. “Move west, Herr General, by any means possible, and as fast as you can. Get to Agedabia, or Mersa Brega, and stand fast. That is our last redoubt.”

The generals departed, and not twenty minutes later, as the first tides of that dark night gathered like the edge of Satan’s cape, Rommel got the radio call he had been dreading, from Hauptmann László Almásy.

“Herr General! You were correct! There is a large column of mechanized vehicles in the track heading west from Wadi Thiran! And I can see signs of another big move well to the north on the middle track.”

“Very good, Hauptmann. Save yourself, and screen that southern flank as long as feasible.”

Rommel waited for the briefest moment, then sent the word that he knew would be received by his generals with just enough time for them to react. The signal went out— Löwenbräu, Löwenbräu. Move!”

Almásy had run into 12th Royal Lancers, screening the southernmost column on that track with four companies of Dragons and Scimitars. They came up so quickly that one of his three detachments was overrun, and he barely had time to send his plaintive warning to Rommel. Behind them came the long lines of the 4th Indian Division, intended as the southernmost flank guard for this advance, but the main attack was that other movement he had detected on the middle track. Led by the 3rd Mercian Battalion, it was reaching like a steel gloved hand into the desert just south of the line Rommel had selected to post his three panzer divisions. Behind it came two more battalions, the Highlanders and the Scots Dragoons with the bulk of the Challenger IIs.

Three battalions. That’s all they were, but it had been enough in past engagements to smash right through a German panzer division like a wrecking ball. It would seem that the combined mass and weight of three German panzer divisions would be enough to roll down and smash such a small force, but things were not as they seemed in this desert war. The advantages possessed by Kinlan’s forces extended well beyond the thickness of their armor. Their mobility and firepower was many times greater than their size might indicate.

To begin with, from the German perspective, every vehicle they were seeing was a tank. The Warrior AFVs had a quick firing 40mm main gun that had the hitting power of a German Pak 50, yet one that could fire up to 200 rounds per minute on full automatic. That was seldom done, but compared to the typical rate of fire of a German 50mm gun, no more than 12 rounds per minute, a single Warrior AFV was therefore capable of putting out 16 times the firepower, and ranging out 2500 meters. The Dragon AFVs were equally capable, and the Scimitars could fling out their Armor Piercing Discarding Sabot rounds 4000 meters.

Then came the real tanks, the juggernauts that moved with alarming speed and smashed everything in their path. The Challenger IIs had topped off with 55 rounds each, a mix of HESH and CHARM 3 depleted Uranium armor piercing rounds. No armored vehicle the Germans possessed would survive a hit from the 120mm main gun, which meant each tank had the capability of destroying 55 enemy AFVs, and it could do so while remaining largely immune to enemy counterattack. The Chobham 3 Armor would defeat any weapon the Germans possessed. The only hope Rommel’s tankers had was in inflicting lucky hits that might destroy external equipment, tracks, or perhaps a wheel, rendering the Challenger temporarily disabled, but not killed.

To get any of those lucky hits, the Germans had to fire from well inside the maximum range of the Challenger’s main gun. Given the enormous sensory capability that Kinlan’s forces possessed, there would be no surprise ambushes here either. Battlefield drones were up, scouting ahead of the columns to find enemy concentrations. These were then noted on a digital map and tracked by computer as updated information came in. This kind of ‘situational awareness’, even in the black night beneath Satan’s cape as Rommel put it, was a massive force multiplier. The British optics and infrared were also invaluable when forces began to close with one another. So those 55 rounds in each Challenger II were going to find targets, well beyond the range of the German counter fire, and they were going to kill every one they hit. It was simply combat power beyond the reckoning of the German commanders, and the Devil was indeed coming to dance that night.