Grand Alliance

Chapter 4

“Russians? This is a Russian aircraft?” O’Connor gave the KA-40 a good long look, amazed. “I had no idea they were working on helicopters.”

The idea had been around for centuries, and several British thinkers had experimented with designs for such aircraft. Even Jules Verne had brought one to life in his book The Clipper of the Clouds, and Thomas Edison had modeled helicopters in the United States long ago. So it was something O’Connor could grasp without undue difficulty, yet there had never been an engine powerful enough to make the dream a reality — until now.

“We’ve been working on these for quite some time,” Fedorov had Popski explain. “Ever since Igor Ivanovitch Sikorsky and Boris Yur'ev experimented with designs in the early 1900s. Your own Westland Corporation is also interested in this kind of aircraft.”

“When they see the likes of this one their eyes will bug out,” said O’Connor.

“It’s a very good platform for search and rescue,” said Fedorov. “And it is excellent in reconnaissance. Let’s get up there and have a look around.”

Small steps, thought Fedorov. Get the man airborne and see what develops. Every bird learns to fly in due course. He would have to take things one step at a time, and see if O’Connor would eventually come to the same conclusion Tovey did — that there were things in front of him that no man could build in this world. That would be the moment to ease him over the final line to the real truth. For the time being they would tell O’Connor that Kinlan commanded a detachment sent here to reinforce Siwa, and leave off the details, which would become apparent over time.

“Fergusson has been begging for reinforcements,” said O’Connor. “It’s a wonder Wavell had anything left in the cupboard to send out here. How many are you? It was night and the bloody sandstorm made it impossible to see much, but it certainly sounded like there were a good number of vehicles in your detachment.”

“Yes sir,” said Kinlan. “They got the 7th pulled back together, though you are correct, we’re just off the boat, in a manner of speaking.”

“Well it’s about time we got support from England. I realize its all of 40 days to get here round the cape. Where were you serving back home? Were you with 1st Armored Division?”

“What else?” said Kinlan, as he knew that most of the armored reserves in early 1941 had been cannibalized from that division back home in the UK, and his own 7th Brigade was, in fact, still a part of the British 1st Armored Division in modern times.

They were out over the desert, and heading southwest. Fedorov was worried Kinlan would get talked into a corner by O’Connor, so he tried to keep the man distracted with the reconnaissance, and it was not long before O’Connor spotted something, his eyes keen enough to recognize movement on the desert, as he had spent many hours airborne over a battle zone himself.

“There,” he pointed.

The thin streams of dust were telltale evidence on the desert floor below. Something was moving there, the first probing outriders of an advance heading east.

“That has to be out from the Italian Garrison at Giarabub,” said O’Connor. “Just one little fish I couldn’t net when I moved west earlier.”

When he made his sweeping attack to smash the Italian position in Cyrenaica, a small garrison under Major Salvatore Castagna had been marooned at Giarabub, well over 200 miles south at the edge of the Great Sand Sea. It was one of the most isolated outposts the Italians had established, and was largely held to keep watch on the British controlled oasis at Siwa, some miles to the southeast. It was also a holy place, where a mosque and tomb of the founder of the Senussi sect attracted small groups of pilgrims from time to time, but now they were all gone. The Italian Army had come in their place.

“Look there, General,” Fedorov pointed as he handed Kinlan a pair of field glasses. “What does that look like to your eye, Berbers?”

Kinlan had a look and could see more than he wanted there. Those were obviously small patrols of armored cars, though he had never seen anything like them out here before. O’Connor seemed to know what they were, however, and shook his head.

“Damn little Autoblinda 41s. They’ve a nasty 20mm autocannon and a pair of good Breda 8mm machineguns. But those scout vehicles that rounded us up looked to be enough to handle them. What were they, something new?”

“Just out of the oven,” Kinlan smiled.

“The Captain says he can get you photography of those buggers to look over later,” said Popski. “But I’m more concerned with what’s behind those patrols. See that dust column there?” He had a keen eye for movement on the desert as well, having spent many days with his small patrols in this desolation.

“That has to be a larger force.” Popski did not know it at the time, but he was pointing at an unusual new arrival, the 136th Giovanni Fascisti Regiment, the fanatical Blackshirts that had been sent by Mussolini to try and put some backbone into the Italian infantry. They were here early, not having arrived in Libya until July of 1941 in the old history, and now they were out to begin writing the stubborn chapters they had etched into that history, by holding out in the face of overwhelming odds at places like Bir el Gobi. The British would come to call them “Mussolini’s Boys,” and they would soon reach Major Castagna’s garrison, adding three more battalions of tough infantry to the two already there.

“If that is what I think it is, then that Colonel Fergusson down there at Siwa is going to have more on his hands than he realizes soon.”

“Fergusson?” O’Connor remembered now. “Yes, 6th Australian Cavalry was out here keeping watch on Giarabub, but this looks like a strong reinforcement. I hope your boys are ready for a good fight,” said O’Connor. “If they get up some real strength here they just might get a notion to pay a visit to Siwa. It’s got much better water sources, and a couple decent airfields.”

Kinlan smiled inwardly, realizing that Fergusson was the name the Russian Captain told him to ask for at Siwa. Dobie’s section of the 12th Lancers had scouted down and found the man there, along with a company of Australian motorized cavalry and a battery of 25 pounders freshly arrived, and commanded by Jock Campbell, the man who had given his name to the famous ad hoc “Jock Columns” the British had used so successfully in these early desert forays. He gave Fedorov a knowing look, realizing the Russian had been straight with him all along, though it was still hard for him to believe what was happening to him, and to all the men of his brigade.

“That’s a large force,” Kinlan agreed. “At least a regiment. Can we swing over for a better look?”

They maneuvered discretely, and Kinlan was treated to a good look at the troops on the march, shaking his head in disbelief.

“Looks to be an infantry unit,” said Kinlan. “Not much transport, but that’s a good support column behind them.”

“Agreed,” said O’Connor. “Most likely supplies to relieve the garrison at Giarabub.”

When Popski translated Fedorov passed another moment of anxiety. This was not supposed to happen, but the facts on the ground were now making the strongest possible argument to the contrary. The history had changed again, another small eddy in the stream here.

When he was cut off by O’Connor’s attack, Major Castagna knew he was isolated and could only receive meager supplies by air at the small airfield serving the oasis, but he stubbornly determined to hold out, encouraged when he received a personal message from Rommel promising reinforcements and supplies. With six machinegun companies and a number of light guns, Castagna set about fortifying Giarabub, digging trench lines, laying barbed wire and mines, and building small gun positions to resist any attempt to take the place by storm. In the heart of the oasis, there was also an old fort, which he strongly reinforced, determined to hold out indefinitely. He put his troops on rations, knowing lack of food would be his greatest liability in time, but he did not have long to wait.

Rommel would keep his promise.

This had never happened in the history, and Fedorov now knew that the small battle that was fought here by the Australian Divisional Cavalry and other units might soon take a frightening new form.

“They will take Siwa if they come in strength,” he said through Popski.

“That’s no bloody good,” said O’Connor. “We need the place as a staging zone for our long range desert patrols. But Fergusson won’t be able to hold on here. He’s only a single battalion, and he’ll soon be bottled up or simply sent packing east, and it’s a long way to the Nile.”

“We’ll see about that,” said Kinlan with a grim smile.

“That’s the stiff upper lip,” said O’Connor, “but unless you’ve at least a full brigade with you, you may find the going rough, General. We’ll have to warn Fergusson, and then inform Wavell.”

Fedorov thought on this for a moment when he got the essence of O’Connor’s reaction from Popski. Then he ventured something. “You managed to capture or destroy an entire Italian Army with a much smaller force. Perhaps we can do more here with what we have in hand than you may realize at the moment.”

“I’m all for it,” said O’Connor. “At the very least we must give them a good punch in the nose if they come east for Siwa. Discourage them.”

“Why General,” said Kinlan. “That was exactly what I was thinking. I’ve a battalion of good Gurkha light infantry that can strengthen that garrison.”

“Gurkhas? Bloody good troops. I wasn’t aware they were here.”

They moved off, not wanting to draw anti-aircraft fire, and scouted the way north as well. Fedorov knew the real battle was there, and that much would hinge on the fate of Tobruk at this stage in the fighting. If the Germans could take the place, then their lines of communication back to Benghazi and Tripoli would be cleared, and they could move east. But he did not know that Rommel had already made that decision, and was even now about to engage the thin defensive line Wavell had established south of Sidi Barani with the 2nd New Zealand Infantry Division and what was left of his armor. News of that battle would come to them soon after they landed, and it would pose another thorny question for both O’Connor and Kinlan.

O’Connor had a good look at what was on the ground now, amazed at the size of the force Kinlan had at his disposal.

“You’ve a good deal more than a battalion of Gurkhas! A full brigade? Here? Whatever for? Siwa is useful, I’ll grant you that, but the real fighting is north on the coast. That’s where this force should be, and as soon as possible. Whatever possessed Wavell to send you here? I must speak with him directly.”

He had not yet seen the tanks close up yet, as the helo deliberately landed several miles from the main column where Major Isaac was waiting with a Sultan Command Vehicle and two Dragon 8-wheeled scout cars. Fedorov knew that each passing hour was going to raise more and more questions in O’Connor’s quick mind, and he wondered what to do about it. He pulled Popski aside to confer with Kinlan one last time.

“General,” he said. “I think it is fair to say you are now convinced of what I have told you?”

“As loony as that sounds, the evidence is hard to deny. Yet my men know nothing of this, and I’ve a long road to walk with them.”

“You mean to go north?”

“Where else? We can’t sit out here indefinitely.”

“You’ll be needed there. My guess is that Wavell has his hands full. One good battle there could smash Rommel’s Afrika Korps, and buy the British the one thing they desperately need now — time.”

Kinlan nodded. “Ironic,” he said. “Time…”

Fedorov gave him a knowing look. “Then am I to assume I can collect my Marines and operate as I please?”

Kinlan hesitated, wondering whether he should let this fish off the hook just yet. Something still rankled at him about this whole situation, and the presence of this Russian team at the very moment his force was attacked by that ICBM. In spite of the man’s apparent sincerity, there had been long years of growing enmity with the Russians, ever since Putin started trying to patch the old Soviet Union back together again when he annexed the Crimea and meddled in Ukraine back in 2014… Back in 2014? If any of this were true, that time was now decades away, in the future. He still struggled with it, in spite of the obvious evidence.

“What do you propose to do?” he asked Fedorov.

There it was… The question Fedorov had been struggling to answer himself. He was in a real quandary over how to handle the issue of O’Connor. The evidence he had presented to Kinlan had been enough to establish that all important factor of great doubt in the man. He knew from his experience aboard Kirov that he had to find some key evidence that was wholly inexplicable by any other means, and this would leave time displacement as the only possible solution that could resolve that issue, and also account for all the other evidence.

The presence of Popski, the men from the LRDG, and O’Connor with his downed Blenheim were strong local evidence as to their position in time, but they could be easily dismissed, just as Karpov had tried to dismiss the Fulmar fighter that first overflew the ship, and even the radio intercepts of local era news broadcasts, thinking it was all an elaborate hoax staged by NATO as a deception. He knew Brigadier Kinlan was likely to come to the same conclusion, unless he could present the man with incontrovertible evidence that could not be easily dismissed or explained away. When they had first displaced in time, so long ago it seemed now, that evidence had been obtained by reconnoitering Jan Mayen Island for the weather station that was located there. When that facility was not found, along with the modern airstrip that should have been there, it strongly argued that they were not where they belonged.

Sultan Apache had been that same inexplicable dilemma for Kinlan. The only possible solution had been the impossible notion of time displacement. It was the only thing that explained what could have happened, and also account for Popski, O’Connor and all the local era evidence.

Yet now he had another challenge — how to bring General O’Connor to the same place in his understanding? Kinlan had been correct in pointing out that the man would have no foundation to admit the possibility of time displacement as an odd aftereffect of nuclear detonation. He would have no knowledge of nuclear weapons at all, as the physics involved was still theoretical and would not be tested for another five years. Convincing O’Connor of what had happened would present a whole new set of problems.

With each disclosure of the secret of their identity, Fedorov knew the risk of damage to the chain of causality that extended forward from this point would grow more and more severe. Only a very few men had eventually managed to discern the true nature and origins of the ship, Turing, Admiral Tovey, and the select few he admitted to that grey priesthood he had come to call the Watch. A ship like Kirov could be easily hidden in the world, out to sea on the vast oceans, and out of sight. That was not the case now for General Kinlan and his brigade of modern British troops! They were here, and their presence could not be hidden indefinitely.

At the moment, the isolation of this place, and the desolation of the endless desert around them, served as a thin buffer between Kinlan’s world and this one in 1941. But the General could not sit here for very long. He had neither the supplies or fuel to operate independently for any extended period. His men would need food, fuel, water, and when they ran through their own organic supplies, perhaps enough for a week or two, they would be forced to move to a place where they could survive.

And then it would begin…

Chapter 5

What could they do, Fedorov wondered? The oasis site of Siwa presented one option. Could the brigade move there? Perhaps, but that would only become a brief outpost against the inevitable. They might be able to sequester Colonel Fergusson and his Australian cavalry units, and keep the lid on things for a while, but one day someone would get through to Alexandria on a radio, or the simple silence and lack of contact from the outpost would prompt the British to determine what was going on there. Another a relief column would come and they would be facing this same moment again, standing at the precipice just as they were now.

No. Fedorov knew that trying to conceal the fact of Kinlan’s presence here would only delay the inevitable. His other choice was equally difficult. It meant he would have to subject the locals here to the sudden shock and realization of what had happened, and by so doing, the chances that knowledge of this would spread became astronomical. He could hear the rumors now, of invincible warriors from another time, or another world, come to rescue Britain in her hour of gravest need. The shock would be profound, but he wondered how the Axis powers would react to such knowledge?

Certainly Volkov knew the truth by now, particularly if he met and spoke with Karpov. He was, himself, a denizen of that future world, and this was most likely something he had held secret since he first disappeared — over 30 years now since he manifested in 1908, if that was really what happened to him. Images he had retrieved of the man belied his age. Volkov was easily in his 60s as far as Fedorov could tell.

Then what to do? He had difficult choices on every side. Should he simply spirit O’Connor off to Alexandria and leave things as they were? There would be a brief interval of calm, until Kinlan decided he would move north, and then all hell would break loose. He needed to sort this through.

“General,” he began. “We must face the problem of your presence here, and the shock it will cause. If you go north I can tell you what you will find, just as I told you about Sultan Apache. One division is still besieged in Tobruk, and the British are making a last stand below Sidi Barani. From intelligence we gathered, Rommel is stronger than he was at this time, and he’s moving east well ahead of schedule. Do you know this battle?” He was going to say ‘this history,’ but he was choosing his words carefully with Popski translating the bulk of what he said.

“Somewhat,” said Kinlan. “I can educate myself quickly enough.”

“Well I can brief you. Rommel has two German divisions in hand now, the 5th Light and the 15th Panzers. He should have only one, but that second division arrived sooner than expected. Between the two he’ll have four battalions of armor, four more motorized infantry and a pioneer and recon battalion in each division. These are veteran troops, even at this stage in the war, and he also has two more Italian motorized units at hand, the Ariete and Trento divisions. they will be opposed by a single division, the 2nd New Zealand, and if Rommel is true to form he’ll execute a flanking maneuver. The problem is that the British have insufficient mobile reserves to counter that. The remnant of the 2nd Armored is no more than a weak brigade now, and just retreated all the way from Mersa Brega on the Gulf of Sirte. Their vehicles and men will be worn out, and their 7th Armored division is in equally bad shape, refitting at Alexandria.”

“Well…” Kinlan offered a grim smile. “The 7th is about to get some reinforcements, Captain.”

“Then you mean to engage here?”

“I mean to go north as planned, and if these divisions are in my way…” Kinlan did not have to say anything more.

“Yet you realize that Mersa Matruh will be no haven for you,” Fedorov explained. “If you do this, then you will be joining the British Army up north. There’s no other way to look at it, and we have the issue of how they will react to your arrival.”

“True enough. Well, I’ll have to coordinate my effort with the men here, that much is certain. It would seem we’d best start with this O’Connor.”

“Yet how do we… bring him along the garden path?” Fedorov said carefully, glancing at Popski. “How do we brief O’Connor?”

“I can think of only one option,” said Kinlan. “I’ll have to take him over to the Scotts Dragoons and show him. It’s the only way.”

Yes, thought Fedorov. Talk is one thing, but seeing was believing. Would seeing those monstrous Challenger II tanks be enough for O’Connor to believe what they would have to eventually tell him? Would Wavell have to fly out here as well and learn the truth? He suggested this to Kinlan, and the two men agreed that if they could get these senior officers into their camp, that would be the essential first step.

“I can speak to Wavell directly,” said Fedorov. “He speaks fluent Russian. Shall I do this?”

“Convincing Wavell might be one more log on the fire for me as well. I must tell you, Captain, that I’m still having some trouble with this in spite of the evidence.”

“I understand. It took us a good long while to believe what had happened to us as well. After that the real questions get asked, and you have to decide what to do. We had the option to find a remote island and hide while we tried to get home. Unfortunately, this war spans the entire world, and it was impossible to stay clear of it. The desert is a fine and private place here at the moment, nicely isolated from the reality of what is happening out there. But this is a temporary grace. Any move north and we reap the whirlwind.”

“Someone does,” said Kinlan. “And I think his name is Erwin Rommel.”

“You realize the Germans will fight.”

“Of course they will, until they have nothing left to fight with. Do you have any idea what a Challenger II can do in battle?”

Fedorov knew the power Kinlan could wield here all too well. “Yes, but that said, you will be facing two full divisions. The Challengers aside, how thick is your armor on the other vehicles?”

“The Warrior IFV has a welded aluminum armor hull and laminated steel armor turret. We’ve got the upgraded version, with the new stabilized 40mm main gun, but I take your point. Their armor can protect against armor-piercing rounds up to 14.5mm, and the frontal arc is likely to withstand 25mm rounds. Many have the modular appliqué armor system for the turret and hull, and the anti-mine barrier below, so we can toughen those vehicles up considerably. We usually lay on the modular protection depending on the mission. You say this Rommel has four tank battalions?”

“5th Light Division started with 44 light Panzer IIs and another 40 medium Panzer IIIs between the two battalions. The 15th Panzer Division will have at least that. They likely sustained some attrition coming all the way from Agheila, but they’ll probably have eighty percent of those tanks still operational. Then there will be the Panzerjager battalions, and the flak units to think about. Rommel was the man who adapted the 88mm gun to good use as an AT weapon, and I’m sorry to say that an 88 will put a round clean through one of your Warrior IFVs, and then some.”

“You know a good deal for a navy Captain,” said Kinlan. “Yet what you say is true. So how many of these 88s will they have out there?”

“I’d say he might have three batteries with four guns each — possibly four batteries. Many more come later. Then there will be the self-propelled Panzerjagers. They’ll have a 47mm AT gun that might penetrate your Warriors, as will all the guns on their medium tanks if they have the 50mm version. Even their light Panzer IIs will have a 20mm main gun that could pose a threat to one of your IFVs. Beyond this there will be artillery, and a lot of it. Each German division would have several battalions, from 75mm guns up to 150s. Attack a prepared German defense and you can expect it will be well supported, and they’ll have air support as well, Stukas, Heinkel-111s, Bf-109s. Yes, these are old planes, but very capable, and those Stukas will be dropping 500 to 1000 pound bombs. This won’t be like a deployment in Afghanistan. You’ll be up against tough, disciplined troops. Another thing, sir, your force is mostly mechanized infantry. Well, once they exit their vehicles…”

“I’m beginning to get the picture,” said Kinlan. “They’ve got good infantry body armor, but beneath that its good old flesh and blood. We were sent here to face down the renegade Egyptian Army, and that we did, and without a single casualty. They wanted no part of us.”

“That won’t be the case here. You’ll shock the Germans in the first encounter, undoubtedly, but they will adapt, and they will fight. Something tells me they’ll put a good deal more effort into this campaign, now that Gibraltar has fallen. Malta may be lost soon as well. That has dramatically increased their logistics potential, but it will be my job to work on that end for you. My Admiral is already at sea with the British to see about it. But I’ve given this a good deal of thought, General. Yes, I think you can win this battle up north, but the Germans have plenty more they could commit here if they choose to do so. Understand? The British have not yet seen the full might of the Wehrmacht, and with Russia and the United States still neutral, their prospects are very bleak. They’ll need all the help they can possibly get. This may be a very long war.”

“Understood, but at least we can make a real difference here if it comes to a fight.”

“You certainly can, as long as the ammunition holds out.” Fedorov thought he should voice this concern early on. “We found our capabilities more than equal to the adversaries we faced, but that said, we’ve taken hits, and there have been some alarming near misses. We’ve had to be very stingy with our ammunition once we realized we were…” He looked at Popski now. “…going to be in theater for a good long while.” He also wanted that to register on Kinlan — a good long while.

“That’s another issue I’ll have to visit with the men in time. For now, I’ve got my whole brigade strung out in road column. If we go north, how soon before we can expect trouble?”

“I can give you a detailed scouting report with my helicopter, if you’ll permit me.”

“You’re a long way from the coast out here. What is your fuel situation?”

“We were expecting to spend some time in our search and rescue operation, so we laid on extra fuel. Eventually I will have to rendezvous with my ship to replenish, but we should be able to operate here for a while yet. We can set up a secure comm-link to you on HF bands not used here. I can keep you informed as to the situation you will be facing, and also see what I can do to help brief Wavell and O’Connor.”

“That sounds acceptable,” said Kinlan. “Do you think you can get Wavell out here?”

“Possibly, though he may be in the thick of things up north.”

“Then perhaps we should start with the bird in hand and give this General O’Connor a little tour of the brigade. Let’s take this thing slowly. If we can brief O’Connor and get him over the fence, that may help us with Wavell when it comes to that. You know I studied that man’s tactics in the academy — O’Connor as well — we all did. To think of them being right here at my side … Well, all this is a bit overwhelming.”

“You’ll need time, though I’m afraid we have all too little to spare. Rommel may decide things before we can intervene, but I’ll keep you informed of anything I hear on that.” Fedorov extended his hand now, smiling.

“General, thank you for giving me that small benefit of the doubt and having that look at Sultan Apache, and welcome to this nice private little fight here. I’ll do anything I can to help you. You have my word on this. Understand I’ve been through all this with my own crew.”

“I appreciate that,” said Kinlan, and they shook hands warmly.

Then to Popski, Fedorov said: “Can you go inform General O’Connor that we would like him to tour the brigade?”

“Well enough,” said Popski, hoping he could come along too.

“And tell him not to worry about Siwa,” said Kinlan. “I’ll handle the matter, then together we’ll see about this General Rommel.”

“He’ll be happy to hear that, sir.” Popski was glad to hear it as well, but he was no fool. He had been listening very carefully to everything that was being said, involved in all the discourse between Kinlan and this Russian Captain. He had seen things on that ship, and on the ground here that he knew were quite extraordinary, fantastic, as Fedorov had put it to him earlier. Slowly, like a hunch that was gathering strength by degrees, he was starting to feel something was not quite what it seemed to be here, and that all these men, the Russians, Kinlan, and his soldiers in those odd new uniforms and equipment, were a bit of a mystery that he set his mind to solve.

How was it that these two men could share a common understanding on all that gibberish they were talking over? They just mentioned that Indian Sultan again, and what was all that talk about ICBMs and nuclear bombs? And these damn tanks… That was sixty tons I saw there last night if it was an ounce. Where in bloody hell did the British Army get that monster I saw? Was it true that this was all new equipment? If so, Rommel is going to get the surprise of his life.

The General is right cozy with the Russian Captain now, but things didn’t start that way. These men assumed we were hostile right from the get go. The one thing I don’t understand yet is why this Russian seemed to have to convince General Kinlan that they were on the same side. It was as if the General had been sleeping under a tree somewhere and knew nothing of what was going on, yet he had to have been briefed if he was sent here with this new unit. And why did he presume to think I was an enemy combatant at first encounter, or the Russians, for that matter? In fact, that cheeky Lieutenant who first found us went so far as to state we were to be his prisoners! Kinlan said the same. Was the man blind or merely stupid? He did not seem that way.

It just didn’t make any sense, and it fed that growing feeling of uncertainty in his gut. Something wasn’t quite on the up and up here. These men are not what they seem, he said to himself. They seem like fish out of water here. Maybe it was the harsh environment of the desert, but he had the feeling it was something more. I’ll play along, even play dumb if I have to, but I’m going to find out what’s up, one way or another.

Chapter 6

Kinlan thought long and hard about everything Fedorov had told him. Yes, the Germans had another 200 divisions out there if they needed them. Yes, he had every confidence he could make a difference here, but for how long? His tanks had ready ammo of 50 rounds, and he had another 100 rounds per tank stored with the supply train. The Warriors had 180 rounds with twice that in reserve, and the Scimitars 160 with two reload ammo sets in train. The missile inventories were lighter. They would have to make every round count, so the first thing he did was brief his senior officers and tell them to pass the word. There was trouble up north, and the brigade may soon be going into action. There was no telling if they would ever see friendly ammo stocks again, so he put out a standing order to make every round count and be stubborn about it.

O’Connor was the next problem, arriving in twenty minutes for his tour. Kinlan had one last moment with the Russian Captain, about how the command structure would be worked out here.

“I know you will think to be independent,” said Fedorov in English when Popski left them, “but in the end we must realize we are here to advise and support British war efforts.” He left out some articles, but he got his message across. “Their senior officers are well known… much respected. We cannot replace them.”

“Yet we know every twist and turn this war will take,” said Kinlan slowly, realizing tanks and ammunition were not the only assets he had in hand.

“We know what happens once,” said Fedorov, knowing he got the verb tense wrong. “Yet things are different. Things have changed this time, and we will cause even more to change. Yet we will not plan everything — control this whole war. They must do that. We can only help them.”

“I understand,” said Kinlan. “I will do my best to support these men here, and their officers. I swore to serve the British Army, the men under me, and the crown and government that put them here. I guess that still holds true, no matter where I find myself. Now, I’ll want to make a brief announcement on the brigade comm-system.”

He put out an all units message to expect a tour from a Lieutenant General. “And in case any of you limeys haven’t heard,” he finished, “a Lieutenant General ranks a Brigadier, so stand smart and step lively! Kinlan out.”

“Good of you to show me the brigade,” said O’Connor. “I like to get acquainted with the men I send into this desert. The job’s not easy but they do their best. You say you’re 7th Armored? I drove that division fairly hard a while back, but with good results. We kicked the Italians right out of Egypt when they had the cheek to cross the border, and then chased them half way across Libya for good measure. The only problem is it seems we’ve hit another rough patch with the Germans showing up uninvited like this. I’m afraid I’ve taken a bit of an early bath.”

“We’ll see what we can do about that, sir,” said Kinlan, a head taller than O’Connor, and dark haired in contrast to the other man’s grey-white hair.”

“All the men are dressed out in this new kit. It looks to be very efficient. When was it issued?”

“Just before we deployed, sir. Yes… It’s new, as are many other things in the brigade. We’ve new equipment and vehicles to show you today.”

“Then Tiger Convoy made it through?”

Kinlan did not know what O’Connor was referring to, but Fedorov did. He was walking just behind the two generals, with Popski, who was quietly translating what was said at Fedorov’s request. It was the Winston Special convoy Churchill had insisted on to reinforce Wavell with new tanks, but it was not supposed to happen until May of that year. It would transport Matildas and the A15 Crusader tanks to Egypt, taking the short but dangerous route through the Mediterranean, but that would not be possible now that the Germans controlled Gibraltar. For O’Connor to mention it meant the British must be planning to sent the convoy early, as it would have to travel all the way around the Cape of Good Hope.

“I’m sorry, but I haven’t heard anything about that,” said Kinlan.

“Not in the loop yet,” said O’Connor. “Don’t worry, Mister Kinlan, you’ll wish you were out of it once they do drag you in. Tiger Convoy was supposed to be delivering fresh tanks so we can get 7th Armored back on its feet. Yet here you are, as far from the main front as one is likely to get out here. Why were you sent here, General? We hardly need a brigade of armor here for Siwa. And you certainly weren’t sent here to look for me.”

“No sir, I only learned of your disappearance when Captain Fedorov informed me of his mission. It seems I’ve a good deal to learn here, but I just follow orders. In fact, I had orders to move to Mersa Matruh.”

“Better there than here. You say you have armor with you? Well I’d give my right arm for a good tank battalion or two these days.”

“Well sir… I think I can fill the bill for you. The unit is just ahead; just over that rise.”

He gestured as they began to climb the low hill that screened the terrain ahead and, as they crested the rise, he stood in silence, one eye on O’Connor, the other on the Royal Scotts Dragoons. There sat four Sabres of heavy Challenger II tanks, sixty in all, in a square of steel dressed out in khaki on the desert below. O’Connor stared at them, his face registering complete surprise.

“My god,” he said quietly, the sheer quantity and mass of the formation striking him. Then he leaned forward, taking a closer look. “What in the world? Those aren’t Matildas, nor any cruiser tank I’ve ever seen. Why… they’re enormous!”

“A new design, sir,” said Kinlan. “Our very latest model. 7th Brigade received them for this mission to Libya. Shall we have a closer look.”

O’Connor had already started down the hill, as if drawn by some powerful magnetism, and Kinlan looked over his shoulder at Fedorov, giving him a wink as they followed. The General walked right up to the nearest tank, his eyes wide with amazement as the scale of the beast became more evident as he approached. The crew there were standing to attention, saluting crisply as he came up, which he returned, his eyes transfixed by the awesome machine in front of him.

“God in his heaven,” he whispered. “That’s twice the size of a Matilda, and that gun would make a 25 pounder blush. What is it?”

“Lieutenant?” Kinlan looked at the commander of his First Sabre, Lieutenant Matt Gibson.

“Sir! This is the new smoothbore BAE-120 conversion, based on the Rheinmetall 120mm L55. First Sabre was the leading unit selected for this upgrade.”

The gun weighed over 7000 pounds and exceeded 17 feet in length, enough to drop the jaw of any old tank warrior of the 1940s. Popski was now seeing the tank up close for the first time as well, and he was just shaking his head in complete awe.

“Did you say 120 millimeters?” O’Connor gave the man a look. The Matilda only mounted a 40mm gun.

“Yes sir.”

“Artillery? Mounted on a tank hull? My god, the damn thing is enormous! Then this is a mobile artillery gun?”

“Not quite,” said Kinlan. “It’s primary ordinance is anti-tank and AP rounds. Tell the General what we have in the cupboard, Lieutenant. What are our performance metrics?” Kinlan prompted his Sabre commander again.

“Yes sir. This gun will fire armor piercing fin stabilized discarding sabot rounds, HESH-2 high explosive rounds, and the new CHARM-4 depleted uranium rounds developed specifically for the smoothbore. CHARM-3 was the rifled barrel variant for the old L30 gun system. Effective firing range is 4000 meters, but one of our boys hit a T-60 a good while back, and knocked it out at 5200 meters.”

O’Connor heard the range, unbelieving. “Did you mean 520 meters?”

“No sir, 5200. And the new smoothbore also allows us to deploy the new LAHAT system. That would be the Laser Homing Anti-Tank missile, effective out to 8000 meters.”

“Missile? It fires a rocket?”

“Yes sir, and it’s quite effective — a semi-active laser guided tandem HEAT round, rated to penetrate 800mm of standard steel or reactive armor.”

O’Connor heard the words, but not their meaning. The man had just told him this rocket projectile could penetrate 800 millimeters! “Why, that would go in one side of a Matilda, and clean out the other,” he said, “and blow through four in a row! This can’t be so.”

“Our Lieutenant Gibson here is very well informed, General,” said Kinlan. “I’ll vouch for his claim, as I’ve seen these tanks in action. They’ll do everything he says, and more. This big fellow is also fairly agile for its size. You wouldn’t think that to look at the beast, but what is a fair battle speed, Lieutenant?”

“40KPH off road on decent ground, sir. Just under 60KPH on a good road.”

“And we can fire at that speed if we choose to do so,” Kinlan was enjoying this very much.

“Unbelievable…” There was no other work for what O’Connor was now seeing and hearing.

“Shall we have a look inside?” Kinlan smiled.

“By all means!” O’Connor was up onto the tank and, when his hand touched the heavy turret armor, he was stunned by its sheer mass. “Heavy as a block house!” he exclaimed.

“Third Generation Dorchester Chobham Armor, sir. The best protected tank in the world.” The Lieutenant was not making an idle boast.

O’Connor had put his hand firmly on the elephant’s mighty flanks, and seen its awesome trunk, yet when he finally lowered himself through the entry hatch his amazement was complete. He was shown the commander’s position, the periscope view and thermal imaging system, and then, to his utter astonishment, the digital electronics, and all within a cool, air conditioned and relatively spacious compartment. Tankers in the desert might endure temperatures north of 130 degrees in the hot sun, but not the men in these tanks, and this simple physical comfort improved their efficiency by 100 %. They could think faster, react quicker, and fight longer in the controlled interior environment of the tank.

The General stared in utter amazement when the driver and gunner spoke of their respective duties.

“We’ve 25 of these at the ready,” the gunner explained, pointing the ammunition. “Another 25 stowed within easy reach.”

It was as if O’Connor had been swallowed by a behemoth, and when he emerged, he had a dazed, bedraggled expression on his face, Jonah expelled from the whale, senseless at what he had experienced. He got down from the tank, then stood there in complete silence, just looking at it.

“Start the engine,” he said at last. “Let me hear it.”

The driver inside accommodated him, and the deep low rumble of the big engine filled the air, thrumming with an expression of sheer power. O’Connor closed his eyes, listening to it, an almost frightening sound with overtones of doom in the lower registers. If Troyak had been there, he would have known it at once, a sound not unlike that deep, bone penetrating vibration they had heard in Siberia, only clearly audible this time. It had the same effect, and spoke of one word that it would put into the soul of any enemy it faced — fear.

O’Connor turned to the other men, and smiled. “It’s the bloody Hammer of God,” he said, and that was not too far from the mark. “This is… well its quite extraordinary! I had no idea a tank like this was even in development.”

Now he realized why this unit might be here, far from spying eyes, a new secret weapon, perhaps sent here to a remote proving ground for training. But Lord, he could only imagine these tanks in action now, thundering in at 40 kilometers per hour and firing as they went. There was no way they would ever hit anything, he thought, until they showed him how the tank could rotate its main body while the turret maintained a rigid and stable position aimed at a potential distant target.

“That’s what a stabilized gun system can do,” said Kinlan. “We can hit like lightning, move like a wildcat, and we’ve very sharp teeth. General,” he put his hand on O’Connor’s shoulder now. “This tank is all but invulnerable to anti-tank weaponry of this day. You could roll up one of your Matildas, park it right there and fire, and you might do nothing more than disturb the paint job on that armor. I have sixty of them sitting here, and woe betide anyone who gets in my way when I turn them loose. Now… What were you saying earlier about us having trouble holding off that Italian Infantry heading for Siwa?”

“Gentlemen,” said O’Connor. “I’m not much of a drinking man, but I’ll have a nip of anything you’ve got, just so I can stay on my feet.” He turned to them now, his astonishment becoming a broad smile. “Bloody marvelous!”

It was marvelous, and yet incomprehensible. O’Connor just kept staring at the tank, not one, but sixty of them! Behind the dazzle, a strange feeling came over him. The tank was extraordinary, its size and design astounding but, more than anything, he was flabbergasted at the things he had seen in the interior compartment. The whole space was immaculate, and looked like the dash board of an aircraft in places. Yet there were no typical needle gauges and dials. In their place the interior of the tank glowed softly with a strange light. Colored panels were lit up with numbers and symbols, and in one place he saw what looked to be a map glowing softly on a glass pane! The driver merely touched it with a finger and the whole image expanded and changed! He was so taken with it that he was almost mesmerized. He was seeing things here that boggled the mind. Look at that armor! The Lieutenant had said something about it that stuck in his mind.

“What did you call this armor, Lieutenant?”

“Third generation Dorchester Chobham, sir.”

“Dorchester?”

O’Connor knew the place. It was a small market town on the southern coast, just above Weymouth, with a population of about 10,000 people who chiefly traded local produce three or four days a week. The ladies there had taken to organizing for the coming war early on, setting up the local “Women’s Voluntary Service” or WVS, which was soon called the Widows, Virgins and Spinsters. The town, like many others after Dunkirk, had also set up the LDV troops, or “Local Defense Volunteers,” many armed with little more than broomsticks. After the people took to calling them the “Look, Duck and Vanish” squads, they changed the name to the “Home Guard” last July. He had a relative there, and she had written some time ago to say they were all busy making concrete anti-invasion blocks to drag off to the beaches, “Dragon’s Teeth” as they were called. Yet here this man was telling him they had also been hard at work on Dragon’s scales for this monstrous tank!

“Dorchester Chobham…” O’Connor repeated the words, an unaccountable feeling rising in him now. We could barely equip the troops that struggled home after Dunkirk. There weren’t even enough simple rifles in the country to re-arm the men! How in the world did we go from broomstick militias and concrete blocks to this?

“Third generation?”

“Yes sir, the process is hush, hush, but I understand that they’re using more exotic materials now in the composites — carbon nanotubes and all.”

O’Connor heard the words, but was oblivious to their meaning. He suddenly felt daft as a brush. Third generation? That implied two earlier models or versions of this armor. He suddenly felt something was very odd here. Secrecy was one thing, but hiding the design, development and testing of a weapon this sophisticated was quite another. There was simply no way these new vehicles could have been built and deployed in a fully combat ready status without thousands of men knowing about it, people in the factories, testing sites, dockyards, merchant marine, and anyone at Alexandria when they arrived. And he simply could not imagine that Wavell, with his back to the wall at Sidi Barani, would have blithely ordered a unit of this size and obvious value south into the heart of nowhere like this. It simply made no military sense. He turned to General Kinlan with a strange look in his eye.

“Just who in bloody hell are you people?”

Fedorov saw it now, behind the awe and surprise, a look of profound doubt, and he knew the time was ripe to move O’Connor to a new understanding. The awakening had begun.

“Excuse me, sir,” said Popski on Fedorov’s behalf. “The Captain suggests it may be time to take the General aside for a more detailed briefing.”