Hammer of God

Chapter 14

Fedorov had been digging in the history books again, looking for anything that might serve British campaigns now underway against Iraq and Syria. He noted that the history of these events seemed to be blending into one overarching campaign, just as Hitler’s latest directive he had decoded from Enigma intercepts seemed to be an amalgam of Fuhrer Directives 30 and 32. The former was Hitler’s initial order to support the uprising in Iraq, the latter a more sweeping directive that historians would later call “Operation Orient,” Hitler’s vision of operations in the Middle East aimed at decisively defeating the British there.

While he knew the British had prevailed in all these small campaigns in Iraq, Syria, and later Iran, those outcomes were far from certain now if the Germans decided to strongly oppose the British. He had already done what he could in the meetings with Wavell and Churchill to impress upon them the difficulties ahead in Syria. That had led to the strengthening of the British order of battle for Operation Scimitar, but early reports of that action still indicated that the going was tough, and the French were fighting hard.

Troyak and the Marines had been operating with the Mobile Force and the Argonauts, and the news that they had encountered German mountain troops west of Damascus was alarming.

“They must have come by sea,” he said to Admiral Volsky. “I think we had best speak to Tovey about stronger efforts to close off the ports in Syria. Most of the British naval units assigned are operating south of Beirut to support the advance along the coast. That leaves Tripoli, Tartus and Latakia all open at the moment.”

“I will recommend a stronger covering force there,” said Volsky. “Perhaps the Argos Fire could stand as a radar picket to find these convoys and vector in British forces. If not, we can do the job ourselves.”

“That would be good,” said Fedorov, a distant look in his eye that Volsky did not fail to notice.

“You have been doing a good deal of reading, Mister Fedorov.”

“Just trying to see if I can find any fulcrums in the history that might give us some leverage.”

“Fulcrums?”

“Professor Dorland called them Push Points.”

“Dorland? This is the American Physicist who wrote that thesis concerning time travel?”

“The same,” said Fedorov. “He defined a Push Point as some incident in the stream of causality that exerted a very strong influence on the course of events, and often these incidents were of a seeming insignificant nature.”

“Why insignificant events? I would think you would look for the big things.”

“As logic might seem to dictate,” said Fedorov. “But no. Dorland argued that it was often a much smaller incident that served as the real trigger to major changes in the history, and he pointed out numerous examples. Do you remember the assassination of Archduke Ferdinand that was a flashpoint in igniting the First World War?”

“Somewhat.”

“Well that was mere happenstance. His driver made a wrong turn, inadvertently leading the motorcade the wrong way, and directly into the path of the man who became the assassin, Gavrilo Princip. The motorcade had already been attacked once, by a bomb that failed to hit the correct car. So the route was changed, but the driver was not properly informed. He turned right to take the original planned route, instead of left, and when the security personnel shouted for him to stop and correct the error, he halted the motorcade directly in front of the assassin. The rest is history-that awful war-which might have started some other way given the tensions in the Balkans at that time. But that wrong turn just served as a catalyst to the onset of the war.”

“Mister Fedorov, you spend entirely too much time in those history books of yours. Is that what you have been doing, trying to ferret out a Push Point as you call it? Something concerning these operations?”

“I suppose so, sir. But things are already changing dramatically. There are reports of German troops near Damascus, and other units may be operating in Syria as well. I discovered that Brandenburg Commandos are already in Iraq organizing local disaffected tribes into an Arab Brigade. These events should have already concluded, but they remain in play. The British thrust to relieve Habbaniyah was much more timely with our help. Habforce has pushed on to Baghdad and sent the Golden Square to flight, but this operation in Syria is happening much sooner than it did in our history, by at least three months.”

“Is this a problem?”

“That is hard to say. I do know that when resistance to the British stiffened on all fronts, the British reacted by recalling Habforce from Iraq, and the 10th Indian Division that had come up from Basra. They used these forces to cross Syria’s eastern border and secure the oil pipeline from Kirkuk to Mediterranean ports, and all the key pumping stations. This area was lightly garrisoned by the Vichy French, and the British did surprisingly well. They took Palmyra, pushed on to Homs on one axis, and the Indian troops pushed up the Euphrates to Aleppo. This had a good deal to do with the French decision to capitulate.”

“And now you are worried about these operations?”

“Yes sir… Small operations, undertaken by lightly armed units, no more than a brigade or two, but they had a dramatic impact on the course of events. Yet now, with the Germans introducing units into Syria, those objectives could be in jeopardy.”

“I am beginning to think you have another of your plans in mind. Yes?”

Fedorov smiled. “I do. You are very perceptive, Admiral. I was just considering the situation near Damascus. The British are moving more troops from Brigadier Kinlan’s brigade to counter the German buildup there. I don’t see that Troyak and his twenty Marines will make all that much difference, but they might be used elsewhere to greater effect.”

“Ah. Now we get to the heart of things. What is it you propose, Mister Fedorov? Out with it.”

“Well sir, I was thinking they might move quickly to Palmyra and secure a hold there in advance of the British move in that direction. There was only a small garrison there. The British did everything they could to mask the advance of Kingcol-that is short for King Column, which was commanded by Brigadier General Kingstone. It was just recalled from Iraq, as it was in the history from our time. Their mission is to drive on Palmyra, where there is an oasis site, airfield, and two key pumping stations on the Kirkuk to Tripoli oil pipeline to either side of this location. The garrison there is very light, only about 165 men. There were 87 Foreign Legion, 48 air field personnel, and 24 men from a desert camel company, all under six French officers.”

“You want Troyak to go after them with one helicopter and twenty Marines?”

“I know it sounds crazy, as most all my ideas are when I first hatch them, but I think it could be done, sir. There is an old castle on high ground overlooking the settlement. It commands the entire area, but the history tells me it was not strongly held. Most of the garrison preferred the cooled climes of the settlement and the orchards and groves there. They only used the fort for a few observation teams, so I think a quick night operation with the KA-40 could put Troyak’s men on that target easily enough. Once there, their mortars would command the entire site, and their hand held Ilgas could stop the French and Germans from using that airfield. That’s what caused the real trouble for the British, as they had no air cover at all. The French air force was constantly bombing and strafing their columns.”

“I see… But what if this garrison turns on Troyak and his men? They would be outnumbered eight to one.”

“But the Marines have tremendous firepower relative to the French troops, and would be sitting on a high stone fortress, protected by a deep trench that once served as a moat, and with only one entrance. They’ll hold, sir. I’m sure Troyak can handle this. He will be relieved by King Column, the units of the 4th Cavalry Regiment. They were stymied for twelve days trying to take Palmyra, but with Troyak’s firepower, and the KA-40, this might be a much easier battle.”

“Then you wish to move his unit for this operation?”

“With your permission sir. I was thinking I might replenish the KA-40, move some additional fuel supplies to Rutbah where it could be well guarded, and then brief Troyak. There’s one other odd thing about this situation that he might need to know-the French legionnaires there at Palmyra were composed of mainly German and Russian mercenaries.”

“Russians?” Volsky smiled. “I see where you are going with this. You found all this in your history books? Once again, you amaze me, Fedorov. And something tells me you have that longing look in your eye because you may just wish to see to things first hand there. Yes? Well, you have my blessing. I agree that this would be a much better way to use our Marines. Go and see to the KA-40.”

“You mean I am free to pursue this mission?”

“Free as a bird, Captain. If the ship needs to involve itself in this port interdiction business, I can handle the matter easily enough, and we will not have need of the KA-40. Besides, someone has to bring Troyak and his men home safely, so it might as well be you. But be careful out there. I cannot afford to lose you. Let Troyak do the fighting.”

Fedorov’s eyes were suddenly alight with the blue fire of adventure. “Thank you sir,” he said with great enthusiasm. “I’ll handle everything.”

“Yes, I think you will do quite well. I have no doubt. But be wary, Fedorov. What if this garrison is reinforced? What if you find German troops there? Don’t forget, Volkov knows this history as well, and he may be advising the enemy.”

“All the more reason to stay one step ahead of them!” Fedorov smiled, and was soon on his way to the aft helo bay with his new mission in hand. He caught Nikolin on his way to the next shift on the bridge and told him to radio Popski with new orders. Then he went down to Chief Martinov to see what he could pull out of the Marine weapons inventory that might be useful.

The more he thought about this mission, the more excited he became. He had been pleased that they had been able to check, if only temporarily, the Axis fleet, but when it came to events in the land battles, he was frustrated, unable to do anything more than give his best advice. Now he would be right in the thick of things, really doing something that might matter, and putting all those facts and figures he had dug up in the history to work.

Palmyra… the ancient oasis site that was once colonized by Diocletian and the Romans… King Column racing through the desert to try and take it by storm before the French could react… The legendary figure of Glubb Pasha, the British “Lawrence” of this war, with his Arab legion galloping on the flanks… the Foreign Legion barring the way in their block houses by the airfield, and one more thing that suddenly darkened his muse. What about those Brandenburg Commandos? What might they be up to in all this business now? He knew they had set themselves the task of impeding Glubb Pasha by any means possible. What was he getting himself into here?

Far away, at that very moment, the men Fedorov was musing on were already busy making plans of their own. The Abwehr had already moved to carry out the Fuhrer’s orders involving Iraq, albeit too late to stop the British operation then underway. News of the setback at Habbaniyah, and the British advance on Baghdad, set off alarms in Berlin, and now the elite Brandenburgers were in the country organizing resistance, just as Fedorov had told Admiral Volsky.

They used the figurehead of the Grand Mufti as their lightning rod, filling his coffers with plenty of silver and gold to lure in the tribal leaders, and staging a massive rally north of Samara where as many as 30,000 tribesmen flocked to see the Grand Mufti, and hear his declaration of a word that would haunt western oil men for decades to come- jihad. The oil wars that would end civilization were now beginning, like the first stirrings of restless wind on the bleak deserts of Iraq-a wind that would grow to the massive storm that would one day consume the world.

With arms sent by the French, and flown secretly into Baghdad by the Germans, the Brandenburgers began to pick through the throngs of the tribesmen and select out the best and most experienced men for their own “Arab Brigade.” Some were Sunni, others Shia, but all shared a common hate of the British. Soon General Felmy had his brigade, which he divided into two units, one under Lieutenant Brecht, and a second under Abwehr Hauptmann Berger. They immediately hatched a plan to begin harassing British Operations in Iraq.

“They will need to supply the troops they send here,” said General Felmy. “So our first mission is to interdict the rail lines from Basra. This will force them to move by road, and that will take trucks, fuel and a lot more time. That is what we must buy the Fuhrer now, so he can organize the rapid movement of more German troops to this theatre. And we must do all this before the planned start date for Barbarossa. After that the war will move east against the Soviet Union, so anything we accomplish must be done in the next 90 days.”

“What about the rivers?” said Berger. “We have information that the British are setting up river flotillas to move supplies all the way up to Fallujah and Haditha. They are using shallow draft barges and small river gunboats to guard them. We must stop those as well!”

“Just the sort of thing the Brandenburgers are cut out for,” said Felmy. Gentlemen, get to work!”

Hauptmann Berger was quick to the job. He selected his best commandos, and pulled a number of Arabs from his unit and set them to work harvesting reeds from the vast flood lands of the Euphrates. They wove these into small clusters that would float easily and serve to hide the commandos swimming beneath them with small tubes for air. They planned to attack a large, and much needed, supply flotilla that was moving along the river to Fallujah, now in British hands. Once there it would be used to supply another British Flying Column for a secret mission that only Fedorov and a few other men knew about at that time.

On the evening of March 15, only a few days after the Syrian campaign was launched, and while Fedorov was still hatching his own plans, the commandos sprung a well planned ambush on the British supply flotilla. As darkness fell, the small islands of reeds slowly drifted out into the wide stream of the river, where the lines of tethered boats were linked to one another by lateral walking planks, and guarded by two small British crewed gunboats. As the primary means of defense, the gunboats became the first targets.

The sun set late at just a little after 18:00, and the gloaming dusk colored the river in deep vermillion hues as the shadows settled in. It was a quiet night, and the moon would not rise for another two hours, a perfect time for the attack. Twelve commandos, Berger’s best men, slipped out of the water in their dark uniforms and silently climbed aboard, their hands wet on the low gunwales as they slipped onto the decks of the gunboats, quickly overpowering the two deck sentries with knife work. Then they moved like shadows, hastening to the forward cabins to seize the sleepy boat crews and man the twin Lewis guns on the boats.

Now the Iraqi Arab recruits joined the raid, quietly swimming to the tethered supply ships, anchored well out on the river. They were already onto the barges before a wary guard on one of the nearby bridgeheads opened fire with a rifle, rousing the small British contingent that was there to off load the supplies in the morning. The remaining Brandenburgers and their troops of Arab recruits now opened fire, and the sound of sub-machineguns suddenly burst upon the night. Someone threw a hand grenade, and the loud explosion resounded over the still waters of the river. Another little war had begun, just as Fedorov feared, like a rock in the stream of the history sending ripples in all directions.