Hammer of God

Chapter 32

Brigadier Kingstone was a massive angry presence at T3 when he arrived there. His operation had run into much more trouble than expected, and now he had some difficult decisions to make. He sat with Nichols, Popski and Fedorov, not knowing quite what to make of this Russian Captain. As for Popski, General Clark’s word was all he had to go on now, though the General had been taken ill in the desert, and had to be hospitalized in Palestine. So it was down to Kingstone in overall command of Habforce now, an irascible man on a good day, and this was not a good day.

“We saw that little theater at the old Arab fort,” he said to Popski. “What sort of aircraft do you men have?”

“I call it a helicontraption-a helicopter, General, though I can’t say I know much more than that. That big blue bird there comes off the Russian battlecruiser that’s thrown in with the Royal navy at Alexandria. Don’t know much about the others, but I’m sure glad to have them handy.”

“Yes… We saw how they gunned down that German company trying to make that last assault.”

“Bloody business, sir. They paid a high price for that one. The only thing is this-the damn things shoot so fast they run out of ammo in a pinch. Now they’ll have to fly back to Rutbah where they’ve stowed supplies and reserve fuel. But they’ll be back, sir. You can count on them.”

Fedorov said something in Russian, and Kingstone gave him a sideways glare. “The Captain wants to know whether you plan to fight on here,” said Popski.

“Does he now? And are the Russians to have their nose in all our business here?” Again the harsh look Fedorov’s way.

Popski thought he might smooth things over, and did what he could. “Begging your pardon, sir. This man here is thick as thieves with General Wavell. As you know, Wavell speaks Russian, and to answer your question-yes sir-Captain Fedorov was right there at the table alongside the General for the planning of the Syrian campaign. In fact, sir,” and now Popski leaned in very close to the General’s ear, lowering his voice. “He’s even met with the Prime Minister.” He raised his eyebrows to emphasize that point, which seemed to have some pull with Kingstone.

“Very well,” said Kingstone. “General Clark has vouched for you, Major, so I’ll give you some latitude here. If what you say of this man is true, and he stands well with General Wavell, then he stands well with me.” Now the general extended a hand to Fedorov, shaking it firmly.

“The Captain is fairly well versed in intelligence matters,” Popski put in.

“That so? Then he’ll want to meet our own man, Somerset DeChair. He’s about somewhere. The two of them should get on well. But the question now, gentlemen, is what to do about this mess we find ourselves in. Now, we just got up King’s Own Rifles, so that gives us four battalions of infantry, and what’s left of the cavalry. God only knows where Glubb Pasha is, but his men amount to another light battalion. As I see it now, and particularly from your report on that German column arriving, we’re up against two good sized German units.”

“Two regiments,” said Fedorov in English.

“Yes, well one was more than enough. Nobody expected them out here. We knew about the single Foreign Legion battalion, and we’d be half way to Homs by now if that was all the they had at Palmyra. But German troops are another kettle of fish. Now, Colonel Nichols here is of a mind that any further move west would be inadvisable, and I tend to agree. At the same time, we’ve got another battle to the east shaping up at Dier-ez-Zour on the Euphrates. Here’s the map our man DeChair sketched out.”

He briefed them on the Euphrates operation, indicating that two brigades of 10th Indian Division had pushed up from Iraq, with the intention of driving all the way to Aleppo, which is something Fedorov knew they had accomplished in this campaign.

“Now the Germans in front of me at Palmyra are the 22nd Luftland Air Landing Division. We know that much. It seems they also stuck their thumb in the pie over here at Dier-ez-Zour. Another full regiment flew in by air, and it’s been reinforced in the last two days. There’s been some thought given to the idea of our pulling out here, and getting northeast to the Euphrates to help out the Indian troops. At least between both forces we might trump the enemy in at least one spot, and then we can get up north.

“May I suggest alternatives?” said Fedorov, again in English. “Here, this town, Raqqah. It is north, yes? But any force at Dier-ez-Zour must be supplied-through this town.” He pointed to Raqqah, which was about 180 kilometers up river from Dier-ez-Zour. “Can we go there?”

Kingstone eyed the map, thinking. “Yes… If we could manage to get up north, we’d cut Jerry’s supply off alright, except for anything they can get in by air. That won’t be much as soon as the Indian Division gets its artillery up and starts pounding the airfield at Dier-ez-Zour. I suppose if we do move north, even that movement itself might compel the Germans to withdraw up river. The problem is getting there. I see very little in the way of roads on this map, and that’s Jebel country north of Sukhnah-rugged mountains, badlands, volcanic debris and stony ground. We could get the whole column lost out there, or stuck, and without a good rout of supply. We’d only have what we can carry. Without Glubb Pasha and his scouts, I’d hesitate to move my force north. Nichols?” Kingstone wanted another opinion.

“I like it better than trying to slug it out here. We’re a desert maneuver force. That’s our real virtue. We’ll find Glubb Pasha, wherever he is now, and Major Popski is here, both well schooled as desert scouts. And we’ve got the Captain’s helicopters out there.”

“True, and no offence Major Popski, but have you seen that ground? It’s no place for a wheeled column, and I’ve hundreds of trucks and vehicles to look after. On the other hand, there is a relatively good road from here to Dier-ez-Zour, and it’s no more than 125 kilometers. If we leave now we could arrive there tomorrow, and possibly have a major impact on that battle. The 10th Indian Division is fighting there now, and, if we can’t fight here, then my inclination is to march to the sound of the guns. I would, however, permit a flying column to try the roads north to Raqqah, but it would have to be fast, light, and well supplied. Would your Russian Captain care to volunteer to have a look up north. If there are any prospects, I’ll hand this one off to Glubb Pasha when we find him. You can take Number 2 Armored Car Company, a battery of light AA guns on portees, and perhaps a company of the Essex Battalion. As for the rest. I think I have my mind set on Dier-ez-Zour.”

“Very well sir,” said Popski, translating all this for Fedorov. He nodded his understanding. Then told Popski that he and his helicopters would be honored to scout the way north.

“Good then. Let’s pull out and get moving. If we can take these two places, it will cut off the whole limb of the tree where the Euphrates is concerned. The Germans will have to fall back on Aleppo, and the only question is whether they can get there before us when they learn what we’re up to.”

Kingstone folded his arms. “One last thing, gentlemen. What is to stop this German force here at Palmyra from getting into mischief?”

“Where would they go?” said Nichols. “Certainly not Rutbah down south.”

“If they tried, they might cut the pipeline to Haifa,” Kingstone cautioned.

“Yes,” said Nichols, “but we still have troops near Fallujah and Ramadi, and we can get them there in time to stop such a move, or at least hold them off until we can do something about it.”

“Alright,” said Kingstone. “I’ll inform Jumbo Wilson what we intend to do, and unless he’s got something to say about it, then we’re off as soon as we can pull the men together. Get anything you have north of that airfield back west. I’ll post the Cavalry as a rearguard, and will somebody find out where the Arab Legion is?”

“We’ll have a look about when we take off to fuel the whirly birds,” said Popski.

And so it was that the battle of attrition that was in front of them would now evolve again into a battle of maneuver, and both sides would soon be in a race to control the upper Euphrates. Fedorov felt a little better in thinking he had given some sound advice here, even if it wasn’t entirely taken, yet he had to rely on the experience of these men in the here and now. This wasn’t just a reading exercise. He realized he was well outside his history books now. There’s nothing written about this, he thought, nothing at all. But someone has to write the new book, and it may as well be us.

“Will you be departing to resupply immediately?” Kingstone asked Popski.

“More or less. We were four days up on that hill. The French tried us once, and Jerry tried us twice. They’ll be regretting that for some time, but we lost a man during the extraction, and the Captain wants to have a burial ceremony here.”

“I see… Sorry we couldn’t do more. Damn Bedu raiders were nipping at the column the whole way here. ”

Fedorov decided to move the supply cache at Rutbah to the T2 Pumping station along the pipeline to Tripoli. The line itself had been closed since the onset of hostilities, but as each pumping station had a makeshift landing strip, a small fortified outpost, and communications back to Iraq, it would serve as a good local base for their next operation. Now they had the X-3 helos, and two platoons of the Argonauts, together with the Marines. The “Mobile Force” was reconstituted, and they could front what amounted to a well armed company, airmobile, and with the considerable support of the helicopters on attack or defense.

The conference ended, and the Argonauts, still well armed and fueled, departed to secure T2, while the Marines gathered for a burial ceremony for Symkov. It felt very strange to them to see their comrade, born and raised in 21st Century Russia, and now laid to rest in the empty desert of Syria in 1941. The thought that in that future time, should it ever come, he would be born again, and walk the earth while his remains still lay buried beneath those sands, was somewhat confounding in Fedorov’s mind.

The whole team was surprised by the unexpected arrival of Brigadier Kingstone, with a small rifle detail. He stood respectfully at the grave site and, when the burial was concluded, he nodded to the riflemen, who stood stiffly to attention. They shouldered their arms in unison, and fired three volleys into the open desert in tribute. When the salute was concluded, all the Marines felt something that they had not felt since coming to the Mediterranean sector again. They had fought, many times in this wild sojourn, but the sound of those rifles was a kind of bond between men of war that all understood, and felt deeply. Brigadier Kingstone turned to Popski, and asked him to thank the Marines for what they had done.

“Now we’re off to make that man’s life count for something,” he said, saluting before he turned and led the rifle team off.

Fedorov wasted no time. He wanted to depart for Rutbah immediately to load the supplies and remaining fuel, and move everything to the new base at T2. It was during that flight that Troyak decided to take inventory on the canisters they had used at the fortress.

“Chenko… Didn’t we bring four RPG-7s along with the RPG 32s?”

“Yes, Sergeant. But we didn’t get the chance to fire them.”

“Oh? Well I count only three.” He turned, eyeing the men where they sat in crowded rows in the helo. After batting it around for a time to find out who was carrying what, it soon became apparent that something had simply been overlooked in the hasty withdrawal under fire at the top of that fortress.

“My fault,” said Zykov. “I thought I had checked every room below, but it was dark, and things were heating up fast. I saw nothing, but that doesn’t matter. I was the last man up the ropes. The blame is mine.”

When Fedorov got the news, he raised an eyebrow. “An RPG-7? Was there a round mounted?”

“Yes sir,” said Troyak. “I’m responsible. I should have double checked-”

“Never mind who’s responsible,” said Fedorov. “We all know you were preoccupied trying to save Symkov. Well… this is interesting. The Germans will certainly find that RPG. The only question is, what will they do with it?”

“If you want to go back for it tonight, I’ll lead the assault.”

“No. I think that would be most unwise, Sergeant. The Germans have learned what the sound of our rotors means. They most likely have men in that fortress now, and probably at least a company. Besides. If they found it, as I’m certain they did, then they would have passed it up the chain of command. It may not even be in the fortress now, and we certainly can’t land and politely ask for it back. We’d have to search the whole German encampment otherwise, so we just have to let it go. What it may do to the future course of events will remain unknown, but if anyone is responsible, it is me, Troyak. I led the mission, and we’re all in the thick of things now. God only knows what the history will look like in the years ahead for all we’ve done here. If it’s any consolation, remember there’s a full modern British mechanized brigade out there. So one RPG-7 doesn’t seem that much in the balance-a grain of sand in the wheelbarrow.”

It seemed logical, just a single device, with one round. But Fedorov was wrong again. In the summer of 1942 in the history Fedorov knew, an enterprising man named Doctor Heinrich Langweiler was dreaming up new theories of propulsion for weapons munitions, and in 1939 he had drafted a paper on what he called the “Impulse Propulsion Principle.” He was experimenting with hyper-velocity for small arms munitions, and would later go on to design the forerunner of the dread German Panzerfaust (Panzer Fist), a hand held AT weapon that was accounting for up to 34 % of all British tank losses by the time the war ended.

Langweiler worked with a company called HASSAG in Leipzig, and one of his ideas involved the development of “rocket bullets” fired from a smoothbore weapon. His “Impulse Antrieb” theory would utilize a rod propellant that burned behind the round, increasing pressure, and muzzle velocity. One application would see the development of an 88mm air-to-air rocket known as the “Puppchen.” His Panzerfaust would one day see production of up to 200,000 units per month, much to the chagrin of allied tankers on every side, as it could effectively kill any tank produced in the war.

Colonel Wolff knew he had something very unusual when the corporal brought the weapon in, and he had it crated up and immediately sent to division headquarters, with a letter explaining his find. “Appears to be a new British hand-held anti tank weapon.” He wrote. “DO NOT FIRE! Contents and design of round must be examined by qualified personnel. Recommend immediate transport to Germany.”

His instructions were followed, and the RPG would soon come to the attention of Langweiler himself, and have a dramatic impact on his thinking and design for the weapon that would soon threaten to rewrite history yet again. The Faustpatrone 42 was going to move into development a whole year early, and its successor, the Panzerfaust, was going to be something no one on the Allied side expected.

It was a grain of sand that would soon start an avalanche.