Lions at Dawn

Chapter 16

The Germans decided to show the British their hand before they drew any more cards. They would proceed with Operation Phoenix first and foremost, thinking this would force their enemy to commit all his reserves to that theater, in effect, showing them all the cards they held as well. Meanwhile, Student’s Sky Hunters would take in new recruits, brush the dust and sand of North Africa off their uniforms and equipment, and get time to refit and prepare for Operation Merkur.

While Crete’s forward position against the Aegean represented a real threat to any shipping, all the forces allocated to Operation Phoenix were coming through Turkey by rail, which put the British in a most uncomfortable position. Head of the Western Desert Air Force, Sir Arthur Coningham, was the first to voice the dilemma.

“We can’t hit that rail line without direct approval from the Prime Minister,” he said. “It’s all on Turkish soil. If you want my word on it, the Turks ought to realize they can’t have things both ways any longer. They want to sit there under the cloak of neutrality, but they have allowed German combat units to transit their sovereign territory, and overfly their airspace as if there could be no consequences. By god, the Germans have even based aircraft at Iskenderun!”

“I understand what you are saying,” said Wavell. “Yet if Churchill can’t persuade them to rescind their license to Jerry, then we shall have no other option. We’ll have to hit them, and diplomacy be damned. Letting the wolf in through your front gate is bad enough. Feeding him every day is quite another thing. The Germans will also have to rely on that rail line to keep all those troops supplied, and at some point, if not this very moment, interdiction of that rail connection will be of primary importance. I intend to argue this as strongly as possible in my communications to Whitehall. For the moment, however, you will have to concentrate your interdiction effort on their main receiving stations on Syrian soil—Aleppo would come to mind immediately.”

“Yes,” said Coningham, “they’ve move fighters there as well—fair game. But you realize this is going to put a crimp in the support I can offer O’Connor. I’ve earmarked four fighter groups to impose air superiority, but I had to take two of them from Cyrenaica. I spoke with Tooey Spaatz and the Americans might be able to support us with their 57th Fighter Group. That would help out immensely.”

“Do what you must. We have to secure this flank, and at this point, we don’t really know how serious a threat this will be. If it’s a nuisance incursion to tap us on the shoulder, that would be one thing. If it’s a really big operation, then we could be at it in Syria for months. The presence of the Brandenburg Division teeing off at the first hole leads me to think they mean business.”

Even as those two men spoke, Lieutenant Gruber had that business right in front of him, a roadblock at the tiny hamlet of Abu Ad Duhur, about 40 kilometers south of Aleppo. The road he took south had followed the rail line to the larger cities of Hamah and Homs. He had moved very quickly, down through Saybiyah and Rassef, and now he ordered up the Armored Car Company to see if they might blow right on through this enemy position. As soon as they moved, a flight of three British Hurricanes appeared overhead, and they came swooping down to attack.

It was a strafing run, their machine guns blazing away and churning up a lot of dust at the head of the column. Moments later Gruber would learn they had taken their first casualties, a SdkFz 221 light armored car that was shot up so bad that it had to be pushed off the road. Just outside the hamlet, lying low in a thicket at the edge of a small cultivated area, a company of the Frontier Horse were ready to open fire. They didn’t have much to hurt those armored cars, but the few 2” mortars they had were firing for all they were worth.

Gruber studied them briefly, peering through his field glasses. His troops had stood like a stone wall in the face of massed Soviet attacks that would send three or four divisions against the line at one time, supported by droves of armor. He shook his head, a sneer on his lips, then looked at his map.

“Sergeant!” he said over his shoulder.

“Sir?”

“Get back and tell Leutnant Kramer to take his motorcycle company east five kilometers, then south to secure a small airstrip. We’ll be needing that soon. The motorized company can come right on up.”

The SkdFz Schwerer Panzerspähwagen was the latest of the production lines in that category, a fast eight wheeled armored car with a 20mm quick firing main gun. It could theoretically put out 280 rounds per minute, as it was based on the 20mm flak gun, though it was seldom ever put to that test. The suppressive quality of that stinging fire was immediate, and the guns quickly silenced those mortar teams. Gruber could see his column pushing through with no difficulty, and he whistled to wave up his infantry. An hour later he learned his motorcycle company had secured the small air strip, and then pushed on south another 20 kilometers to Abu Darikah.

As they continued south through the dry stony country, the three companies fanned out, looking for any further sign of organized enemy resistance, but finding the land barren and empty. Yet the sky about that ground was not empty, and it was immediately clear to Gruber that the enemy was going to have air support in this battle. The Germans had several squadrons of Me-109s up, but only 86 fighters between them, and they were scarcely seen. What was seen were the Hurricanes, Kittyhawks and even a few squadrons of Spitfires. Coningham had over 200 fighters up that day, and he was clearly taking out his frustrations with a ruthless hold on the skies over this battlefield.

That will make a difference, thought Gruber. The Luftwaffe once seemed invincible, but not any longer. Here in the West, Goring is spread very thin, and a lot of our fighters went to Luftflotte II and Fliegerkorps X for the Crete operation. Well, we will have to make do with what we have.

He waited astride the rail line south, watching the trucks of 1st Brandenburg Motorized Regiment moving past him now, the long column of vehicles off to the east. There were thin trails of smoke in their wake, like candles that had been blown out, the smoke curling up into the windless sky. That was where the enemy planes had struck, but thus far, they were making very swift progress south nonetheless.

Far to the east, the Brandenburg Lehr Regiment under Obersturmfuhrer Konrad was also racing along the main road that led from Aleppo to Ar Raqqah on the upper Euphrates. That was the town that Fedorov, Troyak and the Russian Marines had fought for, with the help of the Argonauts. There they had foiled the efforts of the German Paratroopers with their fast moving helicopters, and the withering support fire that could put out. They met no opposition until they reached the town of Meskene after a blistering 80 kilometer road march. The frontier horse were there too, but they met with the same sad fate that Gruber had dealt out further west.

Konrad’s group had three special Kommando units with them, and one was sent to secure the bridge over the Euphrates at Kesfra, while the other two occupied two old abandoned French air strips along the main highway at El Aboud and Jirah. This regiment was acting like Gruber’s force, clearing the way ahead, securing the line of communications and probing towards Ar Raqqah. It would be followed by Motorized Regiments III and IV under Duren and Langen, the main force intended for the battle they expected at the city.

Luftwaffe reconnaissance had identified a strong enemy presence there at Ar Raqqah. It was a major bridge over the Euphrates leading north to the Turkish frontier, and the British had an airfield there that Konrad was to take at his earliest opportunity.

In his way, would be Brigadier Legentilhomme and his Free French Division, a force that was really about the size of a single brigade. It had one battalion of Foreign Legionnaires, four more Senegalese Marche Battalions, a mechanized company of five old armored cars, and 12 antiquated Char H-39 French tanks. The area was seen as such a backwater region that it had never been built up with better equipment. Two batteries of 75mm guns rounded it off, with one battalion of Marine Fusiliers posted on the two main bridges. These six odd battalions were about to be visited by three regiments of the Brandenburgers.

Wavell was going to have a long day, and a very sleepless night. The only thing that looked promising was Coningham’s control of the air. On the ground, the Germans had pushed boldly over the Turkish Frontier and were racing south an east, with a preponderance of their infantry forces near the coast. He had the two British infantry divisions of General Edward Quinan’s 10th Army. Anderson’s III Corps was their operational HQ, with 5th Division deployed from the coast at the port of Baniyas and covering a 100 Kilometer front east to screen the city of Hamah. The 56th Division was centered on Palmyra further south and covering a similar front that included postings at the T3 and T4 pumping stations for the Tripoli Pipeline. That was vital infrastructure, and it was soon to become a battleground.

Between The populous city of Homs and that T4 Pumping station, there was a 90 kilometer gap that was only lightly patrolled by the 56th Division Recon battalion. If the enemy had the force to engage the 5th Division, they could bypass Hamah to the east, and flow right into that gap. It had to be filled, and by troops that had some ability to contest the ground in what might soon become a fast battle of maneuver.

The only force he had for that was the Indian 31st Armored Division, a relatively inexperienced unit, though the troops were resolute and loyal. That force was at Damascus, and he could move it swiftly north by rail to Homs. Then he would have to move something into Damascus, for that major city could not be left without a standing garrison.

Most of the armor had been east of Damascus, running about on drills as they trained in their new equipment, but he would get the recon battalion, two motorized Infantry battalions, an artillery battalion and the 32nd Madras Engineers moving north on the trains right away. When word came down that the unit was going into battle, the men were quite excited.

“Anand!” came the cry of a young sapper. He was just a Sepoy, or a Private of engineers, looking for his Platoon Halvidar, the Sergeant with a very long name—Anandsubramanian. Anand meant happiness, bliss or joy, a common given name in India. The surname Subramanian hailed from Southern India, a combination of two Sanskrit/Tamil words that might be loosely translated as “worthy jewel.” An amiable man, the Sergeant was often called by his first name by the men he knew best, Anand.

“What now, Kaling? Don’t tell me you‘ve gone and lost you drill kit yet again. I told you to be ready for training at first light.”

“No Sergeant. It’s not a drill this time! The Germans have crossed the border, and the whole division is going north to fight them!”

“What? The Germans? Don’t think you can fool me again, Kaling. I’m on to you this time.”

The Sepoy’s penchant for jest was well known. He was young at just eighteen years, with bright eyes, a quick mind and a lot of mischief in his soul. Kaling Kapoor was right in his element here, as he had come from Jodhpur in the north near the Great Thar Desert. How he managed to wrangle his way into an Engineer battalion that had formed in Madras was another story, one too long to tell here. In spite of his stern outer aspect, Halvidar Anandsubramanian had taken the lad under his wing, intending to keep the young man on his toes as well.

32nd Madras Sappers & Miners had been an established unit in the Indian Army since the outbreak of the war. Their job was to further and assist the movement of friendly forces, while impeding the movement of the enemy. As such, they would often be assigned to road details, bridge work, the building of camps and fortifications, and the demolition of enemy fieldworks. 31st Armored relied on them to make sure their new tanks could get over the many wadis and gullies that fingered their way through the Syrian deserts, so it was no surprise that they would get one of the first orders to move out.

The unit had a long history, dating back to 1780 when the first two companies were raised and eventually formed the Madras Pioneer Battalion. They were the “Queen’s Own” during the 1800s, until reference to Her Majesty was dropped from the unit designation in 1941.

Called the “Thambis” by others in the division, they wore a distinctive shako as headgear, a cylindrical cap with a red plume or ‘pompom’ at the top. With this distinguished military history, they were a tight professional unit, well trained, and many in their ranks had already fought the Germans in North Africa, and in Burma against the Japanese.

“Germans! It’s true Anand. I’m not trying to fool you this time. They came right over the border and took Aleppo. You can go and ask the Subedar if you don’t believe me. Come on! We’ve got orders to go to the rail station!”

Now here’s the Moonbird giving me orders, thought Anand. He often called the Private that in his mind, Pakshee, for the lad would sit under the full moon and sing in the late evening. He got up, straightened his uniform and cap, and fixed Private Kapoor with a level stare.

“Very well,” he said. “But please know what will happen to you if I go there and find you are singing me songs, Pakshee. I’ll boil you in the morning gruel!”

The Moonbird was not fooling him this time. By noon the entire Battalion had formed up on the rail line in the eastern quadrant of Damascus, and they were loading up, along with both the Motorized Infantry battalions, a cavalry unit, some light armored cars, and the division headquarters and staff.

The Germans, he thought. Back for more trouble again, are they? We’ll see about that. The Sergeant was all business now, sorting through his platoon, tightening the straps on backpacks, looking to see that the men all had their rifles and shovels, and always with one eye on Pakshee, watching him flit about from one squad to another, so excited to be getting a chance at combat for his very first time.

Anand had seen more than enough already, and there was a sadness in his heart as he watched the young man. He’s going to see the elephant, he thought. Right now he’s just one of the blind men taking hold of his tail and being led off to war, but soon he’ll see what it’s really all about. Something in him didn’t want that for the lad, and he wondered how the Private’s song would change after he endured the rigors, and the terrors, of real combat. For now, the Moonbird was still a young and happy man, and he inwardly hoped he would always stay that way.

Chapter 17

Brigadier Joe Kingstone was still the general warden of the Eastern Syrian Desert, and gritty and irascible as always. A veteran of the action during Operation Scimitar, his flying column had been dispatched from the Trans Jordan region in Palestine to cross 300 miles of desert and relieve the beleaguered garrison at the chief British base projecting air power in the central area, Habbaniyah. There, between Fallujah and Ramadi, northwest of Baghdad, they had come to find a legion of very strange soldiers had already held off the rebellious Iraqi troops, with equipment the like of which he had never seen before.

Kingstone had also fought for Palmyra, but found the German paratroopers there too much for his small column to handle. After that action he had left the Middle East briefly to help organize the new 30th Armored Brigade and his health had then seen him take quieter postings at home. But in this history, he remain robust and fit, and the lure of the desert still called him. He therefore requested, and was granted, a posting to the new British Mandate in Syria, back to his old command.

Now he had been reinforced, with newest armored cars replacing the old Whites and Lafeys. He had the new AEC III and Mark IV Humbers in three companies, and even a few Mark I Humber AA cars for protection against enemy aircraft. It was more fast mobile armor than he had ever seen in those halcyon early days of Habforce and Kingcol, and he admired the new AEC III for its durability, protection and hitting power with that QF 75mm gun. His force was now a proper brigade, with three battalions of motorized infantry, the 1st Essex, Wiltshire Yeomanry and Warwickshire Battalion. Now it was called simply ‘King Force,’ the wildcard in Wavell’s hand.

He had been posted on the Euphrates near Hadithah where the main pipeline came down from Baba Gurgur before splitting to service the two pipelines to Tripoli and Haifa. A tall, stocky officer with a burly build and rough disposition, Kingstone received the news about Aleppo with some surprise.

“We’re to move immediately to Dier es Zour,” he said to Colonel Albert Chambers, who was deputy commander of the force, otherwise known as ‘Big Al.’

“That’s Glubb Pasha’s beat,” said Chambers. “I’m not sure whether he’ll be happy to see us or not.”

Glubb Pasha was still hard at work writing his own legend as the leader of the Arab Legion, a force of about 300 men that scoured the desert looking for disgruntled locals still loyal to the old school governments in the region before the British came. There were many tribes who were also untethered to any flag, roving bands, brigands, desert raiders that had to be watched and kept in check. Though Glubb was not a British serving officer, he was deeply invested in their interests, the new Lawrence of Arabia in these parts, and he could move like the desert wind across shifting sands of this barren terrain, knowing it all like the back of his hand by now.

“I think he was scouting up the Khabur River towards Suwar,” said Kingstone. “Fuzzy Quack’s been milling about up there.” He was referring to the local guerilla fighter and Arab nationalist, Fawsi el Quwukji and his Bedouin raiders. “The clever little scallywag has been trying to get at the pipelines again, but Glubb is onto him—chased him halfway up that river.”

“Well now we’ve got bigger fish to fry,” said Chambers. “I thought we handed Jerry his hat here long ago, but it seems he’s a bone to pick.”

“That is does.” Kingstone put his field glasses into a light field pack and reached for the sandy desert cap he preferred. “Alright, the armored cars were down south. Let’s get them north. I’ll move out the infantry directly.”

“Well who’s going to mind the store here?” asked Chambers.

“10th Indian Division has marching orders too. They’ll be along shortly.”

“4th Cav is out at T1, should we leave them there?”

“No, I’ll need them up north, but they can leave that Ack Ack company at the pumping station. The RAF seems to have things under control, but it might help.”

Unbeknownst to either man, their lives were going to get very busy soon. When Adolf Hitler respawned his ambitions in the Middle East, he sent a secret request to Ivan Volkov, asking him to participate in the operation. Owing the Fuhrer a debt many times over, Volkov pulled together an army from his deep reserve forces in Turkmenistan. Two divisions were raised, the 1st and 2nd Turkomen Infantry, each composed of three Brigades , and they were mustering to sweep into Iran near Gorgon, just east of the Caspian sea. From there they would move to Tehran, finding themselves welcomed by the locals, who were leaning towards Germany all along.

That had been one reason why the British had mounted an invasion of Iran in conjunction with the Soviets in late 1941, but that was in Fedorov’s history. Since Volkov controlled that entire border zone, the Soviets could never join such an operation in this history, and the British had paid it little more than lip survive here. Now that oversight would come back to haunt them.

Hitler had opened his desk drawer and pulled out the same old plans he drafted long ago…. “The struggle against the British positions in the Mediterranean and in Western Asia will be continued by converging attacks launched from Libya through Egypt, from Bulgaria through Turkey, and in certain circumstances also from Transcaucasia through Iran…. If the collapse of the Soviet forces there has created the necessary conditions, preparations will be made for the dispatch of a motorized expeditionary force from Transcaucasia against Iraq, with the aim of further reinforcing the Vichy French position in Syria.”

That last bit was no longer possible, for there was no Vichy French force to reinforce. But the conditions he hoped for had finally presented themselves with the refurbishment of the Turkish rail lines from Istanbul to the Syrian border.

“Once we have obtained freedom of movement in Asia Minor, then the British will soon feel the full weight of German military power. The forces committed to Syria to stop the British offensives must be sustained and supported, but we cannot yet rely on sea communications to the Levant. Therefore the Luftwaffe must do everything possible to protect and preserve these rail lines of communications, should the British see Operation Phoenix as a pretext to violate Turkish neutrality.

“Whether and in what way it may be possible to wreck finally the English position between the Mediterranean and the Persian Gulf, in conjunction with an offensive against Suez Canal, is still in the lap of the Gods…”

The Führer had amended that last phrase to read “a question that can only be answered after Barbarossa.” Now that operation was long over, and he returned to chew on this old bone, like a dog looking for meat wherever he might find it.

The appeal to Volkov was aimed at bolstering his forces when the operation finally reached Iraq, for his strategy was now far more reaching than the mere engagement of British forces in Syria and the Levant. Alexandria and Egypt were no longer the coveted final objectives. Now he was after the oil. Whether he could ever actually use any of it if he conquered the oil fields remained in the lap of the Gods, but he could at least deny its use to the enemy.

It was therefore decided that the push south would move as far as practical to sustain a strong defensive front, while the main effort of the mobile divisions would be aimed at Iraq. This was why the bulk of the Brandenburg Division had turned east towards Ar Raqqah, and while Leutnant Gruber would now begin angling that direction as he continued southwest to approach Palmyra. Yet that town was well shielded on its northern front, by some of the most rugged highlands in the northeastern desert. The stony ground was unsuitable for vehicles, and there were few roads, except at the Tayyibah Pass, which opened near the small village of Al Kwam in the north, ran south through Tayyibah to As Sukhnah northeast of Palmyra. That last town was just a little northeast of the T3 Pumping station, which was the easternmost outpost of Lieutenant General Miles 56th Infantry Division. If the Brandenburgers reached that place, they would be in a perfect position to race southeast, cut the pipeline and flank the 56th.

At the same time, the Germans knew they needed to control the long winding course of the Euphrates, which ran from Ar Raqqah through Dier es Zour and then south to Hadithah and beyond. So as Wavell continued to develop his position, he was moving all his knights and bishops out into the center of the board. He gave a little ground on the coast, pulling the 13th Brigade of 5th Infantry back to Tartus. From there the pawns stretched inland, through the great castle fortress at Masyaf, (pronounced “Ma-sigh-aff”) and further inland to Hamah. That was the first big city he was prepared to fight for, and all the rest of 5th Division was deployed about 25 klicks to the north and west of that place. The first elements of the Indian 31st Armored Division, mostly infantry, would move out to extend the defense to the northeast, and the 32nd Madras Sappers were in the city itself, fresh off the trains.

Halvidar Anandsubramanian was counting his eggs as the men leapt off the train cars, looking for Moonbird. There he was, toting his pack, the canteen jangling, and his arms full of long tubing that the sappers would use to deploy Bangalore Torpedoes.

“Packshee! Be careful now,” he cautioned. “Don’t drop those.”

“I think we are going to attack an enemy bunker,” said the young Private. “If that is so, then let Private Kaling Kapoor be the first.” He smiled, already proud of himself.

“Don’t be hasty, Packshee. First we must see to putting those demolition charges on the city bridges. Weren’t you listening at the briefing?”

“Of course I was. But after that, we attack the bunkers—Yes?”

“No,” said Anand, shaking his head as he folded his arms. They are attacking us! It is our job to stop them first. Only then might they build field fortifications for us to attack. That is what we are doing now—preparing to stop them. So put those down over there by that road cart and go see to the demolition charges first. And don’t drop any of those either.” He frowned, shaking a finger at Moonbird, and struggling to keep from smiling as he watch the lad struggle to manage three Bangalore tubes and his field pack and rifle all at the same time.

There came the sound of distant artillery, and the young man turned his head, his eyes alight. Combat, the sound rolling in like thunder from the north. This was more excitement than he had had for many months, and he was very eager. The Sergeant winced as he saw him nearly drop a Bangalore tube, but he managed, and went clattering off towards the cart.

The sound they had heard were the 25 pounders of 156th Field Artillery Regiment, 17th Brigade, 5th Division. They were on the line due north of the city, and now the German 10th Motorized Division under General Schmidt had come up to begin the attack on Hamah. This would be the first relatively cohesive defense the Germans had faced, and their own forces were starting to deploy into a line of battle as they swerved left and right off the road.

On the coast, opposite 13th Brigade, the Germans were moving up the 6th Mountain Division, and the troops of the Prinz Eugen Mountain Division, all well suited to the rugged mountainous terrain in that sector. General Kubler himself, the commander of 49th Giebergs Korps had not even arrived yet with his own 1st Division, but he was coming. The Germans were now building up like water behind a thin dam north of Hamah, with 6th Mountain on the northwest flank, then Prinz Eugen, 10th Motorized, and finally the 3rd and 4th Panzer Divisions.

Guderian had finally arrived in force.

The first probing attack by 10th Motorized had been held off, the 25 Pounders timely and spot on with their defensive fires. But that single British division, even reinforced by 31st Indian Armored, was not going to be anywhere near enough to hold for any length of time. Speed and concentration of force were the hallmarks of Guderian’s approach, and he was demonstrating the same mercurial skills in the art of maneuver warfare as he had in Russia, his spirits revitalized after those desperate frozen months in the drive on Moscow.

“What is in front of us?” he asked Schmidt of 10th Motorized when he reached the scene.

“A mixed force. It looks to be a regular British Infantry Brigade, and now we’ve seen Indian motorized infantry coming up to support their right flank. But my division is in good order.”

“Well, if you were moving fast enough that would not be the case!” said Guderian. “Alright, you can cover Schneider’s move around their flank.” Now the General looked at the commander of 4th Panzer.

“I’m already executing a wide envelopment to the east,” said Schneider. “I have infantry and the recon battalion south of Hamah! There’s nothing there. We can bypass and go right into Homs if you wish.”

“I do not wish that,” said Guderian. “We don’t want Homs, or even Hamah. They deployed much too far forward, so now we’ll make them pay for that. We can get the mountain divisions up much quicker to establish their defensive front. Then we move all of Hube’s 14th Panzer Korps east. Westhoven’s 3rd Panzer is just coming in by rail. I’ll have them follow your tracks. Herr Schmidt, continue with your envelopment, but be ready to pull out on a moment’s notice to move east. Kubler’s divisions will fix them in place, but I want the Panzer Divisions to push right into this gap here—right astride that pipeline that runs from Homs east to Palmyra.”

“What about the Brandenburgers?” asked Hube.

“Forget about them for the time being. I sent them to Ar Raqqah and the Euphrates. Once we get in to position, then your division moves on Palmyra. When we do so, speed will be of the essence. Leading units should bypass enemy strong points and push on. Be relentless.”

The Brandenburgers were already moving on their first big objective at Ar Raqqah. They had raced east, below the bend of the Euphrates, where Langen’s 4th Regiment crossed to approach the city from the north. Konrad’s Lehr Regiment and Duren’s 3rd Regiment then moved along the south bank of the river. Most of the city sat on the north bank of the Euphrates, with two good bridges over the river. To the east was hill 266, a good point to overlook the town itself, and the airfield was just north of this feature, on a low plateau bounded on the north by a canal and stream that reached down to the Euphrates. There was higher ground south of those bridges, the heights of Tell Assaad, Qaret el Beit, and Qaret Hajana. Beckermann wanted that high ground, for it would not only serve to cut off the enemy garrison from any retreat south, but he could also post his artillery there.

Those three regiments should be enough to take the city, or so he believed. The 1st and 2nd Regiments were already well to the south, racing for that gap in the rugged highlands, Tayyibah Pass.

Chapter 18

“What’s the situation?” asked Wavell. He had flown in to the airfield at Homs, and was shocked to learn that German recon units were already feeling their way around the position north of Hamah. 10th Army commander, General Quinan, was there along with his III Corps commander, General Anderson, and the newly arrived General Walter Clutterbuck of the 1st Infantry Division. That unit had been the Palestine garrison force, but Wavell had already sent two of its brigades north to meet the enemy, one to reinforce the coast against the German mountain troops, and the second right there at Homs, arriving at a most opportune time.

“Jerry’s got round our right,” said Quinan. “Ficklin is too far forward. Remember what happened to Percival in Malaya,” he admonished. “We’ve gone and done the same thing—too far forward, and the Germans are simply bypassing our line at Hamah.”

“Well where’s the bloody Indian Armored Division?” asked Wavell, somewhat irritated.

“Half of it went on up to Hamah, mostly the infantry and engineers. The other half is right here where we need them.”

“What have we identified on the other side?” Wavell leaned over the map.

“4th Panzer is moving in here, just east of our position where we stand. 10th Motorized is on the line facing off with Ficklin. The rest are the mountain troops, west to the coast at Tartus.”

“What about the Brandenburgers?”

“They went east to Ar Raqqah.”

“I see… Well the French won’t hold that for very long. Has King Force moved?”

“Yes sir, they reached Dier-ez-Zour this morning,” said Anderson. That wasn’t exactly true. The fast moving 4th Cavalry was there, but most of King Force was still strung out along the long road from Hadithah, and they were getting low on petrol.

“The good news is that 10th Indian has come up from Baghdad,” said Quinan. “The head of their column is at Hadithah.”

“Can the French get out of Ar Raqqah?”

“They might. The secondary road on the east bank of the river is still open. But if they can hold on a few days that would buy us time.”

“Yes, but at the cost of that brigade,” said Wavell. “I want them out of there. They can move south to link up with King Force and the Indian Division. Then we’ll have enough in hand to make a stand. Glubb Pasha is at Dier-ez-Zour. He can get the French to good ground if they can get south. As it stands, Ar Raqqah isn’t important to us at the moment.”

“Well sir,” said Anderson. “Most of the country east of the Euphrates is fairly wild—Bedu trash and such. Glubb Pasha is up there running them hither and thither every other week. From Ar Raqqah Jerry can just push on east and he can be in Iraq in two days. I daresay those bandits up there would roll out the welcome mat for the Germans.”

“Quite likely,” said Wavell, “but I’ve looked that over and taken measures to prevent it. 5th Indian Division has moved down from Kirkuk. They can serve as a blocking force if Jerry moves as you suggest. Get the French moving. We’ll do much better fighting for Dier-ez-Zour. Ar Raqqah is too far north, just as you cautioned a moment ago.”

“Very good sir.”

“Alright then, what shall we do about Hamah?” Wavell looked them all over. Clutterbuck was quiet, having only just arrived, and deferring to the senior officer present, Anderson.

“Holding Hamah covers the road through Masyaf to the coast, but Ficklin’s 5th is trying to hold a front of nearly 90 kilometers. It just won’t do. They’ll turn his right flank tomorrow, if not today. RAF says there’s still a lot of movement up north on both road and rail lines. They may just be shaking themselves out and getting ready to move.”

“You say Ficklin is 25 klicks north of Hamah?”

“Yes sir, right about here, I should think.”

“Then let’s get him back closer to the city. He can still hold on at Masyaf, but his line can move right through Hamah… and general Clutterbuck.”

“Sir?”

“Would you move anything you have at hand up this road? That should help cover Ficklin’s flank.”

“Right sir, I can send three battalions directly.”

“Good. Your 2nd Brigade is still at Beirut, am I correct?”

“It is, sir.”

“Then have it put on the trains and bring it here. As for that armor, when it gets here it will be our inside counterpunch if they break through towards Homs.”

“And what if they bypass?” asked Anderson. “They can reach the Tripoli Pipeline in another day or so.”

Wavell took a deep breath, rubbing his forehead, and looking very old and tired. “Then we fight,” he said. “They can’t very well leave what amounts to two divisions in their rear. They can run about if they please, but they’ll have to deal with us, won’t they? When 46th Division arrives things will look a good deal different. So we hold on, and we fight them. After all, that is what we’re here for.”

It certainly was.

John Bagot Glubb had taken his fabled Arab Legion right up the road from Dier-ez-Zour to perhaps the most defensible ground in the region. To the west, the imposing heights of Jabal Buliyah rose above stony flanks that were scored in every direction by dee winding wadis. It was therefore quite difficult to attempt any flanking move from that direction, particularly for motorized troops. To the east was the river, and beyond it the barren reaches of the Syrian Desert. That flank might be turned, but only by a force on that side of the river, and the only crossing points were up near Ar Raqqah. So any force that came down the main road on the west bank of the Euphrates would simply have to try and bull their way through the blocking position he had set up.

A fluent speaker of Arabic, and well-schooled in the ways of both the desert and the Bedouin tribes that inhabited the place, Glubb proved most useful. He learned everything he knew the hard way, in the desert itself, where he had once taken a 500 mile camel ride with the tribes. Now he adopted their ways, earning their growing respect as he did so, a leader from the British Empire that was embraced as one of their own.

To look at him one would not think the man capable of the things history recorded in his name. He was a diminutive, almost impish figure, with a round bulbous nose, deep blue eyes, sandy hair and ruddy complexion, with a small mustache. A wisp of a smile was often on his lips, and he listened much more than he ever spoke. The wound he had suffered in WWI when a bullet grazed his chin gave him an odd, cheeky look, and he had a quiet disposition that belied the inner strength of the man.

His troops were also strong men, hardened by the desert, a wild streak in them, but also the hardness of rock, and an implacable nature that would make them tenacious fighters. They had been recruited into the legion, wearing British uniforms, but with Arab headdress and the legion badge of a Royal crown above two curved scimitars. Their thick belts held a pistol on one side and a curved dagger on the other to augment their rifle or sub-machinegun. Bandoliers of ammunition were strung from each shoulder, the bullets jutting like sharp teeth. How Glubb had won their hearts is not entirely known, but they worshiped him, and would follow him anywhere.

He had set up at the village of Aannabe, astride the main road and on the heights of Tel Salem about 5 kilometers to the west. At noon on the 13th, he saw troops approaching, and the fists of his men tightened on their weapons. Glubb wasn’t a man to be taken by surprise. He had his small armored car company about 10 kilometers up the road, and now they reported by radio that the dust in the distance was a column of French troops—the Free French Brigade that had retreated from Ar Raqqah.

That was to be expected, he thought. Better to have them here with us than to fight it out alone up there. He got on the radio and passed the word on to Brigadier Kingstone, who had finally reached Dier-ez-Zour after a 175 mile road march over the last two days. The news he conveyed had a barb in it, for the French had reported that the Germans were now advancing on both sides of the river. Kingstone contacted the French, asking them to withdraw on Dier-ez-Zour and cross east of the river at Ayyash to cover that flank. He could then backstop both positions from this position in the city, and the 10th Indian Division was only a day behind him.

So Glubb settled in, brewing up a cuppa on the heights of Tel Salem, and looked over his “girls.” That’s what the British regulars called them, “Glubb’s Girls,” though they meant no disrespect. They did so because in spite of the fact that the Arabs were all issued uniforms, they insisted on wearing their flowing white desert robes over them, and their long dark hair streamed in the wind when they were on the move. But these ladies were not to be trifled with. They had a singular ardor for battle, and could often be heedlessly brave, forsaking any thought of their own personal safety in the interest of honor, and sometimes, vengeance.

They were a sharp sword that Glubb had somehow managed to sheath and carry on the hip of the British Empire, even though he was not technically in the service of His Majesty’s armed forces any longer. He had resigned his commission to focus on leading the Arab Legion, and today he had led it here to this desolate place, to face one of the best divisions in the German Army.

Oberst Frieburg had taken his 1st Regiment of the Brandenburgers right through Tayyibah Pass. Leutnant Gruber led the way, and when they reached As Sukhnah, they found a battalion of British regulars well entrenched around the village. They were the 9th Royal Fusiliers, a tripwire defense to warn of any enemy encroachment in that area, but now they would face a difficult fight. Frieburg deployed to attack on all sides, and by noon it was a veritable Rorke’s Drift of a position, machine guns rattling, mortars firing, infantry advancing under cover of smoke.

The Fusiliers, though badly outnumbered, held on in their slit trenches all afternoon. Near dusk the fighting subsided, and taking advantage of a gap in the enemy encirclement, the British leapt to their trucks and raced south. The alarm was raised, and that had prompted General Miles at Palmyra to deploy the bulk of his forces there to cover that flank. Unfortunately, that was exactly what Guderian had intended, for that regiment of the Brandenburgers was merely meant to make a demonstration by occupying that pass. They were in a position to move either east to Dier-ez-Zour, or west to Palmyra, and in either case, they would be severing the vital Tripoli pipeline.

As darkness fell, the British did not yet know how big the force was in the Tayyibah Pass, nor did they know that they had no intention of proceeding west to threaten Palmyra. General Beckermann was still deciding how to proceed after mopping up at Ar Raqqah.

“The French wanted nothing to do with us,” he said to Konrad. “Since we have them by the balls back in France, it’s no surprise they have none here.” The General was looking over his map.

“Look at that terrain to the west,” said Oberst Langen. “That’s impossible to flank if we take this main road.”

“Then take your regiment east of the river. Konrad, your Lehr Regiment goes with him. Take this junction here, and demonstrate towards Dier-ez-Zour. I want to see what they have up their sleeves there.”

“You mean to attack it from that side of the river? That won’t be easy. It looks like there is only one small bridge.”

“I don’t mean to attack it at all. You two are going to Baba Gurgur. The only reason we need Dier-ez Zour is for a watering hole. That said, Frieburg is already through this gap here. I’m ordering him east towards that place to support your approach. That move cuts their precious pipeline, but I don’t want that infrastructure destroyed. We’re going to need it after this is over. Once we determine what they are doing, then I make the decision on how and when we move into Iraq. Oberst Duren, that leaves you. Take 3rd Regiment right down the main road, and I’m adding both the Panzerjaegers and Pioneers to your force. Let’s see if they want to fight for that town.”

Beckermann was privy to plans Guderian had laid out before the battle. He knew that the main drive south was going to see a panzer division directed at Palmyra from the west, a force that would then come east to the river along that pipeline route. 4th Panzer had been in the lead, but Guderian had stopped it to rest and refuel. Right behind it, he had a very fresh 3rd Panzer Division, for they had come most of the way by rail. Detrained and ready to move on the morning of the 14th, he sent the division through the ground taken earlier by the 4th, now prepared to execute the plan he had devised.

As he predicted, the British used their rail lines to rapidly move forces north from Beirut, Palestine and Damascus. He had no intention of fighting for any of those cities, or allowing himself to get bogged down in costly and time consuming street fighting. Instead, he wanted to quickly extricate his mobile divisions, and then send the rest of Hube’s 14th Panzer Korps east in the wake of 3rd Panzer Division. The ground he now occupied would be held by the 49th Giebergs Korps, and to that end, Kruger was finally arriving on the main rail line with his 1st Mountain Division. He would now command three divisions of those tough mountain troops, and with no other aim but to hold the line, keep the British in check, and prevent them from any move north that could threaten the main supply base at Aleppo.

Thus far, everything was going according to plan. He was still one step ahead of the British in the footrace, and he hoped to stay there. Speed, he thought. One can never be too tidy if you really want to move. Speed in war is a dirty and chaotic business, but one horse given free reins will always get farther than three pulling a wagon. I already sent my thoroughbred east, and they have delivered Ar Raqqah right on schedule. But I cannot send just that single division into Iraq, strong as it may be. Now I must move to phase II of my plan, and speed is of the essence here—breakneck speed.

Even resting 4th Panzer for a day saw the General ill at ease and hankering to get moving again. For war was war, a wayward bride and one given to rash fits on a whim. Things would happen that would test the mettle of every unit involved, for the stakes were higher and most truly realized, in this world and all those that came after.