Three Kings

Chapter 13

Rommel waited in the outer room, his mind set on the meeting he would soon have with the Führer at the Chancellery, his thoughts on what he might receive — his oak leaves cluster for the Iron Cross! It was long overdue, he thought. I should have had it months ago. What do I have to do, lobby the general staff to get about the appropriate delivery of well earned laurels, just as I did in the last war?

He was a rare holder of the famous Pour le Merite, the blue cross on gold that came to be called the “Blue Max” in the last war. It was a coveted and rare honor, but one he had to ungraciously request of his superiors, believing it was his by entitlement. In spite of the blatant effrontery of his request, he got his medal, joining notable historical figures like Blucher and Moltke who received it for their past glory, and men the great ships of the navy were all now named after: Otto von Bismarck, Paul Hindenburg, Gneisenau, Scharnhorst, Tirpitz and Admiral Scheer. He also joined contemporaries like Hermann Goring, Richtofen, Von Bock, Mackensen and Schörner.

Erwin Johannes Eugen Rommel was a driven man, highly decorated from his exploits in the First World War, and flush with his recent mad dash across France, all the way to the Channel Coast. The enemy never knew what hit them. Rommel’s 7th Panzer Division moved like the lightning in the cloud of the German blitzkrieg, appearing with sudden violence on the enemy flank, smashing in to attack, and then vanishing in a column of smoke and dust only to appear somewhere else six hours later. The French came to call it the “Ghost Division,” an apparition of fire and steel that devoured one retreating column after another, leapt over every obstacle, crossing rivers as if magically transported to the other side, and always pressing forward with a steady, relentless attack.

History seldom recorded the means by which he achieved that victory, by pushing his men and tanks to the uttermost extreme, and using every means necessary to sustain his advance, even stealing the bridging equipment of other adjacent divisions to get over the river obstacles first — and then complaining that his confederate divisions were too slow, and always falling behind. That also took a lot of gall and nerve, but it was not beneath a man so driven to achievement, and the recognition that came with it, that Erwin Rommel seemed to thrive on and crave. So today he would get his oak leaves, he thought, eager to take his meeting with the Führer.

After the capitulation of France that he had so ably helped to engineer, he was delighted to be selected to help create a nice memorial film of those exploits, entitled “Victory in the West,” where he was to re-enact the battles he had fought so brilliantly for the propaganda cameras. After that he had put together a meticulously prepared memoir of his campaign, complete with maps to accompany the narrative, which he sent to Hitler for his review — and the obvious reminder that he was a commander that should not be overlooked.

Well they’ve taken notice now, haven’t they? Rommel smiled, his sapphire eyes alight. My oak leaves are well in order, he thought, but he was soon to learn that he had not been summoned here to receive another medal, but to fight another battle. In spite of his disappointment in not getting his oak leaves that day, he would get something much more than he expected, his first independent command.

“You may come in,” said the staff attendant as he opened the door, and Rommel raised his chin, adjusted the fit of his hat and officer’s coat, and stepped forward. He was a proud man, and every feature spoke to that pride, the high forehead, penetrating blue eyes, prominent nose. And yet, there were lines at the corners of his mouth that betrayed the long work of many smiles. Rommel’s temperament also knew the delight of life, the fruits of love in his marriage to his dear Lucie, and his willful nature accomplished much to keep that smile there, and soften the hard features that reflected his commanding will so artfully.

“Ah, General Rommel,” said the Führer as Rommel saluted. “Look here! Someone else is competing for the headlines and movie picture shows for a change.” Hitler was across the room standing at a thick wooden table, where he set down a magazine, sliding it ignominiously in Rommel’s direction as he came up. There the general saw the image of a white haired British officer, leather straps across his chest, riding crop in hand. Rommel had seen photos of this man before, and he knew he was looking at a cover of the commander of the Western Desert Force, General Richard O’Connor.

“That man is raising hell with the Italians,” said Hitler darkly, “just as Volkov said he would. He will have to be dealt with. In the last weeks he has thrown them out of Egypt, taken Sidi Barani, Sollum, Bardia and now even Tobruk! This incompetent Italian General — what is his name again?”

“Graziani, my Führer.” It was Keitel who spoke now, standing beside Hitler on the other side of the table, eyeing the magazines with a deplorable look on his face, and giving Rommel an occasional glance, as if sizing the man up.

“Yes, well first they tell us they had no need of German troops in support of their invasion — can we call it that? Invasion? All they did was to cross the Egyptian frontier and set up defensive encampments. Now this man here, this General O’Connor, has raced in behind them and set them running for Tripoli. If he persists he will take Benghazi in short order, and after that, the way to Tripoli will be open, and the British would be fools not to take that prize.”

Hitler shook his head, obviously quite upset about these developments. “The Italians!” he fumed. “They are more trouble than they are worth. Volkov was correct! They sit with their navy in Taranto and La Spezia and do little with all those good ships they have. They have botched this offensive into Egypt, and instead of settling affairs there, they invade Greece! Now they want me to bail them out of the ditch they have dug in the desert, and I am inclined to let them sit there and stew for another month for their incompetent insolence. In fact, I would do so if not for this O’Connor. He moves too fast, moves with determination, and he has just beaten an Italian force three times his size, or so Keitel here tells me.”

“By our best estimates he was outnumbered nine divisions to three,” said Keitel, “if the British even had that many troops in the attack. Yet, as the Führer states, the results cannot be argued with. We have learned he is pushing on from Tobruk, and may cut the Italians off here.” Now Keitel produced a map, placing it on the table and pointing a heavy finger at a spot on the African coast south of Benghazi. “Beda Fomm,” he said. If he gets there first, Graziani’s troops will be trapped in Cyrenaica and invested.”

“So as much as I would like them to stew in their own mess,” said Hitler, “I must do something about this. The British must be kept out of Tripoli at all cost, and all of Tripolitania must be held. This is imperative if we are ever to make use of this desert to get at the British in Egypt. You are the man I have selected for the job.”

At this Rommel raised his chin, eyes bright with the glitter of anticipation. “I am honored, my Führer.”

“Yes? Well I looked over that battle memoir you sent me on France, and I was quite impressed. Your division has been training for the invasion of England, and you have been making movies, eh? Well I have other work for you now — real work. We’ll make another show of things in the desert soon enough.”

“My Führer, I will show this British General how 7th Panzer Division fights, if that is what you order.”

“I have no doubt that you will,” said Hitler. “But it will not be the 7th Panzer Division. We need them on the continent at the moment. Instead I am giving you another division. Keitel?”

“The 5th Light Division. Hans Funck had it and then Generalmajor Streich, but we do not think either man is well suited to the task.”

“Funck is an aristocrat,” said Hitler, giving Keitel a sidelong glance. “Streich is no more than a regimental commander, his Knight’s Cross aside. I need a man like you, Rommel, someone who knows how to inspire the men under him. Everything I have seen and heard about you tells me that you are just the right man for this assignment, and so our new Afrika Korps will be yours.”

“A single division to start with,” said Keitel. “The 5th Light was just created, a bit of a patchwork quilt at the moment. We took 5th Panzer Regiment from the 3rd Panzer Division, and stitched in a motorized Panzerjager battalion, a little artillery, and some infantry, the 200th Schutzen Rifle Regiment with a pair of machinegun battalions. I have no doubt that you will know how to put them to good use.”

Rommel glowed under the praise, the smile coming easily now, and one of many more he would share with his wife Lucie in his letters home from North Africa in the months ahead. Now Keitel gave him a briefing, and outlined the plan the General Staff had in mind.

“This business in Gibraltar is all but concluded, we have moved an infantry division to Morocco to give the French a little backbone there. Now we need to stiffen up the Italians. With Gibraltar in hand and the French as active belligerents, we have thrown the British out of the Western Mediterranean. Yes, they beat us to the Atlantic Islands, but that is of little concern to us for the moment. They can have the Canary they have caught, but they may soon find that bird in hand is not worth the two in the bush we now see in Egypt. That is the real prize, Rommel. Egypt and the Suez Canal.”

“Precisely,” said Hitler. “The Italians thought they would have it by now, but this O’Connor has given them a sound beating. Here we are at war with Britain, and yet German troops haven’t seen a Tommy since we showed them how to fight at Dunkirk. Now it is time we teach them another lesson.”

“We have dispatched the 5th Light to Tripoli,” said Keitel. “It will be enough at the outset to form a blocking force here.” He pointed to a spot on the map at the base of the Gulf of Sirte. “Funck does not think it will be enough to stop the British, and OKW will be sending you more but, for now, that is your assignment — stop this General O’Connor and get his picture out of the headlines.”

Rommel’s eyes betrayed the energy of his mind, as he was already writing new headlines of his own. He had every confidence that he could do the job, even with this single division that was not yet completely formed. Hitler set his dark eyes on him, and reinforced his own thinking on the matter. Volkov’s warning was in his mind now, and his admonition to send strong forces to North Africa.

“The British will be at the end of their tether, with both personnel and equipment exhausted by now. They won’t get much farther with those old tanks of theirs. The Italians are one thing, but if they come up against some well equipped German troops it will be another kettle of fish. First — stop them and cover the approached to Sirte and Tripoli, but don’t get pulled in to a pointless battle until you have adequate force in hand. Benghazi is a useful port, which should be taken at your earliest opportunity. From Taranto we can use it to steer clear of British planes on Malta until I determine what to do about that annoyance.”

“Yet, if I turn north to Benghazi,” said Rommel, “then I will expose my right to a potential British counterattack. Two divisions would solve that problem.” He was already angling for more men and material.

“In time,” said Keitel. “If you can pull the Italians already there together, all the better. Mussolini has promised to send two armored divisions, if they can be called as much. We will send you another Panzer Division soon enough.”

“In the meantime,” said Hitler, “stop this man.” The Führer placed his finger heavily upon O’Connor’s cover photo, like the hand of fate and doom itself meting out his judgment.

Rommel smiled, knowing he would be that doom, and that his fate was now to be in his own hands there in North Africa. Stop him I will, he thought. But I will do a good deal more than that if I get the troops and supplies I need. He was aware that there were many, in all three services, that now believed the war was destined to head to the Middle East. Hitler insisted on maintaining and building a large standing army on the Russian frontier, but the fall of Gibraltar had opened exciting new possibilities. With the right force in hand, and adequate supplies, he thought he could go all the way to the Suez Canal in 90 days. That thought was now uppermost in his mind.

“And what about Egypt?” Rommel asked the obvious next question.

“It will take us time to build up the forces necessary for such a drive,” said Keitel. “The desert is a singularly harsh environment. Everything an army needs to fight there must be provided, and I am not simply speaking of tanks and ammunition now. You need food, water, petrol, supplies of every kind, and all of it must move over water to Tripoli and then by truck. The farther you move east, the longer that supply line becomes. It is over 1400 miles from Tripoli to Alexandria, and there is only one good road along the coast. Moving supply trucks that distance will consume fuel, perhaps half of everything we send you for your fighting troops. We will see what the Vichy French might send us from Tunisia and Algeria. After all, we have just given them a nice house warming gift in the 77th Infantry Division, so they owe us a favor or two.”

“Yet we cannot ask the French to do anything substantial,” said Hitler. “You will be lucky to get some trucks, supplies and a single brigade from them. If we go for the Suez Canal, then German troops must do the work.”

“I can take it in 90 days if adequately supported,” said Rommel, nipping himself mentally for revealing his thoughts at this early stage of the planning.

Hitler gave him a discerning look, as if he were seeing something in him that spoke of events yet to come, of victories and new glory for the German Reich, and a final end to the stubborn resistance of the British Empire.

“I like confidence in a man,” said the Führer. “Look what Dietl did up in Narvik. Conditions were harsh there as well, but he managed. I have every confidence that you will do the same. The road to Suez may be a hard one, but we will get there with a steady hand on the tiller and a firm command of the situation. Between your position and Ivan Volkov’s troops and all that oil in Orenburg, there is nothing but the British Colonies in the Middle East. The French already have Syria, and both Iran and Iraq are leaning our way. The Iraqis are already asking for our support, and I will see to that soon enough. As for Turkey, I will see to them in time as well. At the moment, the British are the only real threat. Until I can make further assignments to your new Afrika Korps, stop O’Connor’s advance and await further troops and supplies. I hereby appoint you Befehlshaber, Commander in Chief of all German Forces in North Africa — the troops in Morocco excepted. Those will stay in the Western Command. We have plans there as well.”

It was a significant post, and Rommel fully appreciated what he was now being told. Befehlshaber, he thought with some excitement. That is better than a Korps Commander! They are giving me the defense of Libya, but I will give them something more than they expect. He saluted again, then offered his hand to Hitler as he made ready to depart.

“I will look forward to your next report,” said Hitler, “and perhaps another good motion picture!”

Chapter 14

His business concluded, Hitler departed with a gaggle of aides and staffers, and Keitel now leaned over the map with Rommel for a more detailed discussion of the operation. “It will be called Sonnenblume,” he said, “Operation Sunflower. That is a perfect image of the whole affair, for in order for that flower to bloom, it depends on the long thin stalk rooted to good ground. Tripoli is the closest port we have that can do the job, but even that will permit only five or six ships to unload per day — no more than three to five thousand tons of supplies.”

“That will certainly supply my division, and the brunt of the fighting will be in Cyrenaica, with plentiful water supplies. That said, what about the drive to Egypt?”

“This is the real problem, Rommel.” Keitel seemed to brood now. “Halder believes the most we can possibly support through Tripoli is three divisions. Give us Benghazi and we can support one more. That will give you a single German Korps. The Führer has eyes on Russia. This you should well know. I am trying to dissuade him from attacking there, but he seems determined to do so in time. It is only 600 miles from the Polish frontier to Moscow, and he has fifty divisions there. It is twice that distance from Tripoli to Alexandria, and we will be lucky to give you five divisions when all is said and done.”

“Will we undertake both operations at once?”

“Not at the outset. I do not think the Führer will issue orders for a full fledged invasion of Russia for at least six months. That is all the time you will have to see if this Mediterranean strategy Raeder keeps talking about is viable.”

“Rest assured, Keitel, I will stop O’Connor, and send the British reeling all the way back to the Nile.”

“Stop them first, as the Führer has ordered. Whether we ever get to the Nile remains to be seen.”

“You seem to have considerable doubts about it,” said Rommel.

“That is because I am a realist. They don’t appoint old men to lead cavalry charges, Rommel, but we set up all the horses in nice neat little rows before everything begins — we do the planning, hand out the sabres and steeds. I have little doubt that you and your men can beat the British, but this campaign will be won or lost by the supply trucks, not your tanks, which will become nothing more than stationary metal pill boxes when they run out of gasoline. Yes? So we must give serious thought as to how we can possibly support a major campaign against Egypt and the other British holdings in the Middle East.”

“That is simple,” said Rommel with a smile. “I’ll capture British supplies as I move forward!”

Keitel returned his smile, realizing he had a real cavalry officer here, and that Rommel was chafing at the bit. Was he really the right man for this assignment? Perhaps we should have appointed someone like Manstein, a sound strategist who also knows how to calculate logistics. Manstein would want us to extend a rail line from Tripoli, as far east as we could push it. How could he communicate the importance of logistics to a man like Rommel? He tapped the Nile river with his pencil.

“If you ever set eyes on the Nile, General, you will find yourself nearly 1500 miles from your primary supply base in Tripoli. Then what will you do? The Nile Delta is a maze of rivers, canals and marshes. Every bridge on the river will be blown up in your face.”

“That didn’t stop me in France.”

“No? Well in France you had friendly forces massed behind you, good rail lines and a road net to move up supplies, and only over a distance of a few hundred miles. Consider that before you plan any offensive east, and remember, your orders now are to fight a defensive battle, nothing more. Stop O’Connor and then let us see what we can do to build up your force for future operations.”

Rommel eyed the map quietly, pointing at a spot near Sicily. “What about Malta?” There it sat, right astride the convoy routes they would need to reach Tripoli with all the troops and supplies that must land there. Keitel raised an eyebrow, not expecting the issue to come up here.

“Yes,” said Keitel. “Malta. It could become a problem. At the moment it is not much of a threat, and the Italians believe they can pound it to dust with their air force.”

“Now they begin to sound like Goring,” said Rommel. “If the British build up strength there, it will choke this supply line you are so concerned about — a nice fat stone in the neck of the goose.”

Keitel was pleasantly surprised to hear such an appraisal from a man like Rommel. “We are considering the matter,” he said. “Student has the 7th Flieger Division itching to do something. We are already knee deep in the Balkans. Some discussion has been going around about opening another route to the Suez Canal from that direction, a nice right pincer to compliment your operations down that long desert road. But to do that we will have to hop from one enemy held island to another — from Greece to Crete, to Cyprus, and then perhaps we can make the final jump into Syria to join the Vichy French. That’s a big operation, and in the meantime, I am trying to interest Student in another plan — Malta.”

Rommel nodded. “Considering that the Italians will be delivering the supplies, I can only find myself hoping their navy does a little better than Graziani. Yet now that we have Gibraltar, what is to stop us from sending our own navy into the Mediterranean? I have heard Admiral Raeder’s arguments about the southern approach across the desert. Will he support me once I get there?”

“I would not count on it,” Keitel admonished, “and we haven’t the merchant shipping in any case. At the moment, we must rely on Regia Marina, or perhaps the Vichy French.”

In this Keitel was being deliberately evasive. He knew of secret plans already underway that would indeed see some rather dramatic developments in the Mediterranean, and one of them involved Malta. In fact, Keitel had worked out a plan with ‘Smiling Albert’ Kesselring and Student, taking it to Jodl and Raeder to see what they thought on the matter. What he wanted to know now was what Rommel was thinking. He would be the commander on the ground, and the man most likely to gain or lose on the question of Malta. Was he in favor of such an operation?

“Suppose we forsake Malta, and the British reinforce it with considerable air units. What then? You know damn well that your army cannot live off the desert, nor on captured British supplies.”

Now it was Rommel’s turn to raise an eyebrow, inwardly seeing difficulties in all of this talk of supplies, and wanting nothing whatsoever to do with it. In the history Fedorov knew, he would learn the hard lessons of logistics in the desert, after two long years of bitter struggle there. Only then would he come to write: “The first essential condition for an army to be able to stand the strain of battle is an adequate stock of weapons, petrol, and ammunition. In fact, the battle is fought and decided by the quartermasters before the shooting begins. The bravest men can do nothing without guns, the guns nothing without plenty of ammunition: and neither guns nor ammunition are of much use in mobile warfare unless there are vehicles with sufficient petrol to haul them around.”

Now however, all he wanted to do was to get down to the desert and beat the British. Then he would see how long it took before those oak leaves showed up for his Knight’s Cross.

He put his hand in his pocket. And his finger found the hole there, the one he had neglected to mend days ago when he first discovered it. Now the pocket was useless, and could hold nothing if value until it was sewn. A stitch in time, he thought. Yes… even he could see the shadow Malta cast on his prospects. He had been opposed to the plan when he first heard about it, thinking it would only draw off supplies and troops he might need himself in the desert. But now he passed a strange moment of inward thought, as if he were seeing the long desert road ahead of him, and hearing the melancholy regret that would later inspire those words on the matter of logistics. It was as if an inner sixth sense was warning him now, whispering of a doom he could not yet see or believe possible, but one that would be his undoing in the months ahead.

He compromised with the inner fear that came with that strange thought, that rising wary feeling within him. Malta was largely undefended at this point in the war. A quick operation to seize it should not cause him any delay or concern in his own planning. So, when the conference concluded, he made one last suggestion to Keitel on the matter, and it fell like a stone in the quiet pool of the other man’s thinking on the subject.

“Take Malta as soon as possible,” he said. “Take it before the British realize what they already have in hand, and start sending reinforcements there. Then give me everything you can, Keitel. Give me the tanks and supplies, and I promise you — I will give you Egypt in return.”

Yes, he thought. I will give them Egypt, and after that, I will carry the war on my shoulders all the way to the Caspian Sea. He could see it all now, and he knew it was more than possible. Then they will have all the oil they might ever need, he thought, but to do that I will need the supplies and fuel Keitel speaks of first. The 5th Light Division is hardly enough to get started, but I will not know that until I am on the ground in Libya. If I find myself begging for table scraps, starved of men, fuel, and material, then things might not turn out to the Führer’s liking. But I do know one thing — Hitler loves a good victory, doesn’t he? So that is exactly what he will get.

Keitel had his answer from Rommel, and now he knew that there would not be objection or difficulties on his end of things if his own plan went forward. He had Jodl and Raeder in his corner, and Kesselring too. Now he wanted to sound out the mind of yet one other key officer before he face the real challenge of trying to persuade Hitler. That man was Franz Halder, the Chief of the OKH General Staff at that time.

Keitel had taken Rommel’s advice to heart, at least on one matter, the importance of Malta to any future effort to supply an army in North Africa. So now he sought to raise the matter with Halder, and the two men went round and round with it before a decision was reached.

“Crete would seem to be a more inviting target,” said Halder, Chief of the OKH General Staff at that time. He removed his cap, tucking it under his arm as he ran a hand over his short cropped hair, which he wore in Hindenburg style after the famous German Chancellor, a half inch thick brush on top, and shorter on the sides. His eyes played over the map behind the round wire frame spectacles he wore, his face serious as he considered the situation.

“We are not in a position to attack Crete at the moment.”

“That will change soon enough. We’ll finish up in Greece in another month, and from there we can make the jump easily with Student’s 7th Flieger Division and the 22nd Luftland Air Landing Division. Throw in a mountain regiment by sea and that should be all it takes to do the job.”

“Yes, yes, I have seen the plans, but we must look at the bigger picture, Halder. We’ve sent Rommel to Africa with the 5th Light Division, and I have plans to send him at least two more divisions, five if we can find the shipping. How do you propose that we keep them supplied?”

“You’ve been talking to Raeder?”

Keitel gave him a disparaging look. “What has that to do with anything? I am well aware of his views concerning the Mediterranean strategy, but at the moment this is purely a consideration of logistics — a matter for the army. If we put men in the deserts of Libya and Egypt, then they will have to be supplied. We have one good port at the moment — Tripoli — and Malta sits right astride the sea lanes we must use to get there.”

“Rommel had no trouble landing his troops,” Halder put in.

“That is because the British have yet to build up their air defenses on Malta, but you know they will, particularly if we do begin a stronger buildup of forces in North Africa.”

Halder folded his arms, not entirely convinced that Rommel should even be there. “You are aware of the Führer’s plans regarding Operation Barbarossa?”

“Of course I am, but that is six months off — perhaps even a year if I can talk some sense into the man. For my part, I believe we would be foolish to attack Russia anytime soon, if at all.”

“You forget the oil, Keitel. Volkov has plenty, but we need a way to get our hands on it. The fields of Ploesti in Romania will only take us so far — and that is another reason we should take Crete. If we leave it to the British they will build up defenses there as well, and from Crete their bombers can reach Ploesti. Yet, if we have that island, we can use it to bomb Alexandria.”

“Volkov?” Keitel darkened at the mention of the man’s name. “Yes, Ivan Volkov, always whispering in the Fuhrer’s ear with those intelligence messages he keeps sending us. If he were not correct so often I would just as soon choke the man. There is something about him that I do not trust.”

Both Halder and Keitel had met the man in a brief session in 1939 just before the war. It was there that Volkov had asserted Germany would easily defeat the British and French in France, and it had happened almost exactly as he said it would. He had warned the Germans that the British would try to intervene in Norway, picking the exact time and place, and he had been correct again. His latest whispers had been warnings to the French concerning the British plans to attack their fleet at Mers-el-Kebir. That intelligence had enabled Admiral Gensoul to put to sea just before the British fleet sortied from Gibraltar. And he had also warned about Operation Menace aimed at Dakar, and the recently concluded Operation Compass.

“Well,” said Keitel. “Now that you mention Volkov, I suppose you are aware of the information he has sent us on this very question.” He reached into his uniform coat pocket and produced a folded paper.

“Listen to this,” he said quietly, “the latest intelligence briefing from the man they call the Prophet. “It is quite startling, all things considered.” He looked up at Halder, a glint in his eye, like a man who was about to spring a well laid trap. “Tell me, Keitel. Does he agree with your assessment?”

“That and more,” said Keitel. He has gone so far as to make a specific request that we do exactly what I now propose.” He read from the paper now, eyes alight: “Take Malta no later than the spring of 1941. If you fail to do so your operations in North Africa will be doomed to failure. To facilitate this. I will personally make a request to Hitler that any operation against Soviet Russia is held in abeyance on the precondition that Malta first falls under German control, and you have had time to build up a strong force in North Africa and to consider other measures aimed at the Middle East.” He looked up at Halder now, smiling. “That is quite an endorsement of my plan.”

“He wants to postpone the invasion of Soviet Russia?” Halder was very surprised. “I find that hard to believe.”

“That is because he wants to put his house in order before we deal with Sergei Kirov. He has trouble with the Siberians.”

“Karpov? I thought that had been settled at Omsk.”

“Apparently not, as we have seen. Volkov launched his eastern offensive right after those talks, so they must have failed to reach an accord, in spite of the news we received earlier.” Keitel folded the briefing paper and quietly tucked it away in his pocket.

“Interesting…” said Halder. “Now Sergei Kirov has taken advantage of the situation by attacking across the Don into the Caucasus.” He tapped the map with a pencil as he spoke. “The oil, Keitel. That is what these operations are all about.”

“Agreed,” said Keitel. “So Volkov now has a major offensive to deal with on his southern flank, while he squabbles with this Vladimir Karpov and his Siberians in the east.”

“Where did this man come from?” said Halder, voicing the same question in Keitel’s mind. He was a mysterious figure that had arisen in the far east, and though he did not know why, Keitel had a strange feeling of presentiment about the man.

Chapter 15

“This Karpov seems to have appeared out of thin air. We have little intelligence on him. He certainly was not involved in the early revolution. I have made inquiries and, in spite of some considerable effort to learn more, we have found nothing substantial on the man. In fact, we have found nothing much at all — no birth records, no service history. It is as if the man simply fell from the sky or grew up like a mushroom after a good rain storm.”

“No doubt there are quite a few others like him over there,” said Keitel, “but we must not concern ourselves with that at the moment. Let the Russians have their squabble. We have our own fish to fry here, and the war is heading to the Mediterranean now. If our drive into the Balkans concludes soon, then we will be right on Turkey’s doorstep at the Bosporus. That leaves only the old remnant of the Ottoman Empire between us and all that oil in the Caucasus. Hitler will soon have an interesting choice to make, and he will want us to do all the planning. From Greece and Bulgaria we can easily stage an operation against Turkey. Such a plan would take us right to the oil we need and come to Volkov’s assistance in the Caucasus at the same time. In fact, I intend to advise the Führer that we do exactly this. If he must attack Soviet Russia, then he should do so on the southern flank, with the principle effort striking through Moldavia into the Ukraine, and right into the Crimea! That is the shortest route to a link up with Volkov’s forces. Attacking in the north with any intention of driving on Moscow or Leningrad will be foolish.”

“In this we find agreement,” said Halder. “This must be our principle operation of the war. If we do make such a move it will encircle the British in the Middle East. Once we have Turkey, then we can move right in to secure Iran and Iraq to link up with the Vichy French in Syria. That takes us right to the doorstep of the Suez from the east.”

“True,” said Keitel. “The eastern offensive is an essential part of our overall war aims. That said, the attack against Russia should be limited to this southern axis, and not aimed at Moscow or Leningrad. Yet that will not be possible for six months to a year. In the meantime what do we do, sit on our duff and twiddle our thumbs? Do we wait for Mussolini to make another bungling attack somewhere for us to rescue him as we have in North Africa and Greece?”

Halder took a long breath, his eyes on the map again. He knew in his gut that Keitel was correct. Malta should be taken — Crete as well. And he knew that unless they decided on one course or another, the matter would eventually end up in Hitler’s lap. Once there, the General Staff might lose control. If Hitler decided on some cockamamie strategy, they would be forced to take the war in that direction, even if it led them into a thicket. Yet, if they decided things now… If they presented a united front to Hitler and kept a firm hand on the tiller, then they might very well end this war in another long year.

“You are aware of Mussolini’s views regarding Malta,” he said, coming back to the matter of their discussion. “He believes his air force can finish the British with no intervention by ground troops.”

“That is a self-serving opinion,” said Keitel. “The man has no assault shipping worth mentioning, and no real trained paratroopers to do the job. Look, Halder. We cannot expect the Italians to do anything in this war. We had to bail them out of trouble in Greece, and now North Africa. Look what happened to them in Somalia! That said, we have already committed troops to the desert, the western approach to Suez. You have approved the schedule of divisions for that operation, and we have the Führer’s approval as well. If we do this, then we must have Malta.” Keitel laid his finger heavily on the map, fingering the tiny island. “We simply must have it, and we should take it now. There is no more than a single Brigade there, and local militias. This message we have received of late from Ivan Volkov has given us the entire British order of battle there, right down to battalion level, and it urges us to do exactly as I now advise — take Malta. We must decide this, Halder. Crete? Yes, in good time. But insofar as Malta is concerned, the time is now. It will be a perfect preliminary operation for Student, and the lessons learned will aid us in the planning for your operation against Crete.”

“The Italians already have such a plan,” said Halder. “They are calling it Operation C3.”

“Yes? Well if we leave things to them you know how they’ll turn out. No. This must be a German plan, and an operation principally undertaken by German forces.”

“We will need the Führer’s approval, and he will need to speak with Mussolini first. Then we must do the staff work.”

“I have already done that,” said Keitel quickly.

“You, Keitel? You mean to say this is why you have been locked up in the back rooms of OKW with Jodl and Raeder?”

“Correct,” said Keitel. “So there you have it. I have been talking to Raeder, and now that we have Gibraltar, with two good battleships at Brest and Saint Nazaire, Raeder has been keen to put them to good use.”

“Whatever for? Is he planning another sortie into the Atlantic? Those battleships are a nuisance, Keitel. They had a little luck with that convoy when they broke out, but mark my words — it will be Doenitz and his U-boats that will make the difference in the Atlantic.”

“But Hindenburg and Bismarck would make quite a difference in the Mediterranean…” Keitel let that dangle for a moment, and Halder gave it some considerable thought before he spoke.

“Raeder wants to do this?”

“He does, and he is of the opinion that we can now decide the issue of naval supremacy in the Mediterranean once and for all. The front door is shut tight and barricaded at Gibraltar. Now the British have to sail 12,000 miles around the Cape of Good Hope to reinforce their Eastern Mediterranean squadrons under Admiral Cunningham. So I discussed this with Raeder in light of this Malta business. He believes that, with the French Fleet at Toulon, the Italians at Taranto, and a little backbone with the arrival of Hindenburg and Bismarck, we will have what it takes to neutralize the one foil the British still have — the Royal Navy. If he leaves those ships in the French Atlantic ports the British will be bombing them night and day. They attacked again last night.”

Halder pursed his lips, his eyes narrowed with thought. “Jodl agrees?”

“He does, and Goering has agreed to provide us with any aircraft we need for the operation. Student’s Fleigerkorps has just been formed and it is operational now. He is eager for an assignment, and Malta is the perfect choice. Malta now, Halder, with Raeder’s battleships to make certain the Royal Navy does not pay us a visit once we get there. Malta now — Crete later, after we finish in the Balkans and move the main army south along the Moldavian frontier. Once that is accomplished, then the final operation of the war begins, as we have discussed. And if we move decisively, we can finish the job before President Roosevelt and the Americans start thinking more seriously about intervention.”

Halder nodded. He could see that Keitel was correct. It was all a question of proper timing, and this next six months were a vacuum that must be filled with something that mattered. He looked at Keitel, placing his cap firmly on his head. “Very well,” he said with equal firmness. “You have my support.”

At the end of 1940 Malta was not the hard nut that it would later become by 1942. There was only a single brigade there, with plans to double this in size that had not yet been carried out. Another long time British holding like Gibraltar, it was the former headquarters of the Royal Navy Mediterranean Fleet, which had since been moved to Alexandria. Yet even if it was no longer the vital hub of the wheel of British sea power there, it was still a strong outpost at the edge of that power base, and the one means they had of projecting land based air power into the Central Mediterranean. Unfortunately, there were all too few planes there as 1940 ended. Measuring only eleven miles by nine, there simply wasn’t room to put very much in the way of men and material on the tiny island. Before the war the British had come to believe the island was indefensible. That said, its principle function as an “unsinkable aircraft carrier” was well known, but ill served at the moment.

There were airfields at Takali in the center of the island, and at Luga, Safi and Halfar in the south, with plans to build more if the planes ever came. There had been no more than six old Gladiator fighters on the island, with a few more delivered in crates as reserves for a British aircraft carrier. Now, however, in January of 1941, the force had been built up somewhat with the arrival of 36 Hurricane fighters, but it was still a very thin shield considering the enemy could bring planes in their hundreds to the attack. The airfields on Sicily were within easy striking distance of the island, and they would soon be crowded with a flock of dangerous new crows as the Germans moved to execute the plan that had been brewing in OKWs kettle along with Operation Felix. It was to be code named Hercules, and it would involve the seizure of the island with thunderclap surprise, primarily an airborne attack led by Kurt Student’s elite 7th Flieger Division.

As with every operation of war they seemed to undertake, the Italians had approached the problem of Malta with a plan, but half hearted measures since the outbreak of the war. They had thought to use their air force as the primary hammer against the island, visiting it with eight air raids in the first day of the war before the British even had time to make their airfields fully operational. By June the British had organized 830 Squadron, comprised of Swordfish torpedo bombers to give them a little bite, and the planes demonstrated their utility by raiding Sicily, damaging an Italian cruiser and sinking a destroyer. They were soon joined by the Hurricane fighters hastily sent as a reinforcement and organized as 261 Squadron, R.A.F. By year’s end, however, a good number of the planes were grounded for lack of spare parts, but the few that had been kept operational had tallied 45 kills against Italian bombers.

Mussolini had dreamed up big plans for an invasion by 40,000 men, but this was a fantasy that would never be carried out, because it relied on the navy to get the troops safely ashore. The Italians had a superb navy, on paper, but without the fuel, experience, and will power to use it, it remained a timid coastal defense force in the first six months of the war. They had sent divers from submarines down to cut undersea telephone cables leading to Malta, but that had been the extent of their naval campaign. A Japanese admiral might have had battleships running out through the straits of Messina to make nightly bombardment raids on the place, just as they had done against Guadalcanal over far greater distances. But Regia Marina was not the Japanese Navy. It had fine ships, but lacked the skill and the will to use them effectively, particularly when faced down by an experienced and aggressive force in Cunningham’s fleet.

The one brush the Italians had with the Royal Navy had occurred at the Battle of Calabria, called the Battle of Punta Stilo, fought 30 miles east of that point on the toe of Italy’s boot. The Italians had a large army to supply and support in Libya, and they had dispatched a heavily escorted convoy to Benghazi just as the British were organizing a similar operation to send supplies to Malta. Each side had a strong mixed force of cruisers and destroyers, backed up by battleships in what would become one of the largest fleet engagements in the Mediterranean conflict. In the end it came down to the three British battleships, Warspite, Malaya and Royal Sovereign, five light cruisers, the carrier Eagle, and sixteen destroyers, against an equal Italian fleet composed of two battleships, Cavour and Cesare, six heavy cruisers, eight light cruisers, and also sixteen destroyers. The British had an edge in battleships and with the planes aboard HMS Eagle, but the Italians had many more cruisers.

The man who might have led the British cruisers, Admiral John Tovey, was not there in this go round, having taken his early appointment to command Home Fleet. The action was scattered and inconclusive on both sides, with Warspite scoring the only hit of note, a long shot fired from a range of nearly 26,000 yards in a duel with the two Italian battleships. The round struck the Cesare aft, setting off a ready store a 37mm AA gun ammunition, and the resulting fire spread below decks to compromise half the ships boilers. It was a hit to match the feat of the German battlecruiser Scharnhorst when it encountered HMS Glorious, the shot that still troubled the sleep of Captain Christopher Wells on that ship.

After this the Italian destroyers rushed in to lay down a smoke screen, which the British took to be a cover allowing the Italian battleships to break off. They would claim a moral victory in the action, though the Italians would later say those destroyers were setting up a torpedo attack in the thickening smoke. The cruisers continued to exchange fire, and both sides made unsuccessful destroyer rushes, but the action was largely inconclusive. The Italian air force showed up to attack ships on both sides in a fiasco that saw them trying to bomb their own cruisers. Little damage was done, and both sides turned for the safety of friendly ports. Yet the Italian convoy to Benghazi got through, and they would use that fact to claim a pyrrhic victory. The real effect of the battle, however, was to increase the timidity of the Italian Navy when the threat of a confrontation with the Royal Navy was factored into any plan.

The British were confident they could hold their own and eventually dominate the Italian Navy, and they were hatching a plan to make that a certainty as HMS Hermes slipped quietly through the Suez Canal to join the fleet on the 12th of January. She would join the Eagle for a daring raid against the main Italian base at Taranto, and the Old Stringbags would attempt to torpedo the enemy battleships as they wallowed in port.