Turning Point

Chapter 34

The battle that was now gathering form and shape southwest of Tobruk was a strange mirror image of the ‘Gazala Line’ battle that was fought in May of 1942 in Fedorov’s history books. In that battle, the British had established a heavily mined front backed up by brigade “boxes” to the rear at vital locations like Knightsbridge, Bir Hacheim and El Adem. Rommel moved four mobile divisions southeast, refueled in the night and then sought to complete a wide enveloping movement around the mines and boxes, sweeping up towards Acroma and Tobruk.

This time the inverse would be true. Chastened by severe checks earlier at Bir el Khamsa and Tobruk, Rommel had adopted a strategy similar to the one the British put up in the real history. It was his Gazala line this time. The defense was anchored astride the main coastal road to Derna, where the newly reformed Italian 10th Corps deployed two infantry divisions, backed up by the Ariete Armored Division, and both Trento and Trieste Motorized Infantry Divisions. South of the escarpment shielding Gazala, a line of German infantry began with the 99th and 100th Mountain Regiments, and then came the 90th Motorized Division with a newly arrived formation dubbed the 164th Light.

That unit had been in Greece, and was supposed to have been assigned as a garrison on Crete, but the attack there had never happened. It was therefore available as a replacement for the mountain regiment and Meindel’s tough Falschirmjaegers that had been taken from Rommel to make the attack on the Canary Islands. The infantry was the hard outer crust behind positions that were heavily mined and fortified, and this outer line was backed by well sighted artillery, and then the three panzer divisions Rommel was fortunate to have were held in rear areas similar to the brigade boxes the British had posted.

The attack Rommel had felt coming would begin as yet another wide envelopment maneuver. All along that fortified front, the British had faced off against the Germans with their own infantry divisions. 9th Australian Division, about to fight its last engagement here before being returned to Australia, was posted on the main coastal road near Gazala. It would be backed up by two brigades of the 2nd New Zealand Division, followed by the newly arrived 2nd South African Division, which was strung out along the coastal road back to Tobruk.

1st Army Tank Brigade was behind the Aussies, south of the escarpment that shielded Gazala itself, and it had 4th Indian Division on its left flank as the British line worked its way south towards Bir Hacheim, and 1st South African Division. These forces were all to be commanded by Montgomery, and Trigg Capuzzo was the dividing line between his XXX corps and O’Connor’s XIII Corps. The 5th Indian Division was south of the Trigg, its lines facing off against Rommel’s best infantry division, the 90th. Then came 2nd Armored Division, the 7th Armored Division, and the new British 50th Northumbrian Division to constitute O’Connor’s primary maneuver element. Kinlan’s 7th Heavy Brigade, as it was now being called by Wavell, was at the southern end of the line, intending to move through a long finger on the wrinkled hand of a terrain feature known as Wadi Thiran.

This was the place where Rommel’s prescient inner sense had warned him to watch, and there was Hauptmann Almásy, the Hungarian, peering into the thick night with his binoculars when he saw the 12th Royal Lancers beginning their advance. The British plan was really a double envelopment. They looked at the center of the German line, a hard cauldron of well fortified infantry, and decided their best prospects lay in an attack on the flanks. It would be Monty’s job to smash the Italians and open the road to Derna, threatening Mechili from that direction as well. Kinlan and O’Connor would conduct the sweeping southern envelopment, around the southern edge of Rommel’s infantry line, which would put them in a good position to make that run to Agedabia that Rommel feared.

The plan the wily German General had devised would be to quickly move those three panzer divisions to that flank, all abreast and facing south. That would present his adversary with a difficult decision. If Kinlan continued west towards Agedabia, then Rommel could order all three divisions to attack the regular British troops as they attempted to follow Kinlan’s troops. In Rommel’s mind, any force bold enough to move west like that would have to maintain a line of communications to supplies back east. His attack plan was aiming to cut that line, leaving the advancing troops to wither.

When word came of the enemy advance, flashed to all mobile division commanders in that single code word, the lion’s brew was slow to ferment. The only division that moved was 21st Panzer under Ravenstein, and that was because Rommel was there to set things in motion with his ceaseless energy. Neither Fischer nor Crüwell had arrived back at their respective division HQs, and so those troops still awaited orders. For the Italians, the only unit that moved when the British 1st Tank Regiment struck the Pavia Division south of the escarpment was the recon unit of the Ariete Division.

Down on the southern flank, Major Peniakoff, the colorful desert scout the British called “Popski,” was still assigned to operate with Kinlan’s troops. He had his eye on a small rise designated Hill 557, and wasn’t surprised to see signs of German occupation of that outpost. There were vehicle tracks in the sand, and to his trained eye, a hasty withdrawal had just been made, probably by a small scouting force. So he radioed Kinlan immediately.

“Listen General,” he said. “Jerry had eyes out here and its fairly certain they saw our boys move north of that hill. Too bad we haven’t got that helicontraption the Russians were using. It might come in handy as a scouting unit in the pre-dawn hours.”

“Good show, Colonel. But don’t worry. We’ve already got up surveillance drones, and only one of the three panzer divisions has moved, well behind the front. You just ride with Lieutenant Reeves and watch the ground—keep the lads out of silt bogs and such.”

“We’re over that finger of Wadi Thiran already,” said Popski. “So it should be good ground until sunrise.” He signed off and went to look for Reeves, unable to dismiss the uncomfortable feeling in his gut.

This man Kinlan has a head on his shoulders, no question there, he thought. And he’s got those monster tanks under him, and all the rest of this lot. But the other fellow out there is thinking too, and he damn well knows what we’re up to here. That’s not just any General on the other side, it’s Erwin Rommel.

Yet even Rommel’s orders had a way of being loosely interpreted by Crüwell, a General that thought he knew better given all his experience on the eastern front with Guderian. He looked at the map and could see that Ravenstein’s division would take some time to reach the position Rommel had indicated, and so he called Fischer, asking where his division was.

“I’m on the Trigg al Abd, as Rommel wanted,” said Fischer. “I’m supposed to cover that road.”

“Yes, well where is Ravenstein? He’s supposed to be on my right, but there isn’t a sign of his division here yet. You are much closer. Why not simply move east and link up with my flank. Then Ravenstein will be in reserve when he arrives.”

“But what about that Trigg?”

“Let Ravenstein cover it as he comes south. It’s well behind our front, and there’s no threat there.”

“Rommel wanted all three divisions abreast, not two up as you are suggesting.”

“Rommel wanted to go to Alexandria six months ago,” said Crüwell sarcastically. “And look where we are now.”

“Very well, General, but suppose you call Rommel and tell him what you have asked me to do.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll handle everything on that end. Just get moving. Almásy has already seen those lighter enemy scout tanks on the move.”

Crüwell had no intention of informing Rommel of anything. What he did want was Fisher’s division right on his flank, because he was going to attack south as soon as the opportunity presented itself. He would not have long to wait, because the attack was coming to him in the swift moving 7th Armored Division under O’Connor.

The British advance aimed to turn the flank with two concentric shock columns, one composed of that division on the inside orbit, and the other being Kinlan’s Heavy Brigade farther south. Crüwell had moved up as ordered, positioning his 15th Panzer Division due west of the southern end of Rommel’s line, which was anchored by the tough Hermann Goering Brigade, battle hardened from the Eastern Front. That unit was up on a low plateau, dug in well, and the British had no intention of attacking it. O’Connor went right around it, following the track that led up to Bir Hubash and Sidi Mansur, an old shrine and mosque in the middle of the desert.

Crüwell’s advance had seen his recon units arriving there just as O’Connor’s tanks came up, forming themselves in a long line abreast, with 7th and 8th Hussars on the left, and 2nd and 3rd RTR on the right. The four battalions fielded all of 338 tanks, with over 90 of the new American Grants with a much better 75mm main gun. The tank was a big, blustering, ungainly and downright ugly vehicle. Compared to the sleep yet ominous lines of the German Lion, it looked like a throwback from the first war. The main gun was offset to the right lower portion of the chassis, and the high turret mounting the secondary 37mm armament gave the tank a prominent profile in combat, and made it an easy target.

The United States shipped all of 2,855 of these tanks to the British, and they had modified the secondary upper turret, which gave those tanks the name “Grant,” while the Americans would use the original turret design and name their tanks after the famous southern General Robert E. Lee. It had many other drawbacks, riveted hull plating that saw the rivets break off and become internal bullets when the tank was hit by a round that failed to penetrate. It also lacked a radio in the upper turret, and the British thought the side hull mounted main gun was the least favorable position for that weapon. But beggars cannot be choosers.

Behind O’Connor’s armor came the 22nd Guards Armored Brigade with another 277 tanks, making 615 tanks in a well concentrated mailed fist that was now moving right towards Crüwell’s division.

The line he had established saw two infantry battalions and the pioneer battalion digging into the stony ground, with the recon battalion was on the right flank. The Germans had a well practiced defense, but the sheer number of enemy tanks was going to cause heavy casualties, exceeding 50%. Crüwell had been itching for a fight, and now he had one. In spite of Rommel’s order to hold his tanks in reserve, if ever there was a time or place to commit those units, this was it. Reports had come in stating the British had a new tank, but that it was not the same as the monster tanks that had so savaged the German divisions in the past.

The General gave the order for his 8th Panzer Regiment to attack, and had no qualms about it when he did so. He had 168 tanks, including 48 Lions, 48 of the new Leopard medium recon tanks, 48 Pz-IVF2s and 24 of the new Panther tanks. Though he would be outnumbered nearly four to one, he hoped the German qualitative edge on tank design would at least give him parity.

What ensued was a kind of Kursk like clash of armor at very close quarters when his panzers came charging in. His Lions might have done better by standing off and firing at range, but the swirling dust kicked up by so many armored fighting vehicles made that impossible. So it was all run and gun, with tanks careening over the sandy ground, through gravel beds and shallow mud pans, and into a titanic head on clash right amid the lines of the beleaguered German infantry.

The action was at point blank range in many instances, with tanks on both sides ‘brewing up’ one after another in the terrible duel. The German armor proved very tough, particularly the Lions, but the chaos of the scene saw tanks all mixed together, taking side and rear shots at one another. It was 7th and 8th Hussars that took the worst of it, and twenty minutes into that hot armored duel the entire scene was shrouded with smoke and dust. Stricken vehicles lay in burning hulks everywhere, the hot fiery red tongues of flame making the whole scene look like a bed of burning coals.

The 7th Hussars ended that duel with only 13 of 50 Grants operational, and 13 of 50 Valentines. 8th Hussars fared a little better, but still had only 19 of its 50 Grants, and 29 Valentines. The units had also lost the bulk of the new AEC armored cars that had been acting as the scouting force, with half of the 36 blasted to burning wrecks. Of the 222 tanks that made the attack in those two units, only 92 remained.

On the German side, losses were not as heavy, but 12 of those 48 Lions had been killed, mostly by side and rear shots from the 75mm guns on the Grants. 18 of the 48 Pz-IVF2s were destroyed, but only four of the speedy Leopards and six Pz-IIIJs were killed. The Lions loomed so much bigger in the heat of the fray, that they bore the brunt of the British gunfire. Some surviving tanks had been hit multiple times on that heavy sloped frontal armor, and still remained battle worthy.

The brief, violent action had proved one thing decisively—the German tanks were superior. They were better gunned, had much tougher armor, and the experience of the tankers who took them into that battle was unsurpassed.

When 22nd Armored Brigade came up on the scene, its commander wanted no part of the swirling mess of fire, smoke and dust. So he led his columns west, jogging around the action with the idea of taking the enemy on the flank, if he could find one. This was going to take his units into a defensive screen manned by the 33rd Pioneer Battalion, and the 353 and 329 Light Flak Battalions. Behind him, O’Connor had sent the 2nd Armored Division right in the wake of his own armored fist, and so yet another wave of British tanks was lining up and ready to make a bold charge into the burning haze of the battle.

Crüwell’s attack had proven the worth of his armor, but now he would feel the weight of yet another full division, with a situation developing on his front that was going to involve his units in desperate fighting for the next hour, and leave 15th Panzer Division a wrecked and broken formation when it was over.

Far to the west, Kinlan’s Heavy Brigade was on the outer circle of the planned envelopment, its first units beginning to come up on the defensive infantry positions of Fischer’s 10th Panzer Division. It was there that the real battle that would decide the fate of the Afrika Korps would now be fought.

Chapter 35

Fischer’s 10th Panzer was the strongest of Rommel’s three divisions, with four battalions of Panzergrenadiers dug in around the edge of a region of very stony ground. The recon battalion held the left flank closest to Crüwell’s division, and the Pioneers the right flank, where Rommel had improvised and moved Ravenstein’s 21st Panzer Division into the place Fisher was supposed to be. Now, with the 3rd Mercian Battalion jogging into the lead position near a low rise labeled Hill 498, Rommel thought he saw an opportunity.

He had poured over tactical reports on this Heavy Brigade, and had slowly pieced together its composition in his mind. It had at least two battalions of fast infantry, all riding in a swift moving medium tank, which was surprising enough. This was what he took the modern day Warrior AFV to be, as the 40mm gun it used was the equal or better of most tank guns mounted on British vehicles to date. These battalions were supported by other AFVs that mounted a kind of rocket weapon, very deadly against vehicles, but they were not in great numbers.

Now, behind the outer crust of the infantry defense of his two divisions, all of eight battalions including troops of the 21st Panzer, he held both panzer regiments in reserve, waiting to see what the tip of the spear would do here. Would it continue west, thinking to bypass this defensive front and look for an exposed flank, or would it turn and give battle?

Kinlan had thought that over himself for some time, and he came to the conclusion that moving west into thin air could be accomplished easily enough. But then what would he do? The farther he moved, the more he would place his brigade out of contact with O’Connor’s two armored divisions. Knowing that they had already turned north, and that there was a hot battle underway against at least one German panzer division, figured heavily in his thinking.

“What do you make of this situation, Sims,” he said to his able Chief of Staff.

“Well sir, It looks like O’Connor has his hands full well behind us. He’ll probably be able to handle the one division he’s tangling with now, but if we continue any further west, we’ll expose his flank. Rommel could send one of his other two divisions after us to keep us busy, and then use the other to swing down and get after O’Connor. The situation is fairly confused behind us, but signals traffic indicated they have had to commit 2nd Armored already, and that was supposed to be kept in reserve for the exploitation force. Drones can’t really see what’s going on. The whole area is wreathed in heavy smoke and dust from the silt we’ve been trundling through.”

Kinlan nodded. “Under the circumstances, I think we should turn now and get to work. The point of this attack is to wreck the Afrika Korps—at least the panzers. Where are my Dragoons?”

“About 10 klicks back, sir. 3rd Mercian had better ground, and they nosed ahead as we turned. “They say they’ve come up on a line of infantry positions.”

“Very well….” Kinlan looked over the map. “This feature here, Hill 498…. We’ll make that our turning point. Swing the whole brigade north at that hill and tell Cooper he can attack. I’ll want the Dragoons to stand by if we need them. We’ve put five challengers into each company with the Warriors, so they have some heavy tank support as things stand, but it may not be enough.”

Kinlan had 60 Challengers, but he had taken half of these and parceled out five to each of the companies in the Mercian and Highland Battalions. The remaining 30 he kept in one concentrated force, three Sabers of ten tanks each in the Scots Dragoons. The action he had ordered saw the Mercians move up to strike the right flank of Fischer’s position, falling on the 49th Pioneer Battalion and II Battalion, 69th Panzergrenadiers. There were 33 engineer squads with 18 Panzerfaust teams waiting for them in the Pioneer Battalion, but the Warriors were standing off and using that 40mm gun to good effect. The Spartan ATGM vehicles were also engaging with ranged missile fire. As German casualties mounted, a frantic radio call went out.

“Come on! Where is our armor support? They’re picking my troops apart, mostly those medium tanks firing at a thousand meters.”

Rommel now made a fateful decision. He reasoned that his armor could match those medium tanks well enough, and initial reports indicated only a very few of the heavy behemoth’s had been seen. His pulse quickened. Fischer had 156 tanks ready in the 7th Panzer Regiment, and Ravenstein had another 142 in his 5th Panzer Regiment. That was a mailed fist of 298 tanks, and a few more in the HQ troops gave him over 300. He could smash this enemy attack, possibly crippling a third of this deadly enemy brigade, and that was what he decided to do.

The two panzer regiments moved to contact, the Lions beginning to open fire at just over 1000 meters wherever visibility permitted. Colonel Cooper saw them coming on infrared, a massive moving heat signature kicking up a huge storm of dust as it surged forward. 1st Company, 3rd Mercian was going to take the brunt of the attack and now the five Challengers supporting 15 Warriors and 10 ATGM vehicles were firing for all they were worth. The sharp report of the 120mm gun cracked out in reprisal.

Had this been a static shooting contest, those five Challengers, each with 50 rounds of ammunition, could have theoretically picked off almost all of Rommel’s advancing tanks. But it wasn’t a static battle. The enemy was charging in at them at breakneck speed, taking many hits and leaving many wrecked tanks in its wake, but there was simply too little time to stop all those tanks. Cooper was in one of those Challenger IIs, and he felt one hard chink after another as enemy rounds were striking his tank, all defeated by that impenetrable Chobham 3 armor. They were seeing the Germans on infrared, the big turret tracking, firing, tracking again, firing, and blasting one German tank after another.

Kinlan had been afraid of this very development, but he could both see and hear what had been happening on his digitally linked command screen. That battalion was going to be swamped by hundreds of German tanks, and so he quickly ordered the Scots Dragoons into action.

“Come on Bob!” he said over the radio. “Time for the heavy cavalry!”

On they came, the three Sabers accelerating rapidly in a massive armored charge, The thunder of their coming was heard even over the din and roar of the battle already underway. Moving at 40KPH, they closed on the scene with alarming speed, then broke column and fanned out in a wide line, their desert camo paint scheme blending nicely into the terrain. 1/3 Mercian was fighting for its life, as any gun the German panzers had was going to hurt a Warrior at those ranges. The infantry squads had all deployed, and were hugging the ground as the desperate fighting thickened. The enemy line drew ever closer, an unstoppable front of steel and thunder. But it was about to meet a force that was simply irresistible.

The Challengers rolled up a low rise and Cooper gave the order to halt. Dust and smoke billowed about the tanks, and now he was going to volley fire into the enemy advance at about 700 meters range. It was Fischer’s 7th Panzer Regiment in the sights of those 30 Challengers now, and the rippling roar of those big 120mm guns sent a shock wave of molten steel tight through them. Not even the heavy frontal armor of the new Lions could stop those heavy depleted uranium and tungsten tipped rounds. Thirty guns fired on one side, and 18 German tanks were smashed in the first volley, some taking two and three hits. Seconds later the Challengers fired again.

German tankers careening forward through the heavy silt and smoke saw one tank after another struck and savaged by that deadly enemy fire. The carnage was stunning, and it immediately prompted the regimental commander to give the order to break off, his panzers now turning and racing for any cover they could find. When it was over, Fischer’s 7th Panzer Regiment would stagger north into the more rugged rocky terrain and find they had 12 of 48 lions remaining, 18 of 48 Panzer IVF2s, and 25 of 48 Leopards, with seven of the twelve panthers still surviving. Of the 156 tanks in that Regiment that made that attack, only 62 remained.

Ravenstein’s 5th Panzer Regiment was lagging on the far right of the scene, but when Rommel realized what was happening, hearing the desperate cries of his Panzertruppen on the radio as they died, he shouted an order.

“Get them out of there! Get them back!” The order would reach the 5th Regiment just in time to stop its advance, and Rommel reinforced that order telling Ravenstein to get that regiment back to screen the artillery. But the Challengers then renewed their advance, coming up in a wedge of Chobham and steel, those long 120mm guns blasting any target before them, I/5th Panzer would take the full brunt of their charge, and be completely destroyed, all of 80 tanks, and 30 to 40 other vehicles left as smoldering wrecks on the field as they Challengers systematically obliterated that battalion.

Rommel had hurt his enemy, but it was like a wolf biting the flanks of a bear. Now the beast had turned on him, and it was simply unstoppable, as it was at Bir El Khamsa, and at Tobruk. The swift moving heavy tanks had appeared on the scene to utterly smash his panzers. A brief lull ensued in the action, and The Scots Dragoons stopped to wait for the Mercians to collect themselves. Reeves 12th Royal Lancers was also coming up with his Scimitars and Dragon IFVs, and Kinlan ordered a brief halt to regroup his forces. An attack like that inherently scattered units about the field, and he wanted to keep the tip of his spear very sharp.

In that interval, reports from Crüwell were now also having a desperate edge on the radio, and so the commanders of the three Panzer Divisions arranged to meet above a withered mud pan north of the stony cauldron that had been formed by Fisher’s infantry battalions.

“Damn it Rommel! I’m up against everything the British have! Fischer—where are your panzers?” Crüwell was incensed.

“I tried to get through,” said Fischer. “I threw my entire panzer Regiment at them, but it was blown to hell in twenty minutes! Those heavy panzers appeared just as I was breaking through. The Regiment will be lucky if it can form two companies now. This is no good, Rommel. We simply cannot stop these enemy tanks, and without panzer support, our infantry can only hold another hour or two at best.”

“What is happening with the rest of the front?” asked Crüwell.

“Montgomery is grinding his way past that escarpment south of Gazala,” said Rommel. “But the Italians are putting up a good fight. They threw both the Ariete and Littorio Divisions at them, and now Trieste Motorized has also reinforced that position. I do not think the British will get through. As for the rest of the line, it was not even attacked. The two motorized infantry divisions were just faced off by two or three enemy infantry divisions—Indian troops and a South African division. Their main effort was to try and turn this flank, as I suspected, which is why I concentrated all three panzer divisions here.”

“Well a lot of good that has done us,” said Crüwell.

“May I remind you that it was your division that made a premature attack, General.”

“I had no choice. O’Connor was rolling his entire division over my infantry. Was I suppose to just sit there and wait for the Commanding General’s order to attack? Nonsense! Now what should we do here? We cannot attack without being utterly destroyed. We can stubbornly defend, but we will lose that battle in the end.”

“We have to maneuver,” said Rommel. “They haven’t yet found our western flank, but they will soon. Crüwell, can you stop O’Connor?”

“I’m under too much pressure. They must have hit us with a thousand tanks in both the 7th and 2nd Armored Divisions. I’ll be a light motorized infantry division in another hour.”

“Well we can still get west if we move quickly,” said Rommel.

“Retreat again?” Crüwell gave him a look of recrimination.

“Redeploy,” said Rommel. “All our supplies must move along Trigg Capuzzo and the Tariq al Abd to Bir Tengeder. If we do not protect those lines of communication, then they’ll bag the entire army. At the moment, the motorized Divisions and Hermann Goering can get back via Trigg Capuzzo easily enough. We’ll have more difficulty extracting our panzer divisions if they persist with their attack, but that is what we must now attempt to do.”

“And what will the Führer say about yet another defeat here, Herr Rommel?” Crüwell gave him a smirk.

“He can say I saved his Afrika Korps for him—again—only this time the price for that will be Cyrenaica. I took it from the British long before you showed up, so now I will give it back to keep this Army intact. We move to Agedabia with all speed. I will notify the Italians. Send the signal to all your units: Westfallen, and may god be with us on the road west.”

Looking at the situation now, Kinlan had yet another decision to make. Like O’Connor, he had a sense for the battle and could read which way the wind was blowing easily enough. His front line units were reporting the Germans were pulling out, leaving a thin screen of AT gun positions as a delaying force, mostly Pak 50s. The drones could see the long lines moving west along the Trigg Capuzzo. Rommel was on the run. The battle had spanned 18 hours of movement and fighting, and now he was waiting for fuel trucks to come up to his front line units.

1/3 Mercian had been savaged by the initial attack of Rommel’s ill fated panzer charge. But many of the vehicles were thought to be salvageable. Of 140 Warriors in the entire Brigade, only 16 would be registered as total losses, though 10 of 50 Warrior Milans would also have to be written off, along with four Scimitars. Two Challengers had been put temporarily out of action with non critical hits, but the engineers would be able to replace tracks, a jammed turret and external equipment to get them operational again. All the other losses would be collected, stripped for useful parts and materials, and then the carcasses would be hauled off to a special hidden depot in the desert, well away from prying eyes. The human cost to Kinlan’s Brigade was 55 dead, 118 wounded, mostly in the infantry that had fought dismounted.

The General found O’Connor late on the 17th, wanting to see what his mind was on the situation. “We’ve got them on the run,” he said. “They’re pulling out west. How are your divisions?”

“The lads are ready as rain, but its fuel we need now. When I chased the Italians west last year, I managed to put together a couple flying columns using vehicles that still had the fuel to go the distance. We’re mopping up that line of delaying forces, but, with darkness falling and the fuel situation being what it is, I think it best to consolidate, sort the units out, and use the time to prepare for a concerted advance in the morning.”

“Very well general,” said Kinlan, extending his hand. “You’ve just beaten Rommel.”

“Not so fast,” said O’Connor. “Oh, we broke 15th Panzer Division alright. 7th Armored gave them a good fight, but we lost a lot of vehicles attacking their infantry hard points. Those damn Lions are formidable. They were wreaking havoc, even on the new American tanks we received. I don’t suppose you had any trouble with them?”

“They mission killed two of my Challengers—lucky hits, but we’ll have them both operational again as soon as the engineers can get to them. Otherwise, Rommel thought he’d bushwhacked one of my Mech Infantry battalions, but we saw him coming and the Dragoons smashed that attack. Frankly, that’s one hell of a body punch to take in a fight like this. We must have wrecked 150 enemy tanks out near Hill 498. After that, Jerry had no more stomach for this fight, and that dusty road west looked a darn sight more appealing. My only regret is not getting far enough west to cut them off.”

“You would have been on your own,” said O’Connor. “Once the 15th Panzer came at us, one thing led to another. That fight just kept pulling my battalions in, until the weight of 2nd Armored Division decided the matter. So we win through today. But this isn’t over. Tomorrow we’ll get after him, and it’s on to Agedabia!”

Chapter 36

They did not yet know it at that moment, but Hill 498 in the desert of Southern Libya was another turning point in the war that was now in its third terrible year. Disheartened but still determined, Rommel would make the long retreat to Agedabia and arrive there by nightfall on the 17th of March. It seemed at that moment just another movement in the long see saw struggle in that forsaken place. Yet after his brilliant opening offensive with Operation Sonnenblume, after that stunning first shock at Bir el Khamsa, he was never the same man again.

Rommel had tried everything. If he dug in his infantry behind mines, this infernal nemesis would use amazing wire guided chains that would explode to create pathways for those awesome heavy tanks. Once they were on the scene, they were simply invincible. In all the long months of this struggle, they had only one confirmed kill—and that had been laurels for the Luftwaffe, and not his own Panzertruppen. His frustrated tank crews reported hitting the enemy two and three times, but with no effect, and those were just the tanks lucky enough to survive to get in range of the enemy. The only way he could use his mobile divisions to attack now was to strike at the enemy infantry divisions, and as he made that long withdrawal west, he thought that was what he should have done.

I should have placed the infantry from 10th Panzer Division down on that flank, studding the line with all the anti tank and heavy flak guns I had, and backing it up with artillery. Then I should have taken the three panzer regiments and the rest of the mobile infantry and formed a massive strum group. We could have blasted right through that South African division, raced to Tobruk and taken the place before Montgomery could do anything about it.

But then what? Another voice spoke to him in the back of his mind. Then you would be sitting right there, in a port where no ships can call because of the damnable Royal Navy, and one where no supply trucks could call, because Montgomery would be sitting on the Via Balbia, and that Heavy Brigade would be sitting on Trigg Capuzzo.

No, he thought. ‘Should of’ never won a race. At least now you still have a secure line of communications to Tripoli. Now the issue of Benghazi comes to the fore. Can we still hold it? If the Italians get back in time, they should have sufficient strength to do so. It will become my Tobruk, even if they cut the road between that place and Agedabia. That port can be supplied by sea, at least for a while, and it will force the British to deploy at least two infantry divisions to invest it, possibly three. Those are divisions they can ill afford to spare for that duty.

When I get to the Gulf of Sirte, I will be sitting on the best defensive ground in North Africa. The only place comparable is Halfaya Pass, or perhaps Gabes in southern Tunisia. They think they’ve beaten me, but they are a long way from doing that. They merely cemented one fact in my mind. We can beat them on even terms, but they still hold that one terrible trump card. Strange that with all these new American tanks that were delivered, no additional heavy tanks appeared. There seemed to be no more than fifty or sixty in total, but my god, that was enough. I spent three months husbanding panzer deliveries from Germany, and lost half of everything they sent me in one hot hour.

So now I sit on my defensive line at Mersa Brega, and let us see if they have the mettle to try and push me out. This is not a defeat, but a mere setback. It is nothing more than a strategic withdrawal. This is far from over, but Crüwell’s words still bite. What will the Führer think? He is getting a lot of bad news from Russia these days, and now this. I salvaged my pride after that debacle at Tobruk last year by stubbornly sitting on my Gazala line. This time, they get Cyrenaica back, and all those good airfields.

A lot of good they did us in this fight. Where was the Luftwaffe? Most of the Stukas were pulled out west to French North Africa and Operation Condor. The British knew that, of course, which is why they struck me now. If I only had those Stukas back…

If wishes were horses, he thought, his weary mind completing a circle as he mulled over the battle. Thank God I had the backbone to admit what was happening and get the Army out in time. If the British had pushed further west before they turned north, we might have been cut off. So Crüwell’s preemptive attack was the key, wasn’t it. Of course I must never admit that to him, but that forced the British to commit their 7th Armored Division on his front, and he was just good enough in that attack to hurt them. Then O’Connor had to put in his 2nd Armored Division. Crüwell fought bravely today. I was the one who took the foolish gamble this time, and I risked everything in thinking I could get to the infantry formations in that hellish Heavy Brigade.

I simply underestimated the incredible mobility of that Heavy Armored Battalion. There is something almost supernatural about those troops and machines. They seem to know what we are doing, every step of the way. They spot our defensive positions, through smoke and sand, and then fire right through it all to pick off our strongpoints.

We overran one segment of their line with our tank charge, but that heavy armor moves like the wind. It appeared on the scene just in time to wreak havoc. Watching those Lions burn was quite a shock. They are the best tank we have ever put in the field, and yet they could not even begin to match this British tank. Its capabilities are simply unnatural, simply stupefying. How could the British produce such a tank, and then still clatter about in those god awful machines they give to their main divisions? What am I not seeing here? Something is simply wrong in all of this, and Army intelligence must get to the bottom of the matter, and soon.

He rubbed his brow, weary with the lateness of the hour, closing his eyes. Agedabia first, he thought, then Mersa Brega. After that, Tripoli, and if they manage to get that far, and pry me out of that city, then I’ll stop them again at Gabes. Yes, this is far from over. It is going to be a very long year….

“Just when I get up a good head of steam, Wavell wants to pull my lead unit right off the line!” Montgomery was exasperated when he got the news. “That South African division I threw on the fire did a fine job, but they certainly can’t carry the offensive up into the Jebel country. In fact, without the Australians, I’ll be lucky if I can get to Derna if strongly opposed. This is one fine kettle of fish.”

The Australians…. Without Bennett’s two brigades he could not have held Singapore. If he had had either the 6th or 7th Aussie Divisions on Java, he’d still be holding that island as well. Now, without the 9th Division here, his prospects for any aggressive push west were quite dim, and he let Wavell know it in no uncertain terms.

“Don’t worry,” said Wavell. “Take the time to catch your breath and tidy up. I’m going to take one of the Indian Divisions from O’Connor, and you can have both the South African Divisions to re-establish your Corps.”

“50th Northumbrian would suit me better,” said Monty. “And when might we get in the Highland Division?”

“Soon,” said Wavell, but he could make no promises. He would have to dangle that carrot in front of O’Connor to keep him in line if he stole away that Indian Division. “Look Monty, You’ve done a fine job here, and fresh off the boat from Java. What we need now is the airfields up north. Make that your primary objective.”

“Alright,” said Monty, resigned to his fate. “How soon can I have that Indian Division?”

“I’ll cut the orders today.”

O’Connor was a frustrated man that day as well. Wavell had also contacted him, just as he had during Operation Compass when he pulled out 6th Australian right in the middle of the offensive. This time it was 9th Australian Division, and the two New Zealand Brigades as well. They were Monty’s troops, but that still pulled the better part of two divisions from the field just as he was hoping to move west again.

“We knew this was coming,” said Kinlan.

“Yes, but all we needed was another week to ten days!”

“And what would you accomplish? Rommel is going to beat us to Agedabia, and now Monty hasn’t the troops he needs to really push the Italians.”

“He won’t have to. They’ll have to fall back to Benghazi.”

“Yes, they’ll go because Rommel and the Germans have gone, but in their own good time. It may be a while before they evacuate the Jebel country entirely, and we may have to fight to pry them out of a few of those airfields along the way.”

O’Connor nodded. “Right, and Monty is already after my infantry divisions. The man had the nerve to call me an hour ago and ask about the Northumbrians. Well, he won’t get his hands on that division, but Wavell is sending him the Indian troops, and both South African Divisions. The question is, will the Italians try to hold Benghazi?”

“I would,” said Kinlan. “That will force us to invest it, and we’re already short on Infantry.”

“Yet once we get the RAF forward, and west of Derna, we can harass all supply deliveries to that port.”

“Don’t forget,” Kinlan cautioned. “There are two good airfields at Benghazi, and my bet is that they’ll be crawling with German BF-109s.”

“It will be Monty’s problem,” said O’Connor, dismissing the matter and chafing to get moving again. “What I want to do is take both armored divisions and get them moving west by mid-day.”

“Why the hurry? All you’ll be doing is extending your present supply lines by another 200 miles. Look, when you get to the other side of this desert, you won’t be looking at Italians as you found them at Beda Fomm. That’s Rommel out there, and I’m not at all convinced that we’ve beaten him here. You plan on attacking him at the gulf of Sirte? That’s the worst damn ground in North Africa, and by the time you get there, he’ll be dug in deep. They already have prepared positions there.”

“Then why not mass everything and just bull our way through,” said O’Connor. “We can make a phalanx of armor, with your boys right up front, just as we discussed.”

“Yes, we could, but there’s a question of ammunition. We expended a good deal in breaking that armored attack at Hill 498. It hurt both panzer regiments we were facing, but now we have to be a little particular about how we use what’s left.”

“How bad is it?”

“We’ve still got at least one more good fight in hand, perhaps two if we choose our targets well. The artillery will get resupplied with useable rounds from your own stores, but not our tanks and APCs. Our engineers are working back in the UK to see about trying to develop replacement rounds, but even if they do, they won’t be anywhere near as effective as the rounds we still have. There are materials in that ammunition that you simply can’t get your hands on. In fact, you won’t have them for many years.”

“So you’re telling me we have to pick our fights more carefully now, and our own boys will just have to put their shoulders to the wheel.”

“If you want my brigade up front—yes. Consider that you’ll also need at least two or three divisions to properly invest Benghazi. That leaves us with only the 50th Northumbrian and the 22nd Guards to support your armor if we attempt to move into Tripolitania. Rommel won’t put his panzers in the shop window at Mersa Brega. He’ll keep them well back, and his infantry divisions were largely unscathed in this attack. We’d better think this one over.”

O’Connor shrugged. He had the bit between his teeth and he wanted to run, but after two days of hard fighting, his troops would need rest, fuel, supplies, tank replacements. Kinlan was correct. All he would find at the end of another 200 mile run across the desert would be an intransigent enemy in good positions for a stolid defense. They would need the infantry to sweep and secure the Jebel country, re-occupy all the airfields, and then they had to move their own planes forward, and relocate all the artillery, all the forward supply depots. Wavell had promised him another infantry division, the 51st, but it was still en-route.

“I suppose we should sit down with Monty and Wavell and sort this all out,” he said. “But I’ll still want to pony up a strong brigade to shepherd Rommel west. It can act as a screening force as the infantry closes in on Benghazi.”

“I’d agree with that,” said Kinlan, giving O’Connor a sympathetic look. “General, I know how you feel. The job isn’t finished and you want to get after it. But this was a victory here, even if we haven’t forced Rommel to fall back on Tripoli yet. Give it time, we’ll probably be ready to have a go at him again by May. Until then, count your feathers. You’ll soon secure a good many airfields up north, and the RAF is getting much stronger here now. That will matter. Trust me. You win that air duel over Benghazi, and then the Italians will just have to sit there and wither on the vine. We could afford to leave men in Tobruk when Rommel first bypassed that port, but only because the Royal Navy commanded the sea, and the Luftwaffe wasn’t really well established here at that time.”

O’Connor looked at him. “Funny to think you know how this all turns out, don’t you.”

“I know how it all turned out once upon a time,” said Kinlan. “I wasn’t here for that, but neither were you. So the fact that we are here means the book we’re writing now will be quite different. Let’s just count our blessings, and see to the road ahead.”

It was going to be a long road indeed, for Rommel as he looked over his shoulder, quietly picking his ground and planning his lines of defense, and for the British as they struggled to muster the resources to continue pushing him. The next few months would also see a lull in the fighting in Russia, and both weary armies counted their dead, and the Soviets dug in on the new front line won by their stunning offensive. Guderian returned to Berlin to look over production of more new tanks for the battered panzer divisions. Manstein stopped the Russian advance south of Kursk, and then waited for Halder to find him more infantry so he could pull the SS Panzer Korps off the line and get ready for his next big offensive.

There would be some discussion as to how best to proceed, with Halder arguing the bulge in the line near Kursk should be the first German operation after the ground firmed up, and Manstein still casting an eager eye towards Volgograd. That issue would soon be taken to Hitler for a decision, and the Führer would now begin to reset his hopes for a victory in Russia as these operations were planned and debated at OKW. All the Generals were so busy thinking and planning, so caught up in the immediacy of what they were doing, that they failed to perceive what had actually happened, failed to clearly see that the war had reached a decided turning point, and the Allies were finally getting up off the mat and steeling themselves to come out fighting with the next bell.

Yet Kinlan’s remark to O’Connor would prove to be very true. It was all going to be very different now, though some things would still ring true to the history he and Fedorov knew. Half a world away, George C. Marshall was looking over a long list of nearly 400 senior officers in the Army, all arranged in order of seniority. They were all candidates for the position of Supreme Commander of Allied Forces in the west, which he wanted for an American General, in spite of the fact that Britain had carried the burden of the war there for years. His finger would settle on name number 367, a man named Dwight Eisenhower, and he sent him east across the Atlantic to the British forward outpost in the Azores to carry on with the planning for the first major counteroffensive by the unified Allied forces in the European Theater—Operation Gymnast.

The plan would involve the first daring leap by a combined Allied seaborne force, and its principal target would be Casablanca. That port was the only facility deemed as both vulnerable to Allied attack and also suitable as a base from which subsequent operations would be conducted. In the Allied planners mind, its capture would effectively cut the naval and air supply links the Germans were now struggling to build to the Canary Islands, rendering that outpost vulnerable to counterattack if the Germans did not withdraw of their own accord.

As all these plans and General slowly turned in the gyre of war, a man walked slowly down the cold stone corridor, deep underground at a very secret installation on the Baltic coast of Germany, about 112 miles due north of Berlin. He came to a sturdy metal door, where a pair of guards snapped to attention, one saluting as the man handed off his papers. After a cursory inspection, the guard nodded, and slowly reached for the lever that would open the heavy doors.

Another long corridor lay before the visitor, his footsteps echoing loudly, and seeming to carry the sense of anticipation he felt as they quickened. The corridor bent in a wide curve to the left, until a high stone arch opened on a vast underground chamber. There, swathed in a plain white canvass cover, something lay hidden in the depths of the earth, attended by more guards and several technicians in long white lab coats. At the visitor’s approach, the technicians slowly worked off the canvass to reveal a long, needle nosed rocket, some 40 feet long, lying on its side and cradled within a low wheeled dolly. The thicker end mounted stubby fins, shaped like truncated pyramids, with a wingspan of nearly 8 feet, and to the visitor’s careful and well educated eye, there were all of three separate stages in this rocket design.

The amazing rocket before the man could range out 135 miles, achieve an altitude of 250 miles, and a speed of Mach 14.5 on its final descent. As he looked at it he took a deep breath, astounded at what he was seeing, for he was no ordinary visitor, and his mind was already viewing the rocket as if it were on drafted engineering paper, the labor of endless hours work.

There, in that deep stony cavern, one Wernher Magnus Maximilian, Freiherr von Braun was now looking at a weapon that would threaten to change the entire course of the war, though he did not yet know what lay hidden within that long pointed third stage. His eyes glittered, and he rubbed his hands together, not because of the cold, but with eager anticipation. He could not wait to get his tooling delivered and see what he had in hand.

“That bulbous feature at the tip,” he said to one of the other technicians. “It must be a warhead. I’ll want to remove it first and give it a very close inspection.”