The Shield: a novel

by Nachman Kataczinsky PhD

  “In his place I would go directly for Cairo and send a minor force to Alexandria.”

  “What do the Brits have to oppose him?” asked the Commander of the Navy.

  Zvi Kaplan pulled out a sheet of paper from his briefcase: “In theory they have most of the Eighth Army in the area. The problem is that it’s disorganized. Their command suffers from overconfidence and stupidity.

  “Instead of being patient and amassing a significant armored force armed with the new guns, they threw them into battle piecemeal – as they became available. Rommel was surprised by the kill rate the British achieved, but he learned and adapted. The almost twenty thousand Muslim SS troops he got allowed him to develop a tactic similar to what the Russians used on the Eastern front: deep, layered defense with massed infantry attacks using anti-tank weapons - Molotov cocktails in Rommel’s case. Apparently the Muslim soldiers don’t mind dying – maybe the Mufti promised them seventy virgins in heaven.

  “In any case, in our timeline Montgomery won at El-Alamein because the Germans were exhausted, low on fuel, and couldn’t conquer his defenses. The situation is different now. The Germans aren’t nearly as exhausted and they have two fresh SS divisions to help them. The British don’t have a well-manned or organized defense line.

  “Right now, after the British lead forces were ambushed and annihilated, there’s nothing between the Germans and Cairo, Alexandria or the Suez canal.”

  Yaari sighed. “I see. Let’s take a look at the aerial images.”

  After a short silence the Air Force commander said, “If we come down on the Germans before they reach El-Alamein, we can destroy most of their force. Look how they are strung out along the main road. There’s not much choice there: sea on their left and desert on the right. The desert will probably slow down tanks, or damage their tracks very quickly, so I can see why they keep to the roads. Same goes for artillery that may sink in the sand. Why is the infantry confining itself to the single road?”

  “Probably because they haven’t been attacked from the air,” Zvi Kaplan responded, “and the road will get them to where they are going much faster. It is true that light trucks and cars can negotiate most of the rocky terrain next to the roads, but there’s no incentive for them to take that route, except for patrols and reconnaissance.”

  Gad Yaari made his decision. “I’ll call the prime Minister. We need the Cabinet’s permission to get involved. I need a detailed plan for aerial and naval operations by 7p.m. That gives you four hours.

  “We need to stop this column before they leave El-Alamein otherwise they’ll disperse and will be much more difficult to destroy. One more thing: we will attack at night. No need to expose our identity in a day attack. It will also be safer that way.

  The Navy Commander asked, “What do you expect me to do? I have nothing that can destroy this column better than the Air Force.”

  “Destroying the column is not enough. While the Air Force is busy with the ground forces we need to cut off the German’s lifeline to Italy. That will be your job. Ask for air support if you need it. Also plan on at least one ship capable of carrying a helicopter for rescue missions. I know, I know,” Yaari waved at the commander of the Air Force, “You always take care of your own, but in this case it may be as far away as the Tunisian border…”

  “Is that as far west as we can go?” The Air Force General wanted to know.

  “Yes, you need to destroy everything in sight. It stands to reason that if we get involved it should be the end of the Axis in North Africa.”

  “I think that it’s safe to assume that after the first night’s work the assault on Cairo will be cancelled. We’ll assess the results and decide what to do in the morning. If Rommel loses about half of his force he’s done. I would let the Brits take over from there. If we do all the fighting they will never learn and will be seriously beaten in Europe in a year or less. Of course this is a political decision and the Government will have to decide.”

  ***

  “Gentlemen, how are things going at home?” Mizrahi asked his guests. The group arrived that morning on a specially scheduled flight from Israel and was now sitting in his living room at the embassy.

  “Nothing much is new,” Jonathan Brown responded, “except that we have millions and millions of new immigrants.”

  Dan Levine smiled: “Right, everything is about the same as usual. People still complaining about hard life and inept politicians. And car prices are going up.”

  Mizrahi switched to business: “The two of you are booked on a Pan Am flight from London to New York. It leaves tomorrow evening and, if everything goes well, will land in New York on November 13th. You should be well rested – the flying boat has beds in First Class.”

  Jonathan made a quick calculation: “Are you sure of the dates? We are going to be flying for two days?”

  “No,” clarified Mizrahi, “the flight is not non-stop. It stops in Iceland and in Nova Scotia to refuel and rest.

  “I will likely be very busy tomorrow, so let me give you the tickets and your passports. These are genuine British diplomatic passports for Jonathan Brown and Dan Law. You are both attached to the British embassy in Washington but need not go there or contact them, except in case of trouble. The ambassador has been informed that you are VIPs and if you request his assistance he should extend all help possible. Your mission must be important – I had to call in a couple of favors with Churchill – but don’t tell me what it is.

  “So, good luck. My driver will take you to the airport tomorrow. Oh, by the way, your suitcases were marked as diplomatic pouches, so no customs checks anywhere.”

  They said their goodbyes and Mizrahi left. He had an afternoon appointment with Winston Churchill. The news he was bringing was not good.

  ***

  “Mr. Mizrahi, you requested an urgent meeting. What brings you here?” Churchill was sipping a brandy and looked relaxed. London looked lively these days. Even the traffic had picked up. Not much merchant shipping got into England through the Mediterranean but petroleum products were arriving in adequate quantities around Africa.

  “Sir, I have grave news from North Africa.”

  “Last I heard our forces were slowly advancing and pushing this confounded Rommel west.”

  “Yes, that was yesterday. The situation changed abruptly early this afternoon.” Mizrahi went on to tell the British Prime Minister about the collapse of his forces and the danger to Cairo and Alexandria.

  “Our General Staff estimates that the Germans and Italians will be in Cairo and Alexandria in a day or two and will control the Suez canal, at least the Egyptian bank of it, in three or four days.”

  Churchill lit a cigar and calmly looked at Mizrahi: “Mr. Mizrahi, we British don’t give up easily. I’m sure that General Auchinleck is organizing a defense as we speak, but just to make sure I’ll send him a message as soon as we’re done here.”

  “Good,” Mizrahi got up. “I’ve been instructed by my government to give you this information in the hope that it will assist Britain in mounting a defense. I have also brought with me aerial photographs of the area from El-Alamein to the Tunisian border. These should be of help in your actions.” He laid a large manila envelope with the photographs on the coffee table.

  The next day at ten in the morning the embassy phone rang. The Prime Minister wanted Mizrahi to come to his residence for an urgent meeting as soon as possible.

  This time Churchill was pacing around his office. “I contacted the command of the Eight Army. They are aware of the situation – apparently your liaison in Cairo made a nuisance of himself. As far as they are concerned the situation is serious. We are going to rush as many troops as we can spare from Somalia and Ethiopia, but that may not be enough.”

  Churchill stopped pacing and sat at the head of the conference table. “Mr. Mizrahi, we are at a crossroads here. Britain can’t be allowed to falter now. The future of the free world is at stake.

  “If we fail in North Africa this war w
ill go on for many years.” He was vigorously sucking on his cigar, not noticing that he had forgotten to light it.

  “Mr. Prime Minister, my government agrees with you. If you have no objections, we will act directly against the Axis forces in North Africa. There are several details we have to agree upon before that’s possible.”

  “So there is a price to pay. And you warned me of the high price Mr. Roosevelt would extract for his help! But no matter, please go ahead.”

  “Sir, it seems to me that since we are Jewish you are predisposed to misjudge us. The details I am talking about are not a ‘price’ but rather a means to achieve the maximum gain from this situation.” Mizrahi carefully filled and lit his pipe. Churchill suddenly noticed his cigar and lit it.

  “There are two separate issues I would like to agree upon,” Mizrahi continued. “The first is simple: we need your Eight Army to start advancing now on El-Alamein. They should plan on massing their forces about five miles east of it in two days – November 14. They are to attack on that day early in the morning.”

  “Wait, wait,” Churchill was making negating gestures. “According to the radio messages I’ve gotten from the staff there, they may be able to have a brigade at best ready for action in that area two days from now. They’ll be slaughtered by Rommel.”

  “No, sir, they will not. You must trust us on this or you will waste an incredible opportunity. Two days from now the Axis forces in North Africa will be down to a fraction of their fighting ability. If you attack when we tell you and follow this plan.” Mizrahi laid two typed pages and a map on the table. “You’re likely to arrive at the Tunisian border within a week. If you wait and if Rommel is still alive, he will regroup and it will take you a month or more with ten times the casualties. This is the first condition. If you accept it, we can go on to the second.”

  Churchill smiled. “Mr. Mizrahi, I must apologize. My previous outburst was not called for. Yes. I agree, though sometimes I have a difficult time controlling the generals. Please continue.”

  “Good. I didn’t expect you to oppose a quick victory. Now, the second little detail we need to agree upon is more complicated and involves diplomacy. Here is what we propose…”

  ***

  Major General Horst Egersdorff looked at his watch. It was close to seven in the evening and almost completely dark. He looked one last time at the sky and entered his command tent. If things go well, tomorrow at this time his troops will be beyond El-Alamein, on the main road to Alexandria. Egersdorff was in command of a special force and was ordered by Rommel to advance on Alexandria and from there to proceed to Port Said. He was expected to encounter little resistance with his force of mostly Italian troops. While he was taking the entrance to the Suez Canal, the main force under the personal command of Rommel was to attack Cairo.

  Egersdorff told his adjutant to call a meeting of his command staff. He wanted to repeat his instructions and make sure that the Italians understood his plan. He was somewhat dubious of their ability as a military force but trusted his German battalion to stiffen them if necessary.

  The meeting started at 7:30 and was disrupted almost immediately by a huge blast and roar. It sounded like a thousand tank engines were running at top power next to the tent. Then the noise receded.

  By the time the officers ran out of the tent to take a look, all that was visible were flashes of light some ten miles to the east. Egersdorff estimated that this was where the forward units in El-Alamein were positioned for the night. He didn’t have long to wonder what was going on. The terrible roar returned, but this time it was accompanied by explosions of light cannon projectiles and the occasional bomb. The last thing the general saw was a string of explosions running towards him along the ground. Then he was dead – a 20mm cannon projectile will do that to a person, especially if it hits him in the stomach.

  In the morning Field Marshal Ervin Rommel surveyed his army. It seemed that everything was quiet and the attackers were gone but so were vital elements of the force he assembled to attack Cairo and Alexandria. The preliminary report indicated that he had no operational tanks or artillery left. Most of his fuel trucks were burning and only a few of the ammunition transports survived. There were significant personnel losses as well. A number of generals died, including Egersdorff who was supposed to lead the attack on Alexandria. Curiously, the losses among the lower ranks were not too bad – he estimated that about sixty to seventy percent survived the air attack. He considered his options and within the hour issued commands. The army was on the move again.

  Not having tanks or artillery to speak of, Rommel decided to consolidate his position and dig in. He would wait for supplies to arrive from the west. There were a number of ships in Libyan and French Vichy controlled Tunis ports unloading more tanks, artillery, fuel and ammunition. All was not lost, and he doubted that the British could repeat such an intensive attack anytime soon. If they did, he would be ready – one of his first orders after the barrage was to organize an air defense. Everybody was ordered to shoot at the attacking aircraft, even if they were hard to see in the dark.

  By late afternoon, November 13, no reinforcements had arrived and there was no sign of supplies from depots on the road to Benghazi. The field telephone was dead and HQ couldn’t raise Benghazi on the radio. Finally, a courier on a motorbike got through to Rommel. “Sir, Colonel Erfurter, the commander of the Benghazi garrison, reports that they’ve come under intense air attacks. The fuel and ammunition dumps are on fire. The three ships that were unloading in the port at the time were sunk and are now blocking the harbor.”

  Less than an hour later radio contact was established with Tobruk. The fortress there reported intense bombardment and the sinking of a cargo ship. This was less of a problem than in Benghazi since the port was primitive and more open, so other ships could still unload – if any ships would come from Italy, that is. Tobruk also reported that they thought they saw a burning plane falling and exploding somewhere in the desert to the south of the fortifications. They sent out search parties. The commander of the fortress didn’t know the dimensions of the disaster, but understood that capturing the British pilot might shed some light on the surprise attack.

  ***

  Lieutenant Colonel Oren Shaviv trained for the last several months on old Skyhawks. A tedious business, as far as he was concerned. The jets lacked the power of the F-16s or the maneuverability of the Kfir. The Israeli command decided to use the Skyhawks since the country could easily replace the fighter/bomber’s wear parts.

  At first, Oren was surprised. When red lights and alarms went off in the cockpit of his Skyhawk he thought that the workhorse just died of old age. The plane was almost fifty years old and Oren suspected that all the maintenance in the world couldn’t make it new. It took another glance at the instruments and out the left side of the cockpit to discover the problem: he had been hit by a large caliber anti-aircraft explosive shell. This was pure bad luck.

  There was a big hole in the left wing with flames licking its edges. The flames looked even more ominous in the dark, but their light let him see that the hole in the wing was too big to for the aircraft to survive much longer. He didn’t have much time – just enough to head south into the open desert and try to gain some altitude on the way. He would have preferred to bail out over the sea, but he was heading south when he was hit and couldn’t turn. Several miles later the wing broke off and Oren ejected.

  After landing he buried his parachute and all parts of the ejection seat he could find in a nearby cave. There wasn’t much he could do about the aircraft itself. It was probably totally destroyed by the explosion of a bomb he didn’t have time to drop, and some of the remaining cannon shells. The fuel it was carrying was burning merrily when it hit the ground. After resting for a little while, he started walking deeper into the desert. There was no way of knowing what the Germans, or Italians, would do. They might decide to look for him; he hoped they would be too busy licking their wounds.

  Oren consid
ered two courses of action: going south, as deep as possible into the Libyan Desert, or circling around and trying to get to the Mediterranean. He decided to go south. There was traffic on the road east of Tobruk and circling to the west would mean walking around the city and fortress – many miles of walking close to a populated area with a big Italian/German garrison.

  By eleven in the morning Oren was exhausted. Climbing the endless sandy hills was hard. He was carrying about thirty pounds worth of water, emergency rations and arms. In addition to the usual 9mm polymer Jericho pistol he was also armed with a Tavor assault rifle. This was a precaution taken for just the circumstances he found himself in. He needed to stop and rest for a couple of hours – until the hottest part of the day passed. This pause gave him an opportunity to double check his radio and location beacon. Judging by the displays, both were working, but he could get no response to his emergency signal. Finally he wrapped himself in a thin camouflage fabric and lay down on the sand. He chose a position on a down slope of a sandy hill covered with small stones and larger rock outcroppings. Assuming that any search parties were coming from the north, he chose the southern slope, behind a small rock.

  The fierce sun notwithstanding, the Lieutenant Colonel fell asleep. An hour and a half later he woke up with a start. He opened his eyes but didn’t move – he thought he’d heard a noise and was not going to give his position away until he knew more. He heard something again – it sounded like footsteps crunching on the sand and pebbles just next to his ear. Then he heard muffled speech. It was not really next to his ear – the ground transmitted the crunch and made it sound much closer than it really was.

  Oren unwrapped his camouflage blanket, careful not to make any noise. After he was done, he covered himself with it so that just his eyes peeked out. He slowly lifted himself above the rock that was between him and the top of the hill. With only his eyes showing he scanned the scenery. Nothing. Then he heard people talking again. This time he got a better sense of direction: they were men and they were moving along the other side of the hill. He decided to take a look. It took a couple of minutes of slow and careful crawling before he could take a quick peek.