Winter Storm

by John Schettler

  Wadi Thiran spread, tree like, for nearly 50 square kilometers, with sandy gullies as branches running off in many directions to the north. There, on some relatively good ground between two branches, a big battle was raging, where the German 33rd Recon Battalion had rushed in, only to find itself swarmed by Indian infantry. Cramer’s II/8 Battalion came plowing through to the rescue, guns blazing, machine guns rattling, and his second battalion was not far west. Along with a machinegun battalion and the division pioneers, this made for a fairly powerful Kampfgruppe to push up that road, and to make matters for the British worse, Meindel’s Sturm regiment posted well south of that position, was now marching to the sound of that battle.

  The question now was what to do with the one loose cannon on Rommel’s deck, 21st Panzer Division. It was sitting right in the center, directly west of Bir Hacheim, and Crüwell got ever more nervous when the British 2nd Armored Division plowed through after the South Africans and an ominous bulge in the front resulted. Ravenstein had already sent his 2nd and 8th MG Battalions forward to try and seal off that penetration, but Crüwell wanted to act decisively with the whole weight of that division.

  Rather than waiting and counterpunching the enemy breakthrough as Rommel had advised, he hankered to send Ravenstein’s armor quickly south to strike through the lines of the 90th Light Infantry that was now holding in a large horseshoe formation between the penetration achieved by both the British armored divisions. This would put him in good open desert where he thought he could effectively cut off either penetration at his whim. And this is exactly what he did.

  Light on his feet, O’Connor saw what was happening, and pulled the bulk of his armor out of a planned attack to the northwest. Instead he swung them back to engage Ravenstein’s tanks. His counterattack fell first on the German 3rd Recon Battalion, leading the way for the Panzers in their armored cars. They were not enough to stop the massed British tanks, falling back on to II/5th Panzer Regiment in some disorder.

  The British 3rd RTR had 37 of 45 Matildas left, and another 31 of 35 Crusaders. It was joined by the 7th Hussars, with 20 more Crusaders and 22 ‘Honeys,’ the American M3 Stuarts that had arrived to swell the ranks of the British Armor Divisions. 7th RTR had 28 more Matildas, making for a combined force of 138 British tanks. They would be opposed by 49 Pz IIIs, and a dozen IV-Ds, or 61 German tanks in that battalion. But off its left flank, II/5th Panzer had another 82 tanks, including eight of the newer Pz IV-F long barrels. That was going to even matters out considerably.

  In a sharp duel, the British lost 21 tanks and a number of light Mark VI tankettes. Turrets were rotating in all directions, their crews frantically firing, and platoons scattered all along the edge of a low escarpment, the entire scene completely clouded over with heavy dust. At times a light Crusader would emerge into a pocket of visibility and find itself sitting right beside a German Panzer III, the astonished crews gawking at one another before they gunned their engines and disappeared into the dust. Tanks collided with one another like jousting knights, some then firing point blank to blast the turrets of their enemies.

  Off to the south, Lt. General Frank Walter Messervy had planted his banner atop Hill 522, the scene of his breakthrough the previous day. He was standing there with field glasses in one hand, and a radio headset in another, trying to ascertain just what had happened to his 4th Indian Division. He had not shaved for days, following a ritual habit to always go into battle with a beard, and now the so called ‘Bearded Man’ by his junior officers was in a quandary. Yesterday his exuberant infantry battalions had swarmed over and around that hill, then disappeared into the heavy haze over Wadi Thiran. He could hear the sound of battle there to the west, and the telltale rattle of German MG-34s, but had heard little overnight as to what had happened.

  At dawn he finally learned that his men had pushed nearly 15 kilometers ahead, thinking they were turning the enemy flank, until they were suddenly faced with the sharp counterattack of Newmann-Silkow’s 15th Panzer Division. One of his Brigadiers finally radioed in that they had been caught flat footed, and a good portion of the division was forced to withdraw into the cover of the wadis, where they were now fighting a difficult holding action against the Panzergrenadiers. At the same time, Cramer’s panzers had swung down and were trying to envelop the whole division sector. Messervy could see the dust from that battle about 7 klicks south of his hill, and there was absolutely no support of any kind on his left. The flankers were now being flanked, and by German armor. He got on the radio, trying to raise O’Connor for help.

  “What are you talking about, Frankie? That’s Davies’ whole bloody 7th Armored Brigade down there with your infantry as it stands! I’ve nothing else to send.”

  “Well I’m not getting round the corner here,” said Messervy. In fact, if Davies doesn’t stop those enemy tanks, Jerry will have my whole bloody division in the bag, and your whole bloody brigade along with it! Sir, I better ask for permission to pull my people out.”

  “Very well,” said O’Connor, the disappointment obvious in his voice. “If that’s your assessment, then fall back and try to cover the roads leading up to Bir el Gobi. We don’t want the Germans back there. Monty still has the 22nd Guards. I’ll see what I can do!”

  Yes, Monty still had both the 22nd Guards Motorized Infantry Brigade, and the 22nd Tank Brigade to go with it. They were lined up all along the Tobruk bypass road from Knightsbridge to Sidi Rezzigh, waiting on his lordships beck and call. O’Connor also radioed Brink with the 1st South African Division to see if he had anything he could spare from his sector, and ended up extracting the 3rd Independent Indian Motor Brigade. He was now scrambling to cover his deep left flank, because somewhere out there, he knew Rommel had yet one more Panzer Division, and he was wondering exactly where it was.

  *

  The 10th Panzer Division was just where O’Connor hoped it would not be, moving across good open desert towards Wadi Thiran. Well screened by the action of 15th Panzers, that night it would move through spots selected and improved by the engineers in the wadi, and reach a point just north of hill 440, about 10 kilometers due south of the British flank. There, away from prying enemy eyes, the Panzertruppen would halt to refuel and make ready for operations on the following day. Just another 10 kilometers due east, they would find a road leading up to Bir Ash Shaeiq, and to Bir el Gobi about 30 kilometers north of that watering hole. If they got there, they would not only have the 4th Indian division and 7th Armored Brigade bagged, but O’Connor’s entire XXX Corps.

  The Germans were not going to be polite that night and retire for the evening. Cramer was determined to turn that southern flank, and he doggedly pressed forward his remaining tanks, pushing the British back and advancing inexorably on Hill 522. General Messervy got very little sleep listening to the battle growing ever closer, until he could finally see the bright streaking tracer rounds of the tanks, still dueling with one another until well after sunset.

  O’Connor had managed to move down the 3rd Indian Motor Brigade and that infantry dismounted in the darkness, rushing forward to take up defensive positions and allow the 4th Armored Brigade to pull out and head south to the crisis point near Hill 522. While he thought he would be bolstering the embattled 7th Brigade, in actuality he was now assembling his entire division for what would be the decisive action of the battle the following morning.

  That was when Fischer unleashed his hounds, the newly structured 7th Panzer Regiment of his division, with 48 Lions, and an equal number of Leopard medium tanks. They found the 7th Hussars at the point of the 4th Armor Brigade, up early and trundling south to try and cover that very exposed flank. At the same time, Meindel’s weary paratroopers, having fought small actions all night, nonetheless joined the 15th Panzer in a renewed effort to reach Hill 522. Messervy had no sleep either the previous night, and now the Bearded man would go without breakfast.

  As if perfectly planned, Ravenstein’s 21st Panzer Division resumed its push against the 3rd Indian Motor Brigade
that had relieved that armor, and they would act as the northern half of a classic pincer operation. It was not what Rommel wanted, but it was looking to be a very fortuitous plan hatched in Crüwell’s fertile mind the previous day.

  For his part, Rommel had heard little of what was really happening. He gathered that the British had taken Gazala, and were now pushing further west, but the rest of the line seemed to be holding. Yet he could not reach either Ravenstein or Newmann-Silkow on the radio to find out what was happening with his two panzer divisions. As if sensing that the battle was slipping from his grasp, he rode east all night from his headquarters at Mechili, looking to find Ravenstein, where he expected his division to be. What he found instead was a single bridging company, the Major in charge saluting crisply when he saw Rommel emerge from his Mammut command truck.

  “Where is your division?” he asked the man.

  “Sir, most of it is due east down this road, about 25 kilometers. When you get to the old shrine near the well site, our artillery should be very close by.”

  “Most of the division you say? Where is General Ravenstein?” But the man could not help him further. Frustrated, he got back in his Mammut, and sped away, ordering his Chief of Staff Gause to get on the radio and try to find his panzer division.

  As the sun came up on the third day, O’Connor was on the radio also looking for troops. He called up Montgomery, listening briefly to him cluck about taking Gazala.

  “I’ve got the Macaroni’s on the run,” he said unceremoniously. The Trento Division is giving up the road to Derna and pulling up on higher ground to the east. Now it’s time for Phase II of my little operation, the coup de gras!”

  “Very glad to hear it,” said a weary O’Connor, “but it looks as though I’m up against all three German Panzer Divisions now, while you’re bullying down on the Italians. Rommel is up to his old style again, and he’s getting round my southern flank. I need the 22nd.”

  “Which Brigade?” said Montgomery flatly.

  “Both of them.”

  “Both? I was needing at least one of those Brigades to kick on through. They were assigned to XIII Corps. Leave them with me and I’ll be in Derna in three days time.”

  That was an exaggerated brag, O’Connor knew, and he needed to press the gravity of the situation on Montgomery. There was no time for haggling.

  “Look Monty, you may very well get to Derna with those troops, but if you don’t hand them over, Rommel will be in Bardia behind us! Am I making the situation clear?”

  “Damn!” said Montgomery. “Very well, it will be XIII Corps to the rescue then. I shall tell my Brigadiers they’re wanted elsewhere. Will the road south from Bir el Gobi suffice?”

  “Perfectly. And I’ll need them to get moving at once.”

  “You know you might have placed this call to Brigadier Kinlan,” Monty ventured in one last attempt to hold on to his local reserve.

  “I just may have to do that if the 22nd can’t save the day, but remember Kinlan is still a long way east in Egypt!”

  “Very well, General, the Guards are yours.”

  That night the two brigades that shared the same number both headed south on the designated road. They were still far from the crisis zone by sunrise, pressing on with a breakfast of cold biscuits and water. That morning O’Connor also made the call Monty had suggested, though he had been reluctant to do so, for it wounded his pride to have to go begging to Brigadier Kinlan again.

  “Well,” he said, “we’ve a bit of a situation on our hands.”

  “Let me guess,” said Kinlan. “Rommel’s got round your southern flank at Wadi Thiran.”

  O’Connor was somewhat surprised. “Well you have it exactly.”

  “Alright, General,” said Kinlan. “My boys have been sitting on their thumbs here too long as it stands. I’ll put together a battlegroup and get it heading east this morning.”

  “You’ve a long way to go,” said O’Connor. “So I’ve taken the liberty of arranging for rail transport from the old railhead near Bir Thalatha to Tobruk. We’ve spent the last 90 days extending that line, and it will get you up here quick as a cat.”

  Kinlan signed off, thinking. Damn if Rommel hadn’t beaten the British yet again. Once I get out west I’ll make sure he’s the only General to have beaten his enemy three times, while losing every battle! I knew we should have been positioned well west of the wire into Libya. Reeves is well west at Habata Airfield with the Recon Battalion. I’ll get him moving at once. And the Gurkhas are manning the forts on the wire. They might do in a pinch, but I’ll need a good battlegroup from Scotts Dragoons to finish the job.

  “Simms.” He called for his Chief of Staff.

  “Sir?”

  “Scare up that report on our current ammo stores.”

  Part XI

  The Better Part of Valor

  “The better part of valor is

  discretion, in the which better part I have sav'd my life.”

  ― William Shakespeare: Henry The Fourth, Part 1, Act 5, Scene 4

  Chapter 31

  Rommel was incensed. When he finally found Ravenstein’s headquarters on Hill 587, he stormed into the General’s tent, clearly upset. “What in God’s name are you doing?” he said angrily.

  “Trying to stop the British!” said Ravenstein. “What else?”

  “Where is the Panzer Regiment?”

  “Crüwell ordered it to move south yesterday. The British tried to get round our flank, but he’s turned the tables on them.” Ravenstein tapped the map on a low folding table to indicate the position.

  “My God! He’s moved that far south?”

  “Right around their flank,” said Ravenstein. “10th Panzer came up through Wadi Thiran and he’s got the whole of 15th Panzer down there with it. They’re rolling up that flank!” He smiled, hoping the news would dispel Rommel’s anger, but it only seemed to deepen his mood.

  “That idiot!” he said. “Do you remember what happened to us three months ago? We’ve already fought that battle, doing exactly what Crüwell has done here! Then what happened? That damn British Heavy Brigade showed up and cut us to pieces! I spent three months putting this Army back together, and now Crüwell has put the entire Panzer Korps at grave risk again. You were supposed to hold the panzer divisions behind the infantry front, and then counterattack the enemy breakthrough. I authorized no major offensive around that flank! Do you know what is happening on the coast road? Montgomery is pushing right through the Italians!”

  Ravenstein gave Rommel a sheepish look., but what was done, was done. “What can I do about it now? I had no idea Crüwell was not acting in accordance with your wishes.”

  “Where is the nearest radio. Get hold of Crüwell immediately!”

  Far to the south, the weight of the 10th and 15th Panzer Divisions was indeed rolling up the British flank. The new German tanks were fearsome. I/7th Panzer Battalion of the 10th division broke through and was storming through the sea of dust and smoke right toward the brigade headquarters of Jock Campbell’s 7th Support Group. On his left were the positions of the 4th Indian Division artillery, and the Lions were about to break clean through.

  Campbell could barely see what was happening, but he instinctively knew danger in the sound of those oncoming tanks. He rushed through the haze, reaching a battery of 25 Pounders, and immediately ordered them to level their barrels. “The enemy’s right there!” he pointed, “give them hell!”

  The frantic gun crews depressed their barrels, which had been elevated for long range support fire directed beyond Hill 522. That position had already been overrun by the 15th Panzer Division, and General Messervy, and his entire headquarters staff, was taken prisoner. Crüwell’s plan looked like it was working, but he underestimated the tenacity of the British gunners. Campbell was racing through the field batteries like a mad jinn, bawling orders at the top of his voice. “Down! Down! Depress your guns to repel enemy tanks!”

  The German tank battalion had found not one, but a
ll three regiments of the 4th Indian Division artillery, 72 guns in all. The new armor on the German tanks was very good, but it was now going to receive the shock and shell of all that massed artillery, and the scene soon became a wild hail of fire, with some rounds glancing off the German tanks, while others struck hard, with terrible fire and concussion. Some rounds struck the forward tracks, blowing them off and immobilizing the tank. Others smashed into turrets as the British gunners loaded, fired, and loaded again. The Germans blasted away at near point blank range themselves, sending the heavy guns careening onto their sides in places, raking the gun crews with deadly machinegun fire in others.

  The German battalion would lose four Pz IVF1s, five Leopards, and seven Lions in that deadly engagement. Three more Pz III H tanks in the HQ platoon were brewed up by the heavy fire. Many would have been salvageable if the Germans held the ground, but that was not going to happen.

  Right in the midst of that wild battle, Rommel got through to Crüwell, raging at him to get those precious tank battalions back behind the covering terrain of Wadi Thiran.

  “That is lunacy!” said Crüwell. “We’ve broken through!”

  “Yes? And just where in God’s name do you propose to go? Cairo? You don’t even have the fuel to reach Tobruk from where those divisions are now. Do you think we can deliver it to you over that damn wadi? General Crüwell, I am giving you a direct order now. You are to pull both 15th and 10th Panzer Divisions back at once! Get west of Wadi Thiran and reorganize there. We have trouble on the coast, and you’ve scattered Ravenstein’s division across forty kilometers of desert. Now execute that order at once, or I’ll give command of that Korps to someone who will obey!”

  *

  Lieutenant Reeves pulled up to the low hill labeled 551 on his map, looking to see what the track leading west was like up ahead. There were no real roads worth the name here, just places where columns of men and trucks had once scored the land, leaving tracks deep enough that the desert winds had not had time to cover them. The ground to his immediate front tumbled down into a stony field of loose gravel, and he soon met with some Gurkha scouts that indicated the best way down, as most of that battalion had left the wire forts the previous day, and they were waiting at this point to link up with the Royal Lancers.