Here and there, the occasional forklift forced its way through the milling crowds of dock workers with horns bleating in futile demands to be given way. There were precious few of them for all that; far less than had been operating prior to the war. With great irony, the majority of the incredibly useful little vehicles were German-made and with the outbreak of hostilities in 1939, access to spare parts had been instantly cut off. Operations in such hot and dusty conditions (not to mention the extremely salty breeze that blew in regularly from the south off the Red Sea) made for high levels of required maintenance and most of the docks’ forklift fleet had been reduced to gutted carcasses after three years of war, cannibalised for parts to fix the few that remained.
There were three abandoned fork trucks visible right now as Monty stared out through the front windscreen of the Humber and surveyed the chaotic activity of the port. Two tramp steamers berthed nearby had come in that morning and most of the intervening hours had been spent relieving them of their desperately-needed cargoes as their own coal bunkers and crews’ supplies were replenished for the trip home… probably to Singapore first before heading on to either Australia or North America. Their hulls were old and rusted – both appeared to have possibly been built before the turn of the century – and the sight of them inspired no confidence whatsoever as the general considered the likelihood of either safely negotiating the Red Sea or of making it to safety beyond through the U-boat-infested waters of the Indian Ocean.
None of that made any difference to the masses of refugees now trying to push their way desperately onto each ship, backed up toward the far end of the docks in lines four deep that disappeared behind the towering walls of the warehouses in the distance. Tens of thousands of refugees had poured into Suez, forced on by the inexorable advance of the Axis to the north and east. Rich and poor, expatriate Britons and native Egyptians alike had descended upon that port city with whatever they could carry as Alexandria, Port Said and then Cairo fell in turn.
There’d been chaos at first, and weeks later the situation was barely under control even now. Chronic supply shortages plagued efforts everywhere and riots broke out almost daily in the huge makeshift camps set up around the outskirts of the city as desperate people fought over even basic human needs such as food and clean drinking water. The wharves remained in general disarray and Montgomery was amazed that any supplies at all managed to make it through to civilians or military via a ramshackle and corrupt port system that had never worked efficiently in peacetime, let alone under the added pressures of war.
At any given moment there were usually a dozen ships at anchor offshore awaiting clearance to come in and offload desperately needed food, weapons and munitions. Every single one of them would put to sea again immediately, dangerously overloaded with terrified civilians seeking safety somewhere else… anywhere else seemingly better than the alternative of remaining in Egypt to face eventual capture and/or death at the hands of the Axis. The GOC 8th Army recognised how greatly the situation was hindering his forces’ ability to fight or even stand their ground against their unstoppable enemy, but there was little he could actually do about it in real terms.
From a humanitarian perspective, few in his general staff would’ve possessed the cold courage to force a halt to the mass exodus while knowing full well such an order would undoubtedly result in the deaths of thousands more than was necessary. Even once at sea, there were the very real dangers of attack from Luftwaffe long-range naval bombers or from U-boats patrolling the Persian Gulf and Indian Ocean, operating clandestinely from bases in Japan or Vichy-controlled Indochina and Madagascar. Yet anyone who made it onto a ship at least stood a fighting chance of making it to safety, those significant threats notwithstanding, whereas anyone left behind would almost certainly suffer a far darker fate.
And then, of course, it was also impossible to prevent the evacuation for purely practical reasons. Current estimates placed the number of refugees collected in camps around Suez currently in the tens of thousands (with a peak number two weeks before of possibly as many as 100,000), and there was no doubt in the general’s mind that a significant proportion of that total number would rise up against them in a heartbeat if the idea of preventing them taking their families to safety was even considered, let alone an attempt made at enforcing it. There was no way the remnants of the 8th Army still active between Ismailia and Agruda could possibly control or even resist such a huge force and still maintain any hope of defending against the enemy into the bargain. There was simply nothing to be done other than to accept the situation for what it was and make the best of a bad lot, in Montgomery’s informed opinion – something that was in accord with the thoughts of most of his general staff.
It’d been those same dockside delays that’d kept the ship they’d all been expecting anchored in the Red Sea for three consecutive days awaiting an opportunity to tie up and unload. A suitable space at the wharf had finally been made available late that afternoon and a patrol boat had been ordered in immediately to occupy the berth in order to prevent any unauthorised vessel from jumping the queue and sneaking in ahead of it, which otherwise happened quite frequently. The troop of four armoured cars in the official convoy, none carrying any insignia identifying them as carrying a staff officer, had been waiting for better than half an hour now as the large assault ship had finally arrived and was tied up to the wharf by a crew of Egyptian dockworkers.
“D’you think they’ve any idea what they’re heading into, general?” Eileen Donelson asked from behind him, seated in the rear of the Humber and staring out over the man’s shoulder at the desperate mass of evacuees.
“I doubt it, captain,” Montgomery replied with a faint shrug, “however I also doubt any of them would care if they did. There are a lot of rumours spreading about torture and executions of native Egyptians accused of ‘collaborating with the British’, as the Jerries are calling it, and by all accounts the treatment they’ve been receiving from some of the more militant Egyptian nationalists that have fallen in with the Germans isn’t much better.” He grimaced as he considered the problem. “I suspect they’re more than happy to accept the risk of U-boat attacks by comparison.”
Captain Eileen Donelson was incredibly fit for her age of thirty-one years and kept her lithe, trim figure in excellent shape by running for exercise at every opportunity. Although somewhat faded, a Glaswegian accent nevertheless declared her Scottish origins just as her bright blue eyes and lustrous dark hair, currently tied carefully beneath her khaki bush hat, were another clear indication of her Celtic heritage. All of that was complimented by a perfect, pale complexion, well-defined cheekbones and a finely-shaped nose, combining to make her an extremely attractive woman.
“No doubt they’ll all be piling into this big Chap as well, once we’ve got her unloaded,” Monty added after a pause, nodding his head toward the huge military transport as the last of its mooring lines was finally secured.
HMS Boxer, lead ship in a RN class known officially by the title ‘LST Type-1’, was a relatively large vessel by 1940s standards. At almost 8,000 tonnes displacement when fully loaded and over 130m in length, she seemed a bulky ship above the waterline with her broad beam and blunt bow capped by large, clamshell-type loading doors. Classified as a ‘Landing Ship, Tank’, she’d been designed from the ground up for the sole purpose of transporting armoured vehicles and delivering them to enemy beaches as part of an amphibious assault force. A long, flat ‘tank deck’ deep within its hull took up almost two thirds of the vessel’s length and possessed sufficient space to carried 28 tanks or other armoured vehicles up to a total weight of more than 2,000 tonnes. Accommodation was also available for close to 600 troops, over and above the ship’s normal complement of 210 officers and crew.
Being specifically designed for use in amphibious assaults however also made her and her sister ships ideal for delivery of armoured vehicles into non-combat areas, although as Monty glanced up at the dark, cloudless sky through the open hat
ch above the front passenger’s seat, he had to wryly admit that Suez couldn’t altogether be classed as being ‘non-combat’ in any case. Air raids were frequent, the port itself being a prime target, and the fact that there’d been no attacks in the last three days was seen as little more than coincidental good fortune. Anti-aircraft crews remained vigilant all the same both on land and aboard the numerous ships transiting the harbour as they came and went, and the gunners of HMS Boxer were no exception as they manned their weapons and stared skyward in search of any danger.
It’d be unlikely to see any Luftwaffe or RAI activity at such a late hour however, and in any case there was usually sufficient warning. Mobile radar piquet trucks – operated intermittently and moved hourly to prevent their locations being pinpointed by Axis ELINT (Electronic Intelligence) units – generally detected high-level enemy heavy bombers well in advance, and any low-level aircraft the radar screen might miss were mostly spotted by the well-trained crews of the Royal Observer Corps that acted as their old-fashioned and largely foolproof back-up. With sufficient notification, RAF Kibrit, less than 50km away and the main airbase in the area, could scramble fighters to intercept. The land-based units of the Desert Air Force were also bolstered by several more squadrons aboard the fleet carrier HMS Formidable, currently standing several kilometres offshore in the Red Sea and lending her badly-needed assistance to the defence of Suez.
“This lot should give your boys a well needed boost, sir,” Donelson observed softly, both watching as the huge clamshell doors in the ship’s bow broke slowly apart, revealing a broad, flat loading ramp that inched inexorably outward with the whine of hydraulic motors, looking for all the world like the gigantic tongue of some strange, metal sea beast.
“That they will, captain… that they will… not in enough numbers however to make much of a difference: it’ll take more than a handful of new tanks to make much of an impact against our enemy, I fear.”
The attention of everyone in the immediate vicinity was drawn to the ship a few moments later as the sudden roar of many powerful diesel engines being started momentarily drowned out the general cacophony of the busy port, and the first of the new tanks they’d been awaiting drove out of Boxer’s hold and onto the wharf itself.
“Still a sight for sore eyes though, ain’t it, sir,” Monty’s driver remarked from the seat beside him, also watching the show as a slow procession of American-made tanks began to disembark from the ship in single file, all painted in an overall scheme of plain, olive drab.
“It certainly is, sergeant,” the general agreed slowly, nodding faintly as he spoke, “it certainly is. I should think 3RTR will be very pleased to have some new toys to play with…” God knows, they need them… he added silently as Donelson nodded in agreement… we need them…!
“Warm night for it,” the NCO observed, changing the subject completely as he dabbed a dirty handkerchief across his sweat-covered brow. The Humber’s body was constructed of steel plate, in places up to 12mm thick and the few small hatches and viewing ports fitted produced little in the way of cooling or air circulation within. In the harsh desert environment, the vehicles quickly became intolerably warm within minutes and weren’t much better even in the shade on a hot day, or during an equally-hot, sunless evening. “Hope these blokes we’ve come to meet don’t keep us hanging about too much longer, sir.”
“You and I both, sergeant,” Monty agreed wholeheartedly without hesitation, also feeling the heat inside the vehicle. “I’ve also no doubt Captain Donelson here will be pleased to see these new arrivals: she’s suffered through four long weeks of delays waiting for this ship to come in.”
Donelson, who tactfully chose to remain silent, considered the word ‘suffered’ to be quite accurate. Her presence in Egypt had been specifically ‘requested’ by Canberra and the British Government-in-Exile (meaning she in truth had no choice at all), and she’d been dragged away from her own important projects back in Australia as a result. Arriving by air a little more than four weeks earlier, it’d originally been intended that HMS Boxer’s arrival would have been just a few days after that. Instead, continual delays in its departure from the United States – none of which anyone had had the decency to advise her of in advance – had meant that she’d been left stranded in Suez for almost a month, cooling her heels while her own work remained stalled back at home – although ‘cooling’ would’ve been a singularly inappropriate term to use in her measured opinion, considering the overall environment.
The situation wasn’t helped by the fact that she absolutely detested the hot weather, along with all the added unpleasantness of discomfort and the pervasive stench of the city that accompanied it hand-in-hand. The last two years spent in Australia had gone some way toward acclimatising her to hotter climates, however the savage temperatures that had assaulted her upon arrival in Egypt had been something else: even the heat of a Melbourne summer paled by comparison.
The last of the Firefly tanks moved off behind the first line of low, wooden warehouses, threading their way slowly through the milling crowds as the masses grudgingly parted to allow their progress. They were headed for a nearby marshalling yard at the rear of the port area prior to setting off in convoy for whichever front line they were destined, and as they disappeared into the evening shadows, the distinctly louder and far deeper roar of different engines rose from the bowels of the LST. Just a few seconds later, a huge tank emerged and drove out onto the wharf. The vehicle was significantly larger than a Sherman – or any other known tank for that matter – and protruding from the front of its angular, slab-sided turret was the longest gun any of those present other than Eileen Donelson had ever seen fitted to an armoured vehicle.
“God’s holy trousers…!” Sergeant Pimms exclaimed in surprise as his eyes fell on the vehicle. “Begging your pardon sir,” he added, remembering whose presence he was in, “but what on earth is that contraption…?”
“Good God, man,” the general beside him had to admit as they all turned their gaze in that direction. “I’ve absolutely no idea…”
Its presence couldn’t help draw attention, particularly as it was painted in a distinct and quite non-standard camouflage scheme that comprised uneven blotches and stripes of black, tan and olive drab. The only markings the vehicle displayed were carried on both sides of the turret, with ‘XFV001’ stencilled on the upper rear, while the obligatory, unofficial tank name of ‘JAKE’ was marked at the very front, lower corner above the turret ring. Both name and number were displayed in an identical type of faded, low-visibility black paint and were accompanied by a small ‘leaping kangaroo’ similar to those found at the centre of RAAF roundel markings. Montgomery found that fact particularly intriguing, as it clearly suggested the vehicle was of Australian origin, whereas to his knowledge the ship had come directly from the United States.
It made a hard left turn the moment its tracks hit the concrete surface of the dock and powered away toward the group of waiting armoured cars in a burst of acceleration, blue-black plumes of thick diesel exhaust billowing into the air behind it at it sent crowds of dock workers and refugees running in all directions ahead of its path. A second identical tank emerged a moment later, following its predecessor out onto the wharf as the first came to an abrupt halt just a few metres away from Montgomery’s shaded position. The second vehicle was painted in the same three-colour pattern as the first and also carried the kangaroo insignia, although this time it was marked as ‘XFV002’ and simply named ‘Elwood’.
There were more interesting sights to follow as a third unusual vehicle emerged from the hull of the LST, this one markedly different in shape and design to the preceding two large tanks. This new arrival appeared slightly longer and wider, as inconceivable as that seemed to any of the onlookers in Monty’s convoy, yet it was also immediately clear to the trained eye that it wasn’t as heavily armoured as its colleagues. Again sharing the same paint scheme and Australian insignia, it carried no obvious unit markings and displayed ju
st the name ‘Ivan’ in similar black lettering on either side of its central hull, below the turret.
The turret itself was huge – substantially taller than either of the tanks’ – but instead of a main gun, it mounted a single, smaller automatic cannon on either side, each partnered by six long, narrow tubes arranged in paired columns of three. With a large radar dish rotating above its turret and another fixed to the centre of the turret’s front face, it was clear to Montgomery he was looking at a mobile flak vehicle, and the dozen tubes seemed likely to contain rockets of some kind, although he couldn’t imagine how effective that few a number could be against an attacking aircraft even if fired in salvo. It also clattered up to join the other two, slotting in between the pair as its turret began to rotate slowly in a full, 360-degree arc, sweeping the skies in search of any threat.
Six canvas-covered GMC 2½-ton trucks also quickly disembarked one after the other, and the entire convoy of nine vehicles collected in a tight group behind the lead tank, the combined noise of their idling engines substantial as it reverberated off the walls of the warehouses lining the docks. Montgomery stepped slowly from the Humber, snugging his ubiquitous black beret tight on his head as he held the door open and allowed Eileen Donelson to also disembark and stand beside him. She wore standard Royal Navy fatigues, her shoulder boards clearly displaying her captain’s rank, and in one hand she carried a thick leather satchel.
Her obvious beauty hadn’t gone unnoticed by the soldiers and workers alike that were standing on the docks that morning. A few – very few – forgot themselves enough to mutter something lewd or untoward under their breath, while one ill-advised driver manning the vehicle parked in the line behind theirs was foolhardy enough to let out a soft wolf-whistle. The action instantly drew a sharp and notably malevolent glare from Donelson and a colleague quickly elbowed the man in the ribs, breaking him from his stupor and sending him diving back into his vehicle in fear and embarrassment. A moment later, she returned her attention to the new arrivals, and everything else was instantly forgotten.
Winds of Change (Empires Lost Book 2) Page 7