“Noooo…” Reuters replied slowly after giving the query some serious thought. “Not yet… All the better we leave them alone for the moment – better we continue to listen in and perhaps remain one step ahead…”
“As you wish, Herr Reichsmarschall,” Nehring nodded instantly, accepting the man’s answer without question as he turned back to the communications officer within the vehicle.
“Do you think we really have him trapped?” Schiller asked softly, his eyes slightly unfocussed as he considered the possibility of something too wonderful to hope for.
“I believe nothing until the man is standing before me in irons,” Reuters replied sourly in return, making a face and shielding his eyes as a similar blast of hot, dry wind whipped up, pelting them with stones, dust and debris straight off the desert floor about them. This gust was longer and somewhat stronger than the one that had accosted Thorne, and as Reuters turned his eyes toward the west he noted that there now appeared to be a faint haze rising along that distant horizon that most certainly hadn’t been there moments earlier.
“You know, I’m not usually predisposed to the concept of torture on the whole, Albert,” he added slowly – absentmindedly – as he continued to stare at that far away horizon, “but if we do manage to pull this off, I may well make an exception….”
“Orders from Formidable are to continue your evacuation as intended, Mister Thorne,” Anderson advised the moment he’d stepped back inside the bunker. “It appears some very important people in the Australian War Department really don’t want those tanks of yours falling into the wrong hands.”
“For Christ’s sake, colonel, you need every bugger you have here on deck! Those two tanks can make a huge dent in the opposition out of all proportion to their number. You need me here...!”
“My orders are clear, air vice marshal,” Anderson replied with a sour shake of his head. “I don’t like them any more than you do – and believe me, I do appreciate your intentions – but the orders stand nevertheless. In light of these new reports of a potential encirclement however, the admiral is at lease considering the tenability of our entire position here and whether a withdrawal may be necessary...” the faint hind of sarcasm flickered across his features “...We shall await their response with baited breath...”
“Group Captain Trumbull for you sir,” Wickenby declared proudly at that moment, surprising Thorne and cutting off any reply he might otherwise have given the colonel.
“On the line…?” He asked, a little slack-jawed. “Actually on the line to really speak to…?”
“Yes, sir,” the lieutenant beamed, offering the radio headset in an outstretched hand. “He’s waiting to speak to you right now… I shouldn’t keep him waiting, sir: we’ve just changed frequencies again, and no doubt we’re on borrowed time as it is…”
Thorne needed no further urging. He sprang forward and snatched the headset from the man’s grasp, settling it quickly over his own ears and adjusting the microphone.
“Alec…? Harbinger…! Is that really you?”
“And a fine how-do-you-do to you also, Phoenix,” Trumbull replied brightly, matching the use of old code names against the crackling background static of fifteen hundred kilometres’ worth of radio signal via several relays. “I believe you may be in a spot of bother over there…?” There was a slight pause between question and answer as a result, leaving each man waiting a second or two before any response was forthcoming.
“That would be one way of putting it, Harbinger,” he admitted drily, deciding to match his friend’s wonderfully British propensity for subtle understatement. “I was hoping you might be in a position to lend some assistance, although I suspect it may not come fast enough… how quickly can you have our ‘assets’ prepared for departure…? Over…”
“Possibly a lot sooner than you might think, Phoenix,” Trumbull replied. “Some inside information from a ‘Golden source’ suggested you might be in need of our help, so we took the liberty of preparing in advance of your call. We arrived at Waypoint early this morning and shipped out again the moment we discovered Jerry had started jamming your signals… over…”
“That is by far the best news I’ve had so far today,” Thorne declared, inwardly breathing a faint sigh of relief as a tiny but nevertheless very real glimmer of hope suddenly flared in the darkness of his thoughts. “That would put you an awful lot closer than I could have hoped… over…”
“We’re over Saudi Arabia now, Phoenix… somewhere north of Riyadh, I believe… and that leaves us only about an hour away by my reckoning… over…”
“Well – that’s an awful lot better than the fifteen or sixteen I was expecting, Harbinger…” Thorne responded quickly, breathing a huge sigh of relief and silently adding ‘Thank fuck for that!’ in his mind. “We’ll need you to meet us at…” he lowered the mike for a moment and turned back toward the maps, careful not to strangle himself on the stretched cord leading back to the radio set. Casting his eyes over the surrounding area, he searched for a suitable rendezvous in vain until Anderson assisted by placing a helpful index finger down on the map at a point on the western bank of the canal, perhaps thirty or so kilometres north of Suez. “…Meet us at RAF Kibrit…” Thorne added finally, nodding his silent thanks to the CO. “Do you need coordinates…? Over…”
“Not necessary thank you, Phoenix – we have detailed charts available… over…”
“Then don’t let me keep you any longer, Harbinger… Phoenix over and out…!”
Trumbull didn’t waste time sending a reply – Thorne wouldn’t have expected him to – and as he handed the headset back to Wickenby, he began to feel like there might actually be a chance they might find a way to manoeuvre themselves out of harms’ way after all.
15 . Fight or Flight
Command Post near Agruda
18km west of Suez, Egypt
“Contact... contact...!” Wickenby exclaimed, half-rising as he turned toward the others within the bunker. “Cavalier reports engagement with enemy ground forces to the west...!” Cavalier was the callsign for the tank commanded by Major Neville Knowles.
“What strength?” Anderson demanded immediately, drawing up beside the communications officer with Thorne in tow as Wickenby settled back into his chair and requested more details, hand pressing the earpiece of his headset in tight to aid his hearing.
“Low-level engagement so far, sir,” he replied a moment or two later as another close shell hit shook the bunker to its foundations. “Only small-arms fire at present supported by mortars, but it appears to be an advance across a broad front.”
“What about enemy armour?” Thorne asked quickly, suspicious of the fact that the front lines still hadn’t received any attention from heavier artillery units that seemed quite happy to continue plastering their position instead.
“None as yet, sir,” Wickenby advised following a moment of confirmation with Knowles at the other end. “Out tanks and AT are holding fire at the moment to conceal their positions until needed.”
“Repeat our request to Formidable regarding withdrawal please, Bob,” Anderson directed at Wickenby, the lieutenant immediately getting back onto the radio. “Explain the current situation to them and do make it clear we need an answer now...!”
“No tanks or arty... and they’re still pounding the shit out of us back here...!” Thorne’s gaze was loaded with tense warning as he stared sharply at Anderson. “They’re setting us up, colonel... setting you and your men up for a fall just to get at me...!” That Thorne really meant the entire team rather than him personally made little difference – it still very much seemed to the CO of the Australian 2/28th that the enemy was tightening a noose about their necks from which it might well be impossible to struggle free.
“What do you suggest we actually do, Mister Thorne?” Anderson growled in frustration, not happy with any of the alternative courses of action he’d so far been able to think of himself. “Suez is in chaos, our communications are haphazard
at best, and the rest of our lines to the north are under full assault. I’m not particularly inclined to order a retreat without at least some indication there really is a full attack heading our way… in fact, I’m not at all inclined to order a retreat even if there bloody-well is a full attack coming our way, in all honesty… and even if we do ‘withdraw’, where the bloody hell can we go?”
“Suez is bloody useless at the moment, you’re right,” Thorne agreed instantly, “but I have relief units on their way as we speak. I need to pull my unit back to Kibrit for EVAC... something that would be a whole lot easier if we had some support for a fighting withdrawal.”
“You truly believe they’re trying to trap us here? Those tanks are that important to them?”
“Those tanks and – not wanting to blow my own trumpet – me as well... me and Captain Donelson, anyway: the pair of us and our unit have been a big bloody thorn – no pun intended – in Reuters’ side for two years solid and I’ve no doubt he’d leap at any chance to take either one or both of us out of the equation. We’ve not been this close to a front line since the 1940 Invasion and he’s not likely to get a better opportunity any time soon.” Thorne gave a faint shrug. “I can’t order you to pull out, colonel – I don’t have that authority – but neither do I want to be responsible for any more of your men being killed or taken prisoner on my account than is absolutely bloody necessary.”
Anderson stood silent for a long time, the unspoken words that lay stillborn on his lips as powerful in Thorne’s mind as the intensity of the man’s unwavering stare.
“The word from Formidable, lieutenant...?” He asked finally as all eyes within that bunker quickly settled on the back of their communications officer.
“One moment, sir...” Wickenby replied, hand raised as a signal to wait as his other pressed the earpiece of his headset to his ear, taking in a response from the other end of the line. As the message finally ended, he removed the headset momentarily and turned to stare at his commanding officer.
“The admiral concurs, sir: he recommends a fall back to secondary positions in stages, leaving enough force in place to conceal our intentions to the enemy. He also ‘requests’ some mobile units be made available to escort Air Vice Marshal Thorne’s unit back to Kibrit. Timetable is ours to determine, but he ‘suggested’ as soon as possible.”
“Easy for him to say...!” Anderson observed sourly as he released a long, drawn-out sigh of resignation. He then threw a sharp glance in Thorne’s direction. “The buggers upstairs must really love you...!”
“Believe it or not, most of them think I’m a royal pain in the ass...!” He grinned in return, drawing a snort of laughter from the CO that suggested the man thought the remark all too likely “...but I’m a useful pain in the ass, so they put up with me.”
“I guess we’ll find out exactly how useful that is, won’t we?” Anderson shot back with a grim smile, then turned his attention to Wickenby. “First and Second Companies will hold the line as best they can,” he declared, relieved at least that a decision had finally been made. “We’ll keep two squadrons of tanks with them for support. Third Company will pull back with C-Squadron and the two Sentinels: there should be enough trucks and APCs to go around, and barring incident, Kibrit shouldn’t take more than an hour.” He shook his head sadly. “What happens after that is another thing altogether, but I suppose you’ll have to cross that bridge when you come to it. Pass on our intentions to the rest of the Ninth also, if you would: if they’re ready for a Jerry thrust in this area they may be able to hit their flanks and give them a few to be going on with. “He gave another grimace, then nodded faintly to signify his orders were done.
“See to it, Bob – pass that on to the rest of company commanders, then get Neville on the line… I’ll give him the bad news in person…” He then added, almost as an afterthought, “…also, pass on a request to Formidable for assistance regarding the bombardment we’re currently experiencing. Unless we can do something to get it lifted, we’re going to lose a lot of men as we pull out.”
Thorne at that moment took the opportunity to step outside once more with the intention of using his own belt radio pack.
“Dogberry to bloody Beatrice…come in, please… over…” he growled sourly, taking care to use the correct call signs this time.
“Beatrice reading you loud and clear, Dogberry… over…”
“My friends and I will be joining you for a stroll shortly: thought it might be nice to wander over to…” he paused a moment before remembering the correct map grid reference and providing it, not wanting to call the airfield in question by name. “We may be a little late though, Beatrice, so we thought it be best you start without us… we’ll be along shortly and be sure to catch you up in no time at all… over…”
“More than happy to wait for you, Dogberry,” Eileen responded, a heightened level of nervousness in her tone as she realised Thorne meant for her group to leave without them.
“Negative, Beatrice,” Thorne snapped in return, not allowing her to finish. “We wouldn’t want you to miss breakfast, after all: proceed according to my orders and we will catch up with you… please acknowledge… over…”
There was a long pause before Eileen’s final response came through, her displeasure very clear, although she was nevertheless unwilling to disobey his orders.
“Orders received and understood, Dogberry…” she acknowledged finally… grudgingly. “Beatrice over and out…”
“I knew I shouldn’t have come back here without him!” Lloyd growled in frustration, standing beside Eileen as she received Thorne’s unpalatable orders. “I’m supposed to be looking after the silly bugger! How the fuck am I supposed to do that with a full-on bloody artillery barrage between us?”
“I don’t like it either, Evan, but those are our orders and Max is still in charge…” she gave a shrug “…and in any case, we may have unexpected company headed our way from the east also: I don’t know if I fancy hanging about waiting for them with only small arms and a bunch of soft-skinned trucks as support.”
The reality of that wasn’t any more pleasant than the idea of leaving Thorne behind, but with the two prototype tanks and the Tunguska up at the front lines and currently unable to withdraw, there was really nothing to be done about it.
“Come on…” she said eventually, clapping one of her delicate hands on his shoulder. “Let’s ‘mount up’! The sooner we get to Kibrit the better as far as I’m concerned. Give Max his due: he’s a tough one and he’s been in worse scrapes than this and got out of it okay.”
“I seem to recall it was Alec that pulled his arse out of the shit the last time too,” Lloyd observed sourly, not sounding all that confident as he pulled open the passenger door of the nearest GMC truck and hauled himself up.
“He’ll be all right…” Eileen assured, taking his hand as Lloyd held it out to assist her into the cab after him. All six vehicles started up almost in unison, their diesels clattering and roaring into life as plumes of exhaust rose into the morning air to be carried away by a gusting breeze that was definitely building in intensity. As she slammed the door shut and stared out westward through the open side window at the flicker of artillery shells exploding in the distance, she repeated the statement silently in her mind, this time purely for her own reassurance.
He’ll be all right… She had as much trouble believing it as Evan had seconds before.
“Captain Davids and the rest of his troop are on their way back now along with the Tunguska,” Anderson advised as Thorne stepped back inside the bunker a few minutes later as a shell landed very close just seconds afterwards, causing them all to flinch as dust and left over blast billowed in through the open entrance. “We’ll have a couple of Fireflies to keep you company along the way.”
“The more the merrier,” Thorne replied, forcing a grin that was barely there. “Any word on air support…?”
“Formidable has advised they’re assigning assets now… they should be
on target by the time your tanks are here.”
“It’ll take some time to muster your infantry as well, Reg,” Thorne used the man’s given name for the first time, “Unless they can take out their arty completely, we’re only buying a few minutes at best. We’ll need more time than that to bring everyone out of here as a group.”
“We’ve plenty of PITA launchers and Bazookas, and we’ll keep most of the Sweepers with us if that’s all right,” Anderson stated with no small amount of resignation in his tone. “You boys can go on ahead… if we can’t get everyone else out of here in time, we’ll do our best to hold ‘em off when they do come.”
Thorne’s mouth opened slightly as if he were about to voice some protest over what the man had just said, but halted himself at the last moment. Anderson had all but openly admitted he was prepared to sacrifice the rest of his units to buy Hindsight and the tanks time enough for a withdrawal; in the end, Max Thorne had no idea what he could possibly say in response that wouldn’t come out sounding clichéd to the point of insult.
Lieutenant-Commander Allen McTavish took 803 Squadron’s Red Flight as low as was humanly possible, certain they must’ve been close enough to the stony earth below to scrape the paint off the ordnance beneath their wings as they thundered across the desert at what would have been tree-top height, had there in fact been any trees to speak of within hundreds of kilometres.
Even for an experienced pilot like himself it was a tension-building exercise: turbulence had begun to buffet the aircraft soon after take-off – even down so low near the ground – and had been gradually building ever since. Flying so close to the ground was a dangerous enough prospect even in calm weather, and what they were now heading into as they drew further west did not appear to be at all calm. Indeed, as the Sea Furies whipped through rising clouds of smoke and dust that were the wandering by-products of massed artillery bombardments along an entire front, even now there were patches of clear sky amongst it all through which he could pick out the western horizon and the growing haze that seemed to be building along it in each direction, as far as the eye could see.
Winds of Change (Empires Lost Book 2) Page 67