Stormtide Rising (Kirov Series Book 29)

by Schettler, John

  The big objectives along that river bank were the three main bridges over the Tigris. In the north was the Ghazi Bridge, which would cross and take you right into the Government Ministry building complex on the east bank. About one kilometer down river was the Faisal Bridge, which would lead into the financial district and a series of big hotels on the east bank. Between those two bridges, the British Embassy sat on the west bank, where Wilson’s had his HQ for the whole British operation. While he could hear the fighting that had taken place in the rail yard and aerodrome that day, he was not yet aware of the gravity of that situation, and did not know how serious Konrad’s breakthrough had been. When Barker’s 27th collapsed, there had been no time to find a telephone and ring up Wilson.

  Working late that night as always, the General was in his British Embassy building office when he heard a dull rumble and what sounded like vehicles in the distance. Wondering what it was, he sent a runner out to have a look, and the man came back in white faced shock.

  “General sir! It’s the Germans—motorcycle troops, lorried infantry and armored cars coming right down the river road! They’re already crossing the Ghazi Bridge!”

  “Good god,” Wilson breathed. Barker had been so enmeshed in trying to hold his brigade together that he had not reported the danger to Wilson. “Wake the entire staff. Grab everything, papers, maps, code books and boxes. Yank out the phone lines and let’s get moving! We’ll cross at the Faisal Bridge.”

  The Embassy also had a boat launch for an emergency like this, but Wilson preferred to take his chances in a fast moving truck. Things were slipping everywhere. In the north, the Germans under KG Rosenfeld had fought their way to the outskirts of the palace Hube wanted, and now the two breakthroughs by Konrad and Schmidt were going to cause a real problem. The only man with the authority to correct it was beating a hasty retreat from the embassy.

  The dual breakthroughs west of the river were now threatening to completely encircle all the British forces still deployed in defense of the al Muthana Aerodrome. The loss of the Ghazi Bridge meant that the Germans could put forces on the east bank of the Tigris, right into the heart of the main city, and several kilometers behind all the British and Indian troops fighting on that side of the river. To make matters worse, no one knew what was happening. Even Wilson was only reacting to his own private disaster, though he certainly knew the danger the army was in now. He needed a steady and ready reserve, and the first man he tried to contact with a radio in the back of his staff lorry, was General Grover of the 2nd British Infantry Division.

  John Malcom Lawrence Grover was a steady man indeed, veteran of the first war where he was wounded three times. Promoted to command 2nd Division, he had made his fortune, in military terms, in Burma, particularly at the Battle for Kohima in 1944. But that hour had not yet come. Now these circumstances saw him leading his men up the road into Baghdad.

  “For God sakes, John, where are you? The Germans have run me right out of the embassy, and they’ve got the Ghazi Bridge!”

  “The head of my column has just passed the US Embassy. We’re only about five klick south of you. Hold on, Jumbo.”

  “Well come up the road on the east bank of the Tigris. All I’ve got on the Faisal Bridge is a company of S.A.S. boys and some Ack Ack guns. I’m making for map grid 44.3. You can reach me there.”

  That was the Sinbad Hotel on the east bank of the river, about 600 meters from the Faisal Bridge. Wilson was at his wits end when he got there, desperately trying to get his HQ reset, and establish communications with his division commanders. Then he got a small break when Brigadier Anstice of 7th Armored telephoned the hotel.

  “General, I was just motoring up to my brigade when I heard you on the radio. My men pushed on north, but I can get them back here if need be.”

  “Where are they now?” asked Wilson.

  “Up on one of the gaps in that inner marsh line. Just above the slaughterhouse. There some ruckus north of there near Grid 93.”

  That was 3rd Panzer Division, now pushing into a small hamlet called Kharistan against Langran’s 9th Indian Brigade. The ‘rukkus’ had been reported, but the officer charged with that duty found the lines dead to the British Embassy, so no one knew what was really happening there. Now Wilson was going to make a most important choice. Should he leave the 7th Armored Brigade where it was, or did the urgency of his own situation trump what he might imagine in Grid 93? It did, and he told Anstice to get his tanks to the river as fast as he could, and to head for the Ghazi Bridge. They got there just as 1st and 2nd companies of I Battalion, Lehr Regiment, had completed their crossing to secure the east end of the bridge.

  The tanks rolled up, along with a company of infantry, and they were soon firing hotly at the German troops, forcing them to get into any building they could reach for cover. That timely arrival would stop the southern pincer threatening to penetrate into the city center, but it would improve Westhoven’s prospects in his envelopment near Kharistan. Wilson had a good deal more to do, and dawn, with Grover’s 2nd Infantry Division, could not come soon enough.

  * * *

  When Guderian heard the news, he was elated.

  “Excellent!” he exclaimed. “Schmidt used his head tonight, and that will make a good difference. The 901st Lehr has arrived, has it not?”

  “Yes sir, it is pulling into the rail yard now.”

  “Then send orders to Scholze. He’s to follow Konrad with all speed.”

  Feed a fire, Guderian knew. Now he would double his bet on the west bank thrust with both his elite Lehr Regiments. The news that Konrad had already taken the Ghazi bridge by storm was particularly encouraging. Guderian moved through the rail yard that night, assessing the damage to the tracks and inspecting the small fuel bunker. There was still good fuel there. The retreat of the previous day had been so abrupt that the British had no time to blow it all up. Then he learned what Hube had ordered, discovering that his 3rd Panzer Division had made that enveloping movement around the inner marsh line.

  We have a real chance here, he thought. If Hube gets around that flank, he’s in a perfect position to link up with a thrust over the Ghazi Bridge, assuming we can hold that bridgehead. I must urge him to push hard.

  Joe Kingstone would soon have more to do than he expected.

  25 FEB, 1943

  In the early pre-dawn hours, the telephone rang at the King’s Royal Palace in the south. Lieutenant Fitch had heard the rumble of battle to the north, and sure enough, it was MacGregor of the 20th Indian Brigade.

  “Jerry’s got the bridge over the Khir!” he reported with some urgency.

  “What?” said Fitch. “You mean he’s gone right through Arderne?”

  “He’s not even there,” said MacGregor. “His men pulled out yesterday; probably to see about that business at the Airfield settlement. Then Fritz hit the damn bridge an hour later.”

  “Well why in bloody hell did you wait this long to report? It’s nearly 04:00.”

  “I only just got word from the Sikhs! The thing is this. The Germans have pushed a lot of companies over that bridge. I think they moved on east to the Cotton Ginnery.”

  That was a heavily built up industrial sector, just south of an elevated road that separated it from the aerodrome. It was bounded on the left by the town of Al Hartiyah, and on the right by impassable marshy ground, a perfect strongpoint for a defense. If the Germans could get there first, Blaxland’s two southernmost brigades would be cut off from Arderne on the Airfield bund, and there would be nothing to stop the Germans from going further east.

  “This doesn’t sound good,” said Lieutenant Fitch. “We need that Cotton Ginnery. Can you fold back your lines. No—on second thought, you’d better get the rest of your brigade off that railway embankment and up to the Ginnery. I’ll wake Colonel Blaxland and tell him what’s happened at once.”

  Blaxland wasn’t happy to be wakened, sitting up, bleary eyed and running a hand through his thinning hair. “What is it, Fitch? The sun i
sn’t even up.”

  “Sir, I’ve just heard from MacGregor. He says the Germans are over the bridge on the Khir and heading for the Cotton Ginnery. I’ve told him he’d better see about it.”

  “What? Over the bridge? Has Arderne called?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Well, see what he’s up to.”

  “I rang the Airport Hotel twice, but the staffer says he’s not there—they sent a man out in a car to look for him.”

  There came the distant boom of artillery, 25-Pounders, firing with increasing fervor. “What’s that artillery,” asked Blaxland. “Is that Arderne, or MacGregor?”

  “I think it must be MacGregor’s guns sir. He must be firing at the Germans near the Khir River Bridge.”

  “Well, I can’t imagine how they got over the railway embankment like that. I’ll certainly have to speak with Arderne about it. He was running about like a chicken with his head cut off yesterday. I won’t tolerate that sort.”

  “Sir, shouldn’t we notify General Wilson about this? What if the Germans get to the Ginnery before MacGregor can stop them?”

  “Yes, put in that call as well. But the thing is this: I’ve orders to keep these palaces safe and sound, and watch the River Khir. Arderne is behind this nonsense.”

  “But there’s no one to our left now,” said Fitch. “The Germans pulled out yesterday, and now we bloody well know where they went, don’t we, sir. Shouldn’t we send a battalion or two up north? We’ve enough here to watch this flank. We could send them by the bridge behind the palace and along the Hamawi Road. They could get to the Washash Camp by that route, a good blocking position if the Germans do get to the Ginnery first.”

  “Compose yourself, Fitch. You mustn’t let your imagination run wild. You’re starting to sound like Arderne. All we know at this point is that MacGregor says the Germans have taken the bridge over the Khir. Go make those calls and report back. I suppose I’d better get dressed and see about some tea. It may be a busy day.”

  That was to be an understatement of the highest order. Blaxland was not a lazy man by nature. He worked very hard when he set his mind to something, but lacked the initiative to do what Fitch was suggesting here. His division had been posted to Baghdad, then they went out on that long sortie to the Euphrates that ended quite badly. He was only too glad to get back to the city, and Brigadier Kingstone had ruffled his feathers on that little adventure, upbraiding him for scattering his brigades about. He still simmered with some resentment over that, but in keeping with what Kingstone had said, he had placed his brigades on the objectives he was to hold, and there he sat. The choice of the luxurious Palace of Zuhur for his headquarters was not one that would easily see him want to move, unless directly ordered by Wilson to do so.

  Nearly four kilometers to the north, at the airfield hangars, Arderne was pleased that he now had his full brigade in position on the bund. But he looked out to the southwest, seeing rising dust there with the dawn, and also hearing MacGregor’s guns. He rang up Division HQ just as Fitch was about to make his first call.

  “Where are you?” asked Fitch.

  “At the airfield hangars. My brigade is in good order on the bund.”

  “Well you left that railway embankment and the Khir Bridge uncovered yesterday. Blaxland is working up to a fit about it.”

  “What? I left a battery of 2-Pounder Portees and nine 37’s covering that bridge. And it was not but a hundred meters from MacGregor’s infantry. What’s the problem?”

  “Jerry’s taken it! That’s the bloody problem. They ran right by MacGregor, and Blaxland won’t budge an inch. I’m calling Wilson next to see if I can get the General to order him to move.”

  “My God… This is serious. What if they get to the Cotton Ginnery?”

  “Exactly! Is there anything you can do?”

  “5th Maharatta is down on the lower end of the bund. I’ll send them to the Ginnery immediately.”

  That battalion got the order five minutes later, and began to move, but it soon ran right into the recon companies of Schmidt’s division, and a meeting engagement ensued. Arderne also called his field gunners on the radio and told them to turn about to deploy south. He would have them try and support the Maharatta infantry. Yes, it was Arderne who had done the running about the previous day, defending the Airfield Settlement, getting his brigade safely back to the bund, and coordinating smartly with Colonel Selby’s 28th Brigade on his right. Now he was the only one to actually order troops to try and stop the Germans at the Ginnery.

  They would not be enough.

  Chapter 24

  The Al Muthana Airfield had two long strips running parallel to one another, a little over 2 kilometers in length. Brigadier Selby had placed his men at the far end of those strips, their lines extending from the airfield bund on his left, to a small cotton factory in the center, and then to the outskirts of Sulaymaniyah. It was there, in that desperate hour, that Barker’s 27th Brigade was meeting its final agonizing end.

  The seven companies Barker still had in hand were in no way enough to stop the heavily reinforced Lehr Regiment. Two more companies were pinned against the river when they tried to block that road, and annihilated. The remaining five were scattered through the wooden hovels of the settlement, disorganized, out of contact with Barker’s HQ, and effectively paralyzed as fighting units. The Germans opened the breach near the river, poured through and they were quickly spreading through the Jufayar and Al Karkh neighborhoods as they swept to seize the Ghazi Bridge.

  It was only that timely call by Anstice that brought his 7th Armored Brigade back to the bridge just in time to stop the Germans from establishing a solid bridgehead there. The British tankers were too much for the two companies that had already pushed across the bridge. They were slowly driven back, and then forced to retreat back over the span as the Shermans fired both main guns and machineguns in their wake. That had stopped a dangerous penetration into the main city on the east bank, but the Germans were still masters of the west bank, now as far south as the Faisal Bridge, where two companies were organizing to attack the emplaced AA units guarding the west end of that bridge.

  Now Brigadier Selby of the 28th Indian Brigade realized the extreme danger he was in. His brigade had been solid on the left of Barker’s, and well joined with Arderne’s 25th on the Airfield Bund, but now the Germans were in the settlements well east of his position, effectively behind him and threatening to cut his men off completely. They had to get back, and Selby was close enough to Arderne to find him that hour.

  “We’ve got to get back!”

  “What? Over that field?”

  “There’s nothing else we can do. Barker’s brigade has completely collapsed on my right. If we stay here, we’ll all be making a good long visit to a German P.O.W. camp soon. Are you with me?”

  That would precipitate the second general withdrawal, both men acting on their own initiative, out of contact with their respective Division HQs. Arderne belonged to Blaxland, and there was no time to dicker with him at that moment. Selby belonged to General Thompson and the 6th Indian Division, but Thompson was on the east bank of the river. So the Brigadiers were on their own.

  There ensued what could only be called a “mad rush.” The companies volley fired as before, then broke off behind a thin delaying screen, and began that long mad dash across the airfield, running for all they were worth. The Germans were firing artillery and mortars, and the field soon became a killing ground, with men hit and falling as they ran. Many shed their packs and even weapons as they fled, a human wave of lost souls, all jumbled together on the run. It would be a miracle if the officers could sort them out and rally them at the far end of the field, but most would make it there, breathless and bedraggled.

  There was good defensible ground on the southern end of the field, an elevated road, a grove of palms and gardens, the Airport Hotel, Customs House and other facility buildings. Trumpets blared and the officers blew a shrill chorus on the whistles, desperately try
ing to call in the men of their companies.

  Selby’s men had it a little better, retreating right down the road and rail line that ran parallel to the field. He was able to get several companies in order and anchor his new line in a sturdy museum building on his right, on the road to the Faisal Bridge, which was just under a kilometer to the east. Yet that flank was still hanging in the air, and there were already Germans moving through the AL Karkh district, effectively compromising that line.

  Arderne’s men finally reached the elevated road south of the field, which became a natural rallying point. It was the same road that he had tried to block with 1/5 Maharatta, which had run right into elements of Schmidt’s 41st Motorized Regiment. The Germans of the 20th Regiment of that same division had flooded into the industrial zone, taking the Cotton Ginnery, and now Arderne’s men could only just cling to the northern fringes of those buildings. His position soon looked like a big letter V, tipped to the right on its side. One side was on that elevated road, the other along the edge of the Ginnery buildings, and behind them there was a thick marsh that would cover his left flank and prevent any envelopment from that direction.

  Yet Arderne was astute enough to know he could not stay where he was for very long. If Selby were to be pushed out of the Airport Hotel and Customs House, Arderne’s entire brigade would be trapped, the same marsh that now protected him becoming a fatal obstacle to any further retreat. So he sought only to reorder his companies, knowing he would have to move again very soon. Now he collared the nearest radio section, and finally called Division HQ.

  “I’ve got my whole Brigade back over the field, but the Germans have the Ginnery, and my position is rather precarious.”

  It was Blaxland on the other end of the line this time, and he was clearly not happy. “Damn it man! You were posted on the River Khir. What in blazes gave you the notion to pull your men out like that and cross that airfield?”