Each report further increased Taggart's unwilling pessimism about the far-reaching effects of Sergeant Randall's attempted rape.
NINE
When Stuart's weary patrol arrived, after dark, the full water bottles they brought were more welcome than his news.
‘There was no sign of the Brigadier, so I left four men at the D.Z. and took the rest with me, back to Bir Faarig. Sheik Abdul Waraq was straight with me. A man had ridden in from the Beni Mharrib, another small tribe related to his, to report that they'd picked up a European who refused to identify himself, but they were sure he wasn't an Italian, and they were even more sure, by his appearance and manner, that he was someone of importance.
‘They'd also sent a messenger to Fort Jebel Asad to report their capture. The Brig, of course. Abdul Waraq said he'd go at once to talk to the Ben Mharrib himself, and persuade them not to hand him over to the Italians. He said he'd ask them to release the Brig into his custody, and tell the Italians he'd escaped.’
‘Does he know the Brigadier is British? And what about you?’
‘I had to come clean. Even if the Beni Mharrib played ball and let the Brigadier go, their description of his uniform would identify him to the Italians as British. Besides, as there are no Germans in Libya, the story wouldn't hold up; I don't think Abdul Waraq really believed me when I tried to make him think we were Jerries, without actually saying so. As I hadn't actually lied to him, but merely deceived him, he didn't take offence. He says he and most of the other sheiks will be only too glad to see the Italians kicked out of Libya; and the Germans with them, if they ever arrive here. They'd all be willing to help the British.’
‘D'you believe that?’
‘I believe he was sincere when he said it. Events and changed circumstances could change his attitude and the attitude of his allies. A lot depends on how we behave when we advance further into Libya. If we set up a decent temporary government and allow the Arabs a decent freedom, and kick out any Italians with a reputation for tyranny, and generally make a good impression, I'm sure some of the tribes will be loyal to us. Of course what they'd really be being loyal to us is their own greatest benefit.’
‘Fair enough. How do we liberate the Brig?’
‘I said I'd go back to see Abdul Waraq; if that's all right with you.’
‘Good. When?’
‘As we're putting in the attack tomorrow night, I had to say I'd be there by noon.’
‘If that bedouin who turned up at the fort did come to report the Brig's capture, the whole area could be stiff with enemy fighting patrols looking for us, and an air search.’
‘I think I know the ground well enough now to slip through, if I can take some of the same men.’
After their evening meal and long-awaited brew of tea, Taggart told the whole troop his battle plan.
The slopes of the hill on which the fort stood descended into wadis on every side. The one to the north, along which the coast road ran, was much the widest. The others, though narrower, were deeper. On the south, from where the Commandos kept watch, a wadi ran parallel with the northern one. On the west, there was a wadi which ran north and south but did not intersect the northern and southern ones. On the east, there were two wadis which joined in the shape of a T. One ran north-west to south-east and the other, which roughly bisected it, ran about east and west, slightly inclined towards the south-west and north-east: in fact, not quite parallel to the coast road.
‘The enemy has the best field of fire to the north and west, a good one to the south, and a poor one to the east. That's the way we'll go in. We'll move off an hour before the moon comes up. Number Two Section will make for the eastern wadi, Number One Section will go into the southern one. H.Q. and Heavy Weapons Section will go right up to the fort to lay demolition charges.
‘The charges will be set to blow simultaneously. As soon as they go up, all of us will move in. Each section will leave five men to pick off anyone who manages to get out of the fort. If the gate can't be blown in, because we can't plant the charges on account of sentries, the Boys will knock it down.
‘That's the basic plan in simple terms. Now for the detailed plan...’
***
Lying flat on the narrow ridge which afforded the closest possible view of the fort, with the sun uncomfortably hot on his back, his thoughts as much on Stuart, who had set out an hour ago, as on observation, Taggart heard a familiar rumble which jerked his mind back to the scene before him.
The sound he recognised made him sweat more profusely than a moment before, in the sun's heat alone and without the sudden surge of memory.
The throb of engines and the clanking of tracks swelled rapidly. The first German Mk 3 tank, with its long 57 mm gun, came into view.
For a moment Taggart deceived himself that the tanks might merely have been supplied by Germany and that the crews could be Italian. But his eyes travelled from the well-remembered bows and turret, the big gun, to the white-bordered black crosses on the camouflaged steel.
Corporal Owen, lying at his side, breathed ‘Shades of France, sir!’
MacIntosh, on Taggart's other side, said quietly ‘The Stukas are probably landing at Tripoli aerodrome, forby.’
Taggart had had the same though: the Blitzkrieg would burst upon the desert as soon as this General Rommel had landed enough armour and men.
The gates of the fort swung open while the leading tank was still a furlong away. He saw Pennati, accompanied by all his officers, emerge and walk towards the big asphalt rectangle beside the fort. Eight tanks turned onto it one by one, turned about and ranged themselves along the far side with the precision of Guardsmen trooping the colour.
Taggart felt as though he had just swallowed a lump of ice-cold lead.
The tanks’ C.O. climbed down from his turret; he and Pennati exchanged salutes and a handshake. The other Italian and German officers were introduced, with much heel-clicking, saluting and handshaking. It looked a stiff performance and through his binoculars Taggart saw that neither party was taking any pleasure in the meeting.
The tank crews, four men in each besides the commander, were at attention in front of their vehicles. Their every movement suggested that they were greatly superior to any Italian troops he had ever seen.
What next? Would lorried German infantry arrive presently?
The German Commanding Officer barked orders at his men, his voice clearly heard from the observation post. They broke ranks, boarded their tanks for their kit, fell in again and marched off under an N.C.O., while their officers went ahead with the Italians. Taggart noticed that two sentries remained behind, one at each end of the line of tanks.
‘It looks as though they've come to stay, sir,’ said Owen.
The realisation was already causing Taggart to curse the postponement of the raid: by now, X Troop should either have been enjoying a few days' leave in Cairo, or on its way back to Britain. His voice gave no indication of his feelings.
‘Well, it'll be another feather in our caps to knock out eight tanks and forty ferries, Corporal.’
Owen made no comment. It was MacIntosh who said ‘It'll be a worthwhile ficht the noo, sir. A hundred and sixty Ities were hardly worth fichting.’
Taggart remained at the observation post for a further hour, but no more Germans arrived. He went back to tell Gosland and the troops what he had seen.
***
In the late afternoon, Stuart brought his small patrol back. His face looked grave and before he spoke Taggart prepared himself for yet another unpleasant event.
Sprawling on the ground, with a mug of tea, Stuart sounded apologetic and a trifle guilty.
‘The Beni Mharrib wouldn't agree to releasing the Brigadier. They realised they hadn't caught an Italian and they suspected he might be British. In character, the Brig insisted on telling them he was an ‘Inglese’, which is evidently one of the half-dozen Arabic words he knows. It seems they argued among themselves for some time: whether to help him get back to our lin
es, or hand him over to the Italians. They sent a messenger to the fort, as the nearest military post, but Pennati said he was under orders that no one is to leave it. He said he'd inform H.Q in Tripoli and they'd send out a half-track to fetch the old boy.
‘Meanwhile, Abdul Waraq persuaded them they'd done the wrong thing. Quite apart from the fact that the British will be a hell of a lot better masters than the Italians, and certainly won't want to hang on to this country as a colony, anyway, they would get a much bigger reward for taking the Brigadier back to the British lines than the Italians would give.
‘They changed their minds about handing him over to the enemy, but they said they'd hang on to him until they had agreed a sum with the British, for his safe return. As the Italians were already on their way to fetch him, the Beni Mharrib struck their tents and disappeared into the blue. Abdul Waraq, may Allah reward him with a harem full of the most beautiful houris in the hereafter, knows where they've gone; and I've been able to plot it on the map.’
‘Good show, Angus. But that means we'll have to pick him up after we've done with the fort; and we'll be in a hell of a hurry.’
‘It's on our way to Point A.’
‘You'd better show us where it is on the map. It's a damn nuisance, just the same.’
‘Better than having found him and his being here,’ Gosland said.
‘That's true enough. And now I've got something to tell you, Angus: eight Jerry Mark Threes, with Jerry crews, have turned up at the fort.’
Astonishment and dismay prevented Stuart from replying for a moment.
‘Oh, God!’
‘It looks as though they're going straight to the Front. They've been spending their time preparing for action: stripping and overhauling the engines and armament. I expect they'll move off tomorrow, probably on transporters. I wouldn't have asked for a postponement anyway: but I signalled base and they said to go ahead with the raid, as planned, tonight.’
‘I'd better go and take a look at the brutes.’
‘Plenty of time before sunset. Have an hour's kip first. I'll have to hold a re-briefing tonight: there are already two sentries any time the tanks are left without crews working on them. Jerry'll probably double the guard after dark.’
Taggart's change of plan called for the co-ordination of five main devices: the detonating of the charges that would breach, and in some places bring down, the walls: the killing of the guards on the tank park and the seizure of the tanks; the shooting out of any floodlights that remained on; the destruction of the fort gate with the Boys anti-tank gun; the creation of a diversion by a frontal attack on the main gate.
If nothing went wrong, the German sentries would be killed silently; Corporal Irwin and three other ex-Tank Corps men would take over one of the tanks, but have to dispense with a fifth crewman; the remaining tanks would be damaged, blown up or set on fire by the placing of small plastic charges.
Attending to the tanks would reduce the amount of explosive and the number of men originally planned for blowing down the walls and entering the fort; and the troop was already short of two men, Cassola and Sergeant Randall, whose loss they would feel. But the captured tank would be a great asset to offset these handicaps: its gun could wreak havoc and it could knock down obstacles.
Taggart made everything clear at his final briefing.
After the delays and alarms, everyone was sharp and thirsting for action. They blackened their faces and hands, checked their weapons, and a few fortunate ones fell asleep for an hour. The majority experienced the normal, irritating conflict of reactions to imminent battle: keyed up, charged with physical energy, they none the less found themselves yawning and feeling sluggish, wide awake yet lethargic. Those who had been in the same situation before, of waiting for a planned action to start, knew that every vestige of sluggishness would disappear as soon as they moved off.
At half past midnight on the morning of 13th February 1941, X Troop left its hiding place. The long file of men, in sections and with scouts out ahead, padded almost in total silence towards their objective.
Taggart, leading with his H.Q. group, set the pace. Every step of the way some imperfection in his planning, some possible action by the enemy that would cause a hitch, some weakness in one of his officers or N.C.0s, plagued his thoughts.
When he reached the forward observation post, which was being held by Corporal Irwin and another man, he halted.
‘They've put four sentries on the tanks, sir. Otherwise there's nothing to report.’
‘Where are they and how often do they change over?’
‘Every two hours, sir: next hand-over at two. There's one bloke marching up and down in front of the tanks and another behind: they came on an hour before last light, so we could see them. They march in opposite directions, sir. There are two more at the extreme northern end of the parking area, also marching up and down in opposite directions.’
‘Have you worked out how you're going to deal with them Corporal?’
‘Yes, sir. We'll each take one of them, sir. We'll knock off one bloke on the north side when he reaches the eastward end of his beat, and the bloke behind the tanks when he gets to the southern end of his beat, at the same time. Then we'll do the others when they've reached the end of their beats and begun to march back. They cross in the middle like clockwork, sir, being Jerry. We can't risk waiting any longer to do the other two: they'd smell a rat if they got halfway and there was no one coming towards them.’
‘Good. Right, join your sections and carry on.’ Taggart passed the word back to halt and summoned his officers and N.C.Os.
‘We're going to have to bring Zero Hour forward by ten minutes. The sentries on the tank park will be changing at two. Better for you, Corporal Irwin. They'll be tired and as inattentive as they're ever likely to be. We've got time in hand. Ten minutes early won't alter anything.’
He wondered what improvisation and change would next be needed.
By night the fort looked a solid mass of impregnable strength. His force seemed puny for its task. He reminded himself that the target was made only of stone blocks and timber, his Commandos had no superior in the world.
Gosland, leading the attack on the main gate, was concerned about his section being trapped in the narrow east-west wadi under heavy fire from the fort, or, if things went wrong, the tanks. He wished Sergeant Randall were here, with his seasoned cunning, to advise him if plans went awry. They would miss his superb marksmanship and sharp eyes, too, and the way he had of rallying the men when they were tired: and a few minutes' hectic fighting could be a great drain on energy.
Corporal Nolan, quietly humorous, almost diffident, but a natural leader by example, had everyone's respect; but he was not a dedicated killer like the departed sergeant. Lance Corporal Kulick had the maturity to adapt himself to any emergency, but was at his most dangerous in close combat, not at 100 yards' range.
Stuart, branching off to lead his section around to the far side of the fort, was feeling the effects of his two hurried marches to Bir Faarig and Point A, and back. He had slept heavily for a couple of hours, despite his growing fears. Although Taggart had, in Taggart's usual brief way, commended his work at the well and his negotiations with Sheik Abdul Waraq, he still lacked confidence in himself. He always felt that he was playing the part of a brave Commando officer, just as he had played the part of a man born into the upper middle class. He knew he was a fraud at one and feared that he would not be able to sustain the other when under the heavy demands of battle.
He wished he had a livelier sergeant than Quested, who never made a suggestion or ventured a contradiction; because he was too slow-thinking to do other than carry out orders like an automaton. Thank God for Corporal Lewis; but he had been subdued since Cassola's capture and death, as though constantly blaming himself. Perhaps tonight's work would restore his quickness of thought and action; Stuart hoped it would.
Corporal Irwin, with the self-confidence of a battle-hardened professional, and knowing
that much was always expected of him on account of his Military Medal, contemplated his part in the assault with relish tinged with the realistic assessment that his prospects of survival were worse than anyone else's.
He was pleased by the thought of commanding a tank, for he loved the big brutes. He had been a gunner and it was largely the excellence of his aim which had won him his decoration. Of the few other tankers in the troop, he did not know how good a gunner he had under his command, but did know that the driver was skilled. He knew also that a tank always attracted hatred and the greatest possible intensity of return fire. If there were enough survivors among the enemy after the first minute's action, and if they had any anti-tank guns, he would be among the first to die. Even before then, he had the very difficult job of stalking and killing a German sentry. To perform the same act in quadruplicate, without any of the victims uttering a cry, was asking too much: but the purpose of the Commandos was to perform the improbable and even the supposedly impossible.
Corporal Owen counted himself lucky and looked forward with glee to demolishing the fort's outer walls; and as much more as he could. If he had possessed just a little less intelligence and a streak of viciousness, he could have turned into a pyromaniac. He thrilled to the sound of explosions, to the odour of their smoke, the seismic destruction; and the leaping flames.
His task entailed an early approach to the target, followed by a circuit of it, during which he would place his charges. It would be when creeping round the base of the outer walls that he would be most exposed to danger; especially when working in the front, on the eastern side. After that, he would withdraw to cover and wait for the concerted explosions. He had already determined where he would place each charge and drawn a sketch of the fort with every point marked on it. The men who carried a share of the explosives would deposit for him whatever was needed at these places.
The night held its usual quality of silence vibrating with incipient danger. The howling of jackals was more frequent here than further away in the hills. The distant barking of a dog came faintly from the distance, where there must be a bedouin tribe encamped.
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