An outsider in every respect, Montgomery was not one of the genteel landed ‘British Gentlemen’ officers who populated the upper ranks. He was as black a sheep as they came in that flock, and in many ways prided himself on his disdain for the ’good old boys’ attitude of so many British officers, and the posh life style they cultivated. But one thing was true of the man—he got things done, in an acerbic and feather ruffling way, never afraid to upset the reigning order of things and reset the pieces on any chess board when it suited him.
The news that Rommel was reinforced and moving east again had galvanized him. He was sent to augment the 8th Army command structure, which was presently being led by O’Connor, but the territory spanned by the army was vast at that time, and so a dual command was to be set up, with fire and ice being in the mind of Wavell when he decided the matter. He would place the implacable Montgomery in the key anchoring position of Tobruk, and give him command of the ANZAC Corps, comprised of the three commonwealth infantry divisions, 6th and 9th Australian, and 2nd New Zealand. O’Connor had busied himself with the reorganization and refitting of the armored force, which now had a rejuvenated 7th Armored Division, and the 2nd Armored reinforced by the 22nd Guards Brigade, and would command the XIII Corps as he had in Operation Compass. Kinlan’s force was in reserve, and designated 7th Heavy Tank Battalion, under O’Connor’s command, and now it was time to brief Montgomery on the particulars surrounding this new unit, which was always a daunting moment.
“I’ve heard nothing of any new tanks, and I assure you, I would have been one to know about them back home. Don’t tell me you’ve been field modifying the new equipment we been sending. Something in the way of making them more functional for desert fighting?”
“You might say as much,” said Wavell. “There are no other tanks in the British Army anything like what I am about to show you. We’ll soon have a look and you can see them yourself. Though what I am about to disclose to you now is to be considered a state secret, with the highest possible security rating. In the whole of the British Army, there are only two men who have full knowledge of what I will now reveal to you, and they are presently sitting with you in this room. No one else of note has been briefed, not Jumbo Wilson, nor any commander here in the theatre; not Auchinlek, nor Alexander, and not even Sir Alan Brooke, Chief of the Imperial General Staff. If any of those men ever do hear what I’m about to tell you, it will be at the sole discretion of the Prime Minister, who is the only other man in the civilian government privy to this matter. Understood?”
So it began, with the forcefulness of Wavell’s authority, and the credibility of his rank and long experience in the service, to push open the gates of chaos that were now before Montgomery. Using the method Fedorov had pioneered so effectively with O’Connor, they were soon at the site of Kinlan’s Royal Scott’s Dragoons. There was the initial blank stare, the face of incredulity his first reaction, yet as the meeting progressed, and both O’Connor and Wavell kept on with absolute no-nonsense testimonials, his blue-grey eyes flashed with inner light.
“And so there it is,” Wavell concluded. “King Arthur has come back from Avalon at the 11th hour to fight for King and Country. I realize what I have just told you is as dumbfounding and preposterous as that, but it is hard reality, and now we will take this meeting to the field and you may meet Brigadier Kinlan and see his equipment first hand.”
Montgomery had all the same questions in his mind that O’Connor first had, yet seeing was believing, the most powerful advocate for the truth in the matter was the awesome sight of a modern British Challenger II tank. And there was also something at the heart of Monty’s personality, an inner belief that he was called here by destiny, even as Kinlan’s men were, and that he was meant to lead these men in battle, as if fate had prescribed it as a personal boon for him, delivering the tools he would need to win the victory he intended to deliver, even though he would not have direct command of Kinlan’s force—yet.
O’Connor was still the armored force commander, and he was also Montgomery’s nominal superior as overall commander of 8th Army. Monty had the hard defensive position, charged with holding Tobruk, with O’Connor on the southern desert flank of that bastion with all the mobile forces. Yet the moment he saw what had been delivered to Wavell’s hand, by chance, magic, fate, or sheer destiny, Montgomery insisted that it be put to the fullest possible use.
“These troops fought in Syria? So now I have the riddle solved at last, and know how we were able to stop the German 9th Panzer Division.”
“The total force available amounts to no more than a brigade,” said Wavell. “Kinlan had a tank battalion, two mechanized infantry battalions, a recon battalion and one of light infantry, though those troops are all Gurkhas, and they were the lads who punched through the enemy defense at Damascus. We had no armor to speak of in Operation Scimitar, and so we sent half this brigade there to stiffen our attack and counter the ninety odd tanks the Vichy French had. They did the job well enough, and it was this force, in its entirety, that stopped Rommel earlier and sent him packing west to Mersa Brega. But he’s had a good long while to lick his wounds, and is now heavily reinforced. Yesterday he moved two of his best new units up to Agheila from Mersa Brega. We think a new offensive is imminent.”
“As is his second defeat,” Montgomery said flatly, folding his arms, a fire in his eyes.
“He failed to take Tobruk last time out,” said Wavell. “We think he’ll be wanting to correct that this time. You are well aware that we must hold that place, and I’m giving you the infantry corps because I know you’ll be a stubborn rock in the stream there. That said, Rommel has three fully motorized divisions now, and two more brigade sized units. With that he still has six Italian Infantry divisions, and the Ariete Armored Division. So you will most likely have a tough fight on your hands. Should it come to it, we’ve laid down plans on how we might withdraw from Tobruk if need presses us to do so.”
“I won’t hear of that,” said Montgomery, his chin up and ready for a fight. “In fact if any such plans are handed to me, I’ll tear them up the instant I receive them. I intend to fight the enemy where we now stand; there will be no withdrawal and no surrender. If we cannot stay at Tobruk alive, then let us stay there dead!”
Wavell raised an eyebrow at that, pursing his lips. “Strong talk, General, but if we can live up to it, all the better.”
“That we can,” said Montgomery, “but that road starts with walking your talk. I intend to impart this attitude through every rank and file of the units I command, from top to bottom.”
“You’ve good men to start with,” said O’Connor. “The Aussies are perhaps the toughest troops we have in theatre, and both their divisions are veterans now.”
“Yet you’ve strung them out all over the Jebel country to the north,” said Montgomery. “I’ll want them back to Tobruk immediately.”
O’Connor folded his arms, his eyes tight. “It was our thought that we could at least hold the airfields at Al Bayda, Marawah and Dernah.”
Montgomery was quick to bat that aside.
“What for? We have fields that are more than adequate at Tobruk, El Adem and Sidi Barani. I realize you meant to keep a foot in the door in the event of some westward offensive, but under the circumstances, with Rommel coming to us, I’m bringing the Australians directly to Tobruk.”
It wasn’t a suggestion, but Montgomery’s firm decision on the matter, notwithstanding the fact that both men he was speaking to were his superior officers. O’Connor had been promoted to make that obvious, but Monty was not one to fuss over rank, except when it came to his own.
“Well,” said O’Connor, “we determined that Tobruk was the place to hold after all, and not further west with 500 kilometers of desert behind us and a long line of supply. Yet one day, if we do hold, we shall have to move west again. And, when I do move west, I shall be glad to know you will anchor our defense, General Montgomery, because I’m told you are a man who is determined to win, as
I am. That much is clearly evident.”
The two men locked eyes for a moment, the sandy haired dash and fire of O’Connor, and the lean, hawk-like aspect of Montgomery—fire and ice. But neither man had time to truly take the measure of the other in that brief encounter. News came in by motorcycle currier that Rommel’s second offensive had finally begun.
Chapter 12
When Rommel moved, it was with well schooled precision. He had organized three columns, the southernmost to be led by the Grossdeutschland Regiment, followed by 15th Panzer Division. In the center he led with the 90th Light followed by the 5th Light Division, and to the north the Italian Ariete Armored Division pushed off, aiming for Mechile and followed by the Herman Goering Brigade. The columns were well fueled and supplied, and in seven days they had pushed across the desert and were approaching the British defensive positions anchored on Tobruk.
Monty’s insistence on pulling the Australians quickly back to Tobruk was sound thinking. Otherwise his infantry brigades would have faced these shock columns, forced to fight in brigade groups out of close supporting distance from one another. It was a bit of a foot race that week, for the 6th Australian Division was not fully motorized, but the Aussies managed to foot it back to the outlying fortified line of Tobruk just as the first Armored cars of the Ariete Division finally reached the coastal road at Gazala, biting off the vast peninsula of Cyrenaica.
There had been no fighting during the advance, aside from scattered air strikes on both sides. The British were also evacuating all the airfields in Cyrenaica, and trying to cart off the aviation fuel before the enemy could claim it as a prize. For their part, the Germans and Italians were quickly flying squadrons to each new field as it was captured, and setting up ground crews and supplies to support Rommel’s attack.
The Axis columns flowed east, until lead units began to encounter British positions in a line stretching from Tobruk, forward of the big airfield at El Adem, then just east of Bir Hacheim. The night of May 7th, the German columns had begun to fan out along the line of expected enemy resistance, and Rommel was moving forward in the gloaming dusk to meet with the man who would anchor his southern flank, Walter “Papa” Hörnlein, who replaced Stockhausen a few months earlier than the history Fedorov might have known. The medals on his chest were as thick as those on Rommel’s own when he found the lean faced man at his HQ billet that night. Hörnlein was a holder of the Iron Cross for valor, with wound badge in black, and the Honor Cross for his service in the First war, and before this one was over he would add many more. A man of 48 years, he had sharp, aquiline eyes above sallow cheeks, and his face could seem drawn and tired at times, those eyes seeming to see things that he and his men might yet endure, as if he was endowed with some second sight.
He was a staunch National Socialist, though he left that behind him when he was in the field with his men, with whom he cultivated a kind of father-son relationship. His first meeting with the subordinate officers was taken over dinner and drinks, in a relaxed atmosphere of comradery. Thinking his troops would be in the front lines of the imminent attack on Soviet Russia, Hörnlein was quite surprised to learn his unit was being sent to reinforce Rommel’s Afrika Korps.
“Stockhausen has set the bar high,” he told his men. “Taking Gibraltar was no small feat under his command. Now we get our chance in the desert.”
Volunteers to a man, his men and officers were ready. They had been selected from all over Germany to form an exemplary regiment, tall, physically fit, and with perfect eyesight as a requirement for service. There were no shirkers here, and this unit would continue to toughen in the cauldron of combat until it would one day earn the title of “The Führer’s Fireman,” a unit that could be rushed into broken positions on the crumbling east front to restore order and save the day, time and time again.
The word “elite” was not enough to describe these troops. From its early roots as the Wacheregiment Berlin and the Kommando der Wachtruppe, Grossdeutschland, or “Greater Germany” was an exemplary force on the battlefield, reliable, unyielding, and persevering in circumstances that would have broken any lesser unit. Hörnlein and the men he commanded would be asked to do the impossible many times before the war ended, and they would seldom fail in that charge. Yet now Rommel knew that they were going to face a challenge unlike any other, and he wanted to take the measure of Hörnlein and his men, and prepare them if he could.
The two men met in Hörnlein’s HQ tent, seated on simple folding canvass chairs before a shipping case that had been pressed into service as a makeshift table. It was not to be dinner and drinks that night, but serious talk about what they might be facing.
“The Korps is in fine spirits, as are my men,” said Hörnlein as they began.
“I am glad for that,” said Rommel. “But the fighting hasn’t started yet. I am more concerned with their morale after that happens than any bravado that might be displayed before a battle. Make no mistake here, Hörnlein. This will not be as easy as your service under Kleist in Fall Gelb. The desert is a hard place—no trees or rivers to cross, but dry stony wadis, salt pans, bare scrub that can hardly give a man any cover. It is an open field for battle, and one might think it perfect for maneuver with our fast moving formations, but here we must learn a different game. Every day in this desert, there will be just a little less of you and your men than the day before. You will see it in their faces in time, a lean, haggard look. My men have already fought here, and tasted both victory and defeat. Frankly I am still trying to decide which was worse.”
Hörnlein knew Rommel was trying to steel him for the combat ahead, but remained confident. “Your earlier setback was unavoidable,” he said. “I read the reports, particularly those from the Quartermasters, and the Korps was simply not adequately supplied. Frankly I am surprised you chose to attack at all given the situation you faced, and with only the 5th Light Division in hand. Yet now you have a Korps worthy of the name. There are fine troops here, well supplied this time, and I am not simply trumpeting the virtue of my own boys now.”
“Fair enough, General, but did you also note the comments concerning this new British armor?”
“Most surprising,” said Hörnlein. “A new heavy tank… How was it this tiger did not show us a whisker in France? We heard nothing of it. I am told the French had a few monster tanks, but they were more show pieces than any real asset in combat.”
“These tanks are different. The French Char 2C was a lumbering showpiece, just as you say, but not these new British tanks. They are dreadful, massive beasts, yet with a low profile and speed that would rival any tank we have. This is not a slow elephant, Hörnlein, but a dashing heavyweight. It can move like lightning, firing on the run, and from very long range. When we first encountered it, our tanks simply began to blow up before we ever knew what was hitting us. And when I saw them, even from a distance, I could simply not believe my eyes. Give me twenty of those tanks and I would be on the Suez Canal in two weeks. As it stands, however, they are fighting for the other side.”
Hörnlein nodded, accepting the warning evident in Rommel’s tone. “Yet from all accounts, there were not many,” he said. “And the few they have may still be in Syria and Lebanon.”
“Yes,” said Rommel, “the 9th Panzer Division made their acquaintance near the big aerodrome at Rayak there. The Recon battalion was out in front, and a formation of these tanks ripped it to pieces. When we faced them the armor fought as a discrete unit, but in Syria the British seem to have created combined arms kampfgruppes. They also have a new medium tank that doubles as an infantry carrier. It is equally fast, and with a gun in the range of our own 50cm gun on the Panzer IIIs. They have learned fast, Hörnlein. Believe me, this is not the British army we fought in France. At Bir el Khamsa they coordinated every element of their force to perfection, reconnaissance, artillery, armor, and fast moving infantry in this new carrier tank. It was extraordinary. They fight on the move, as I have said, stopping for nothing. It is blitzkrieg the like of whi
ch you have never seen, and we were taken completely by surprise.”
“But we have had a good long while to think about that, yes?”
“Night after night,” said Rommel. “Paulus told me I had to start thinking like a commander from the last war, and fight my infantry units as hard as my panzers, and he may be correct.”
“This is why you have had us drilling in rapid field fortification and minefield deployment?”
“Exactly. Be advised—nothing stopped these tanks,” Rommel warned. “We hit them with 88s and yet could not hurt even one. As for the lighter AT guns, do not even bother with them. They may harm this new medium tank, but not the new main battle tank they have. It is impervious to any weapon we now possess, save perhaps heavy caliber artillery, which we may soon see. This is why I requested, and thank god, received, all those 150mm and 170mm guns! As I see it now, our only chance when these tanks appear is to deploy in a hedgehog formation, use fixed positions and mines, and then saturate the point of enemy attack with artillery fire—the first damn war all over again.”
“But not with the gas,” said Hörnlein. “No, not yet. If we were to use such a tactic the British would have no choice but to use it as well, and then we get that nightmare back again. This one looks to be bad enough as it stands.”
There was a moment of silence, and the two men seemed to dwell on memories of their time in the first war, before Rommel spoke again.
“General, I have placed your unit here on the southern flank for two reasons. The British will stand on the coast, as always. They are already digging in behind their bunkers at Tobruk, with three good divisions in the immediate vicinity of that fortress. It will have to be taken if we are to have any chance to move further east. So I will throw the Italians at them first, to make some use of their infantry divisions. If nothing else, they will force the enemy to expend ammunition and supplies in the defense. Eventually, however, it will take good German troops to punch through there. I’ve selected Goering’s troops for that attack, and will support them with armor.”
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