“And what if the British have these new heavy tanks there?”
“I do not think they will deploy them at Tobruk. No. That is their hammer, not their shield. They will use their armor to the south, perhaps in an enveloping maneuver, as I might. The open desert is endless there. You will never lack for room to maneuver in a wide sweeping envelopment. That is what they will probably expect from me, but I will not give them that fight this time. I’m leading the assault with the 90th Light, here…” Rommel unfolded a field map and pointed to a place south of Tobruk.
“El Adem,” he said. “That is their principle aerodrome here in the western desert. I’m going to lead with an infantry assault, infiltration tactics like those I used in the first war. Then we will see what they do with their armor.”
“You expect they will counterattack there?”
“No, I believe they will try to swing round my southern flank—around your flank, general Hörnlein, which is why I have placed you and your men here in this vital position. You are the flank, and you must not collapse, under any circumstances. But I plan on committing my tanks behind the 90th Light, so do not expect armor support here. I will try to keep something in reserve, but if they come with their heavy tanks, my armor will not be effective. You must fight them as I have described.”
“And if they simply swing around my infantry positions? What then?”
“That is exactly what I expect, and so we are planning a few little surprises for them.”
“Surprises? Do enlighten me, Herr General.”
“First off, the pioneer battalions from each formation are being grouped into a full regiment. I am going to select the ground carefully, and then set the men to digging out a good anti-tank ditch, mined and barbed. Behind it we will position a pakfront of 88s, all dug in well, as the enemy used artillery against us when we deployed them from the march at Bir el Khamsa. The 88s will screen our heavy artillery, including some new 150cm nebelwerfers. If they come around your flank I will wait for them to come up on that AT ditch and then saturate the ground there with heavy artillery fire. Scissors, paper, rock, Hörnlein. They have scissors too big and sharp for our own panzers to cope with now, so we must use a rock—your regiment holding firm, and then comes the artillery. I come to you here this evening because I believe you will be the men to face this enemy armor this time…” He did not need to say anything more on that account.
Hörnlein knew he was being warned, prepared for a shock that was soon to be upon him, and Rommel was sizing him up, wanting to know how he would endure, or if he could endure at all.
“Let me be frank,” he said at last. “I’m told your men are the best we have. Make me believe that to a certainty. If you can hold this flank, then I have a chance to throw three divisions right through the center of the enemy defense, here just south of el Adem.”
“This feature here,” said Hörnlein. “Is it passable?”
“That is a deep wadi. We’ve been working on ways to get over them. You’ve seen me drilling the men. Once we do, I want to punch through with my tanks, and then turn north for the coast. But to succeed, I need the enemy to send these new tanks of theirs somewhere else…”
“Against me,” said Hörnlein, knowing what Rommel was saying now. “So we are to be your sacrificial lamb.”
“Correct. But do not think I am sending you to the slaughter, Hörnlein. If I know you are the best, then the enemy will know it as well. So I’ll want you to feed that fire, and demonstrate on this flank as if we were planning a wide southern envelopment. I’ll send you a battalion of tanks to make a good show. But yes, I want the enemy armor here, against Grossdeutschland, squaring off with the best we have. I realize I’m asking a great deal of you; of your men.”
“Have no worry, General Rommel, you can rely on us. We’ll dig into any ground you choose, and by god, we’ll hold it, even if there is nothing we can do against these new enemy tanks but curse at them.”
“That is what I will need from you. Be tough, General. Be stubborn. I know you have a particular fondness for your men, and that asking them to stand there and thump their chests at the enemy is a hard thing, but this is where the British will send their best units, and so I have chosen you and your men to face them. There is one other little surprise we have for the enemy—the Stukas.”
“Good air support is always welcome.”
“Yes, well I have been promised liberal support by Goering, and three squadrons will be assigned to direct support for your regiment. If the enemy does attempt to turn your flank, then the crows will darken their skies. Just use the code word Valkyrie. This is all we can do, General, fixed positions with good men holding them, mined, Anti-tank guns, for all they are worth, liberal artillery with every gun we can spare, and then a good pounding from the air.”
“And the timing of these operations?”
“We’ve just come 500 kilometers from Agedabia, so rest now, dig in here where I have indicated on this map. In a few days time there will be some real fireworks, but you have that interval to prepare. I will keep you informed.”
Rommel stood, returning Hörnlein’s salute, and then turned to catch a glimpse of the setting sun. It was always a rising sun that I loved most, he thought, yet now we must learn to love the dusk as well, and the darkness of night. I have risen from my long sleep at Mersa Brega. The enemy knows I’m here, and is probably out there tonight in their own tents, thinking how to stop the flanking maneuver they believe I am planning here. I will hate to disappoint them, but a good commander must never be predictable. Destiny may have forgiven me for my lapse at Bir el Khamsa. This time I will be ready.
Part V
Day Of Reckoning
“The Lord Almighty will come with thunder and earthquake and great noise, with windstorm and tempest and flames of a devouring fire.”
― Isaiah 29:6
Chapter 13
Admiral Raeder was beside himself. The news of the cancelation of the third Hindenburg Class battleship, the Brandenburg, had been a hard enough blow. Now this! He stared at the order he had in hand, signed by the Führer himself, and realized that his naval Plan Z was now doomed.
“In light of the fact that our capital ships have made no significant contribution to the war effort, and with the necessity of utilizing every resource possible, all further construction on new ships under Plan Z is to be halted, effective immediately. Ships presently in yards that are less that 80% complete, and not scheduled for sea trials before January 1942 are to be summarily scrapped. U-Boat construction is exempt from this order and shall proceed as planned, as is any conversion of captured enemy vessels deemed to be seaworthy within the allotted time period. Steel recovered from the shipyard cancellations is to be redirected to the Reichsminister for employment in construction of our new heavy tank programs, and to support continued production for the Luftwaffe.”
Brandenburg was a mere hull, but now they are taking Oldenburg from me, he thought grimly. The last status report clearly designated its status as being 75% complete. We are only waiting for the gun turrets to arrive, but given this order I have a strong suspicion they will be a long time coming. We will never get the ship ready before January. I need at least nine months. The repairs to Scharnhorst, and now Bismarck and Hindenburg, have slowed everything down. Who was behind this? Doenitz? Goering? Halder?
Doenitz has always been a strong advocate of his U-Boat arm, and frankly, not without good reason. He can claim the lion’s share of enemy tonnage sunk thus far in the war, and for Oldenburg we could easily build twenty more good U-Boats. But he would never advocate such a thing behind my back, not without coming to me with it first and hearing me out. No. This was not the doing of Doenitz.
Goering? That fat spider has his hand in everything these days, including the oil production plans for the entire war effort. My fleet allocations have been leaner and leaner with this big Russian operation imminent, and that line concerning increased production for the Luftwaffe is suspicious.
Raeder was running down the list of ships in his mind like a mother hen counting her eggs. Halder, he thought. It had to be Halder. He has been opposed to my Mediterranean strategy all along, and now that his brainchild in Barbarossa is ready to launch, he wants to secure all the supplies, steel, and oil he can for the Wehrmacht. And why not? The real barb in Hitler’s order is the sad truth that all my ships have accomplished to date is the bombardment of the Faeroes Islands and that one big convoy we feasted on. Doenitz delivers that same tonnage every week! Since Hindenburg broke out, and even with Gibraltar in our hands now, our battleships have been little more than targets for those damnable new British naval rockets.
The squall that blew in with that thought added a deeper shade of grey to Raeder’s mood, and he realized that these new weapons were the overture to the death knell of his battlefleet. What has Hindenburg done in the Mediterranean? It sailed with the French, the most powerful fleet the world has ever seen, and could still do nothing more than catch fire when these rockets were used. That is the real story behind this order—missiles are rendering all our existing naval thinking obsolete. The day of the big battleship is over, though old stubborn sea dogs like me will not wish to admit that. As for the carriers, that is another matter. Marco Ritter and his pilots have proven themselves, but again, that makes the Graf Zeppelin the real pride of the fleet, not Hindenburg. The battleship has been sitting in Toulon getting new armor welded and repairing her superstructure. In the meantime, the British have tried to bomb the place three times.
I would give my right arm if I could get my hands on one of these new enemy rockets. Word is that they now have two ships in the Med armed with these weapons, and together they were responsible for stopping Goering’s planes, and putting all that damage on the battlefleet. Then, when their work is done, along comes Admiral Tovey in HMS Invincible to pick up the table scraps. Look what they did to the Italian fleet! They have pulled most of their battleships back to La Spezia, and getting them out to sea again will be like pulling teeth. As for the French, the Normandie is a wonderful ship, but it has done nothing this year but shuttle from Casablanca to Toulon to Taranto. The British took a beating the first time they tangled with the French, but my ships have not been so fortunate.
He shook his head, clearly disturbed, and realized that he was now as useless as the Hindenburg had been. What have I done to prosecute this war, he thought? Here I have let this business in the Mediterranean run away with my best capital ships. I have divided my fleet, when I might have achieved a decisive engagement here in the north, particularly with Tovey away from Home Fleet. The war in the Med looked to be most promising. Then Rommel takes a pounding, and now the stalemate in Syria will make it impossible for us to achieve our aims before Hitler attacks the Soviets.
So what to do?
The British had detached two more battleships to reinforce their fleet at Alexandria. They were taken from Force H and sent round the cape with that big convoy of new supplies and material. Rommel is finally ready to move again, but he may find the British have more waiting for him than he believes. And what about this new British tank everyone has been talking about… yes! That is the real reason behind this order… ‘Steel recovered from the shipyard cancellations is to be redirected to the Reichsminister for employment in construction of our new heavy tank programs…’
It seems the British have more tricks up their sleeve than these new naval rockets. While we were busy building these ponderous new battleships, they were working on tanks and rockets, and they have trumped my ace, damn them all. Rockets, advanced radars, a tank that is now impervious to our best AT guns… And now the Führer wants me to scrap the Oldenburg, collect all the steel, and send it to Goebbels and Todt for new heavy tank production. This was inevitable. I knew it from the first moment I laid out Plan Z for Hitler all those years ago. Back then he wanted the biggest ships in the world, and I had to plead with him to allow me to use 16-inch guns instead of the 18 or 20-inch guns he was demanding. Now look what has happened. The enemy has a weapon that can smash my battleships and set off raging fires on them from well over the horizon. Lütjens and Lindemann tell me they never even set eyes on the ship that inflicted all this damage.
So now the war comes down to tanks and rockets, but that has not been set in stone yet. I might still accomplish something if I set my mind to it, and stop bemoaning a fate that I could see coming long ago. What to do, Raeder, he asked himself? First off, collect your fleet. It is not big enough to rule the Mediterranean while also planning operations here in the North Atlantic. There is only one thing that matters to the Führer, victories. Unless I deliver one, and a victory that really makes a difference, then the navy is good for little more than coastal defense.
He shrugged, realizing the futility of all he had been working towards these many long years. Time to get Hindenburg and Bismarck home, he thought. I will order them to Gibraltar tonight, and then we will see about a little sleight of hand up north so they can break out into the Atlantic. These new rocket ships are at Alexandria. They will not be able to intervene without first sailing all the way around the Cape of Good Hope. That will take them three weeks, or even a month, considering they must stop along the way to refuel. Yet, at this moment, Hindenburg is a mere 36 hours from Gibraltar at 20 knots. If I plan this carefully, the British will not be able to react. Their Force H has been operating from the Ascension and Canary Islands.
He looked for a map now, mentally plotting out ship’s courses and headings in his mind. Somerville had most of his force at the Grand Canary harbor when those other battleships moved south with that convoy some weeks ago. From our latest reports, his capital ships still remain there, a single aircraft carrier and a few cruisers! He’s been mounting cruiser patrols north to cover the approaches to Gibraltar, but as we have nothing of consequence there, he has had no reason to sortie with anything else.
He took up a pair of calipers and walked them across the map. Hindenburg is 36 hours from Gibraltar, at 20 knots. Force H is 26 hours to the south at that same speed. That would give Somerville ten hours to react if I move to Gibraltar now. But at 25 knots I can trim a good bit off that. Yes, at 25 knots I can have Hindenburg to the straits in just 29 hours, and if I order all ahead full, and make a mad dash at 30 knots, I can get them to Gibraltar in just 24 hours, too fast for Somerville to react! Even if he got up steam and set out immediately, he would still be 2 hours late. Yes… It could be done. Hindenburg can run for the Atlantic this very moment. With any luck the British will be some hours, or even a day realizing what I am doing. By that time it will be too late.
He smiled, feeling like a fresh breeze of good ocean air had cleared the trouble from his mind. We built this fleet to fight in the Atlantic. We built it to be strong enough to bull our way past the Royal Navy and then find and sink those nice fat convoys. Sending Hindenburg to the Mediterranean was a good operation, but the enemy has reacted well enough. With the combined might of the Italian, French and German ships, we should have crushed the Royal Navy, but they were able to engage our flotillas piecemeal, beating the Italians before we could get east to coordinate operations with them. In the meantime, the British have had nice quiet days in the North Atlantic. Doenitz has been carrying the fig
ht to the convoys, and now we see the results of my lassitude in these new orders from the Führer. I must correct that, and soon, or I can see the death of the entire surface fleet in the years ahead. The old maxim is true—use it or lose it. The Führer’s words still burned in his mind, …our capital ships have made no significant contribution to the war effort…. Well, all that is about to change!
Now it is time to steal a march on the enemy, and get my big ships into the Atlantic where I at least have a chance to win some victories. Only then can I have any chance of saving what remains in the shipyards. Yes, I need a victory, and a substantial one.
He smiled, feeling like a naval commander again, and not a logistician calculating oil tonnage deliveries and steel allocations. Doenitz has been fighting his war all along, while I have been sitting on my thumbs, ignoring the convoys. He turned, his resolve mustering, and called for a staffer.
“Send Enigma encoded orders to Admiral Lütjens at Toulon.”
* * *
Lütjens was in his stateroom when those orders came. There was a soft knock on the door, and Kapitan Karl Adler came in, removing his cap and saluting.
“New orders sir. We are to get up steam for immediate departure.”
Lütjens gave him a surprised look. “What’s this? Immediate departure? The work crews are still welding those new deck plates. What is happening, Adler? Are the British up to something?”
Crescendo Of Doom (Kirov Series Book 15) Page 11