Crescendo Of Doom (Kirov Series Book 15)

by John Schettler

  At dawn the two panzer battalions of the 8th Regiment led the attack, the fast armored cars of the 33rd Recon Battalion on their right. They rolled forward over good ground, the rumble of the tanks shaking the dawn as they charged. Inside their steel chariots, the gunners and drivers kissed their lucky charms, and some silently crossed themselves as the attack went forward. They had faced the sudden shock of the new British tanks before, and knew what might be waiting for them. Many had also heard what had happened to 9th Panzer Division in Syria, and most secretly hoped the enemy heavy armor was still there, far away, and not to be their nightmare that morning.

  Just as the rising sun was changing the color of the ground from sallow grey to wan ocher and amber, they saw the low profiles of distant enemy tanks in a long line ahead. A surge of adrenaline twisted their innards as the charge went forward to its uncertain fate. One of the gunners called out that he had not seen this enemy silhouette before, which quickened the pulse of the crew in that tank. He was correct, for they had not met these tanks in any previous engagement, all new arrivals to the desert war, though they were not the nemesis that had bedeviled the panzers at Bir el Khamsa.

  Up ahead, their engines turning over, crews buttoning up, turrets training, were the new Crusader tanks of the 22nd Armored Brigade, fresh off the boat from the reinforcement convoys that had come round the cape. The 3rd and 4th County of London Yeomanry had 45 of the new tanks each, and there were another 45 in the 2nd Hussars, a formidable looking force of 135 fast cruiser tanks.

  They looked every bit the name, with a low profile, and a sleek polygonal turret with a 2 pounder gun. The armor was modest at 40mm, and the tanks were exhibiting teething trouble in the early going, as was the unit itself. The 22nd had been sent from England to bring the 7th Armored Division up to a full three brigade strength level, and it had arrived earlier than Fedorov might have expected it, as all these events were accelerated on a scale of three to five months ahead of the tempo of his old history. The crews, in a new tank, in a new and unfamiliar place, had not yet had the time they needed to train and get properly acclimated to desert warfare, and the shock of this first engagement was severe.

  The Germans opened fire at the run, and the British returned, the morning ripped open by the gunfire of over 250 tanks on both sides. 17 Crusaders died in those first awful minutes, but the rest recovered and began fighting, particularly when they got up infantry from the 7th Armored Support Group. This, in turn, prompted the Germans to commit the grenadiers of the 104th and 115th Schutzen Regiments, deployed on the left flank of the attack. As they came forward, they were going to run directly into the 22nd Guards Brigade infantry, and soon the sharp regiment/brigade level tank duel, had expanded to a massive division scale battle that extended for many kilometers to the north.

  * * *

  With the Italian attack faltering after fighting all night, and then being confronted by the stolid, well armored Matildas, Rommel decided to go all or nothing and moved his 5th Light Division into the attack. Conrath had already followed up the successful attack against the perimeter by the Sturm Regiment, and now he was sending in his elite battalions from the Hermann Goering Brigade. But the attack on the Italians had to be stopped, and 5th Light soon found itself in the perfect position to counter.

  15th Panzer Division was now heavily engaged but, as it move south, its left flank was extended, near a place where the long wadi wrinkled eastward, called Qubur al Janda. It was just where O’Connor had placed the 2nd Armored Division, which soon saw that the gap provided an interesting opportunity.

  Yet Rommel was not called “The Desert Fox” without good reason. He had ordered that all reserve flak elements were to screen that flank in a long Pakfront, with many of the positions studded by batteries of the deadly 88s. Also, the night before, Rommel had gone to Papa Hörnlein and his crack Grossdeutschland Regiment, showing him just where he thought the British turning movement would fall. So when O’Connor’s 7th began to wheel its reserve tank brigades to the west, they found Grossdeutschland waiting for them in a well prepared defense, backed by six battalions of artillery, and with another AT Pakfront screening its extreme right flank. It was a defense designed by Rommel to have the hope of fending off, or at least delaying, those monstrous new British tanks.

  But O’Connor was not bringing Kinlan’s Challenger IIs to the fight. He had his Matildas and many new Cruiser tanks in good numbers, but did not expect the prepared defense that was waiting for him that morning.

  Chapter 21

  That day saw the crisis at Tobruk redoubled. The Fallschirmjagers of the Sturm Regiment had pushed into the fortified line, opening the way for the heavy battalions of the Herman Goering Brigade. Now they advanced, in wave after wave, the onrushing tide of German infantry seeming unstoppable. Montgomery had struggled to hold on to one last mobile reserve in the 1st Army Tank Brigade, which also had a battalion of Engineers, and now he threw them forward into the fray, the Matildas posing a strong armored challenge as the troops of the Goering Brigade began to move north towards the vital road junction of King’s Cross.

  The morning of May 8th saw the British tanks launch a fierce counterattack, driving back two German battalions towards the outer fortified line. But the Goering Brigade soon wheeled in heavy flak batteries in the scissors, paper rock of warfare, and the dual purpose 88s soon began to stem the tide and drive back the lumbering Matildas, leaving 27 tanks as smoldering wrecks on the battlefield.

  The Germans reorganized at noon, then resumed their tireless advance that afternoon, with fresh battalions moving through the gap in the outer defenses to strengthen the push north. To make matters worse, the Panzer Regiment of 5th Light had now moved in to support this attack, and soon Monty was reaching for every spare unit he could get his hands on. All his remaining artillery began to pound the German advance, and flak units positioned near the airfields, to either side of the road leading to King’s Cross, were sent forward in a last ditch defense. To these he added two battalions of Royal Marines, the Layforce Group that had come in by sea on the previous night.

  By now, the Carpathian Brigade had finally footed it up from Gambut, and was taking up positions on the eastern flank of the German advance, and far to the east, the trains had been laboring all through the previous night to deliver the last reserves that the British could count on. Only the onset of darkness carried the hope that the embattled garrison of Tobruk might hold on.

  As the sun set on the 8th, the battle in the south had also ground to a halt. The infantry clash on the left of the German advance had resulted in a stalemate, hot and furious at times, with squads of German grenadiers making concerted attacks, only to be countered by waves of British infantry, charging over the desert with fixed bayonets. In places the fighting was hand to hand until, under orders from Rommel, the 15th Panzer Division pulled back to form a defensive night laager.

  “Any sign of those heavy British Tanks?” Rommel had been keen to learn where and when the enemy might play their last Ace. Yet thus far, there had been no reports of these unstoppable goliaths anywhere along the front. The first British attempt to envelop 15th Panzer Division fell right astride the prepared defenses of the Grossdeutschland Regiment, and the enemy was stopped cold, with heavy casualties, and forced to withdraw into a defensive laager of their own. So the battle in the south had resulted in a stalemate that day, which is exactly what Rommel had planned. Thus far everything seemed to be going as he wished.

  I’ve stopped O’Connor with my 15th Panzers, he thought, and Grossdeutschland is standing like a rock on that southern flank. We’ve pushed into the fortress with my shock troops, and tomorrow should decide that issue. Conrath must drive right over those airfields and take the port, and that will bag the whole of the 9th Australian Division. But where are those big enemy tanks? We’ve seen scores of Matildas, and a new small cruiser tank, but no sign of the demons that fell on us at Bir el Khamsa. One more day, that is all I need. If I can take that port tomorrow, th
e British will have no recourse but to withdraw.

  * * *

  That night, O’Connor was on the radio to Kinlan at Sidi Omar. Was his force ready for operations? Could he move quickly west to Bir el Gobi? Was there anything he could send to Tobruk? Kinlan mounted a fast vehicle with Lieutenant Sims and sped up the road after dusk, intent on meeting with O’Connor at Bir el Gobi to plan their next move. It was close to midnight by the time he got there, saluting as he arrived at XIII Corps headquarters.

  “Good to see you, General,” said O’Connor. “I hope you’re coming with more than those three trucks out there.”

  “Stand easy,” said Kinlan. “The Highlanders and Mercians have arrived by rail, so I’ve got my whole brigade together again. They’ve been assembling at Sidi Omar since 04:00, and I’ll be making a night march here, if this is where you want my men.”

  “Excellent. We’ve been in a bit of a boxing match with the German 15th Panzer Division all day.” O’Connor leaned over the map on the briefing table, his face weary with the hour, but the light of battle still in his eyes.

  “Now then, my envelopment maneuver ran right into Rommel’s men this morning, about here, and it’s been tooth and nail ever since. I jogged left with a brigade, but found another German unit in well prepared positions there.”

  “Sounds like Rommel planned it that way,” said Kinlan. “He knew you would try that end around.”

  “Quite so. In the meantime, he’s punched right through the Tobruk perimeter near the main road, and the fighting reached King’s Cross by dusk.”

  “I’ve sent my light infantry battalion on to Tobruk by rail as you requested,” said Kinlan. “It’s just one battalion, but these men will fight, and then some.”

  “Good enough, because no matter what happens tomorrow, I plan to hold on here. We simply cannot lose Tobruk. Rommel thinks he can compel me to withdraw if he gets a firm hold there, but I’ll hear none of that. Montgomery is manning the line with artillery, flak units and rail workers, so that battalion will be more than welcome. In the meantime, you and I must decide how to handle things in the south, and we’ll need to move quickly.”

  “My brigade will be here by dawn,” said Kinlan. “I assume you have a plan?”

  “Well, we’ve two options as I see things. You might swing down here…” O’Connor fingered the line of a long wadi that ran southwest from the vicinity of Bir el Gobi. “There’s a road along that wadi, and it will take you here, down past my 7th Division headquarters and in a good position to swing round Rommel’s flank.”

  “Isn’t that exactly what he expects us to do?”

  “More than likely. It’s what I tried to do late this afternoon, but my 7th Brigade wasn’t able to carry it off. Your brigade, however, is something more. Now, we’ve had a good while to scout that flank. Jerry had a brigade sized defensive laager there, and further east, there’s a line of fixed gun positions—most likely his heavy flak batteries.”

  “Sounds like he’s expecting visitors.”

  “Indeed, and I’m also told the Germans have been busy laying minefields on that flank. They clearly expect us to try them again, and are digging in.”

  “Any other options?”

  O’Connor pursed his lips. “This segment here, just north along the wadi from where my 7th Division is posted… I’ve got 2nd Armored there, just two brigades, but they put in a spoiling attack on the German flank in that area. Ran into another line of flak units and mixed it up all afternoon, but those damn 88s are just good enough to stop even our Matildas. As for our cruiser tanks, they go through them like paper. Yet, as I see it now, that defense was hastily mounted, and not anywhere as well prepared as the German southern flank. That move by 2nd Armored was the one thing Rommel didn’t expect today, otherwise I’d say he’s read my damned operational orders to the letter. The road running northwest from here could put your brigade right behind my current positions with 2nd Armored.”

  Kinlan nodded. “An attack there would cut off everything the Germans have to the south.”

  “Precisely. Rommel expects me to swing left again around that flank, and by God, sending in your boys along with my 7th Division would see all the Desert Rats taking it to the enemy in one glorious rush. But if there is one thing I’ve learned out here, it is not to do what the enemy expects. My 7th Hussars has had a good long look at that German position on the southern flank. I don’t like it. They’ve had two days to harden that defense, while this segment here opposite 2nd Armored Division is much weaker. I say we hit them there.”

  “Agreed,” said Kinlan. “I can have my column up by dawn, shake them out, and be ready to attack in little time.”

  O’Connor smiled. “And I’ll put on a good show tomorrow morning on that southern flank, to keep Jerry guessing as to what we’re up to. The only rub is this—can Montgomery hold out at Tobruk? ”

  Kinlan smiled. “General, if I had to give odds on that, I’d bankrupt anyone who bets against me. Monty will hold.”

  * * *

  King’s Cross was being held by 16th Light AA Battalion, the 1st Carpathian Battalion and a company from the Ulhans Recon Battalion. To the west the other two battalions of the Carpathian Brigade stretched out in a line reaching towards Gabr Casm. Beyond this, the rail line that the British had labored all spring to complete wound its way through the crumbling edge of an escarpment and down past a line of three inner forts, Pilistrino, Solaro and Ariente, the old fortifications built by the Italians. Montgomery had stripped away their scant garrisons, including any flak batteries he could round up, and put them on the makeshift defense line he was forming south of the port.

  “Our back is against the wall, gentlemen, so I expect we shall have to leave off civility and become something more. Here we stand. There is to be no further retreat from this line. We fight here, or we die. Sergeant Major!”

  “Sir!”

  “I see no rifles here for my headquarters staff. Fetch anything you can find. I’m partial to the old Martini & Henry myself, but under the circumstances, one can’t be picky.”

  “I think we can fill that order sir,” said the Sergeant Major. “Would a Martini-Enfield do?” The crisp salute and click of the heels set the tone of the hour. In all the annals of military history, through countless wars over the centuries, there had been a thousand other moments like this, where men banded together in some crucial fort or redoubt, or on a hill forsaken by time and the whims of man until that hour. They huddled in trenches, hunched in the cellars of forgotten hamlets, shivered in a cold, nameless forest, and held a line. One side or another would prevail, and history changed with their sweat and toil, wrenched by their bones and muscle, washed with the shedding of their blood.

  This was one such moment, where the fall of Tobruk might cascade to unforeseen consequences that no man could see, or read about, as this was all new history being written that day. It may have echoed and mocked the battles fought in this place, all well chronicled in Fedorov’s history books, but here was a chapter where the outcome hung in the balance, and could not be found all neatly resolved at the end of a typeset paragraph.

  Yet there was something strangely macabre about the whole scene. Here were men that had all left homes, wives, children, family and friends, and then traveled half way around the world to this place, a bleak and barren desert, all to form lines in the heartless sands, and to kill one another.

  Across the deadly interval between the lines, other men crouched with their squad mates, hands tight on the hard steel and wood of their rifles, helmets pulled low on their foreheads. It was Major Kluge’s Wachbataillon, three companies under Zillmann, Krohn and Trukenmüller opposite King’s Cross that day. On their right was Burchardt’s battalion from the Sturm Regiment, on their left were Heydt’s troops from that same unit. Between them a salient was holding out with a company of Engineers from the 1st Army Tank Brigade, and 1/74th Flak, with four 3.7 inch AA guns.

  Kluge was getting up some fire support from the 5th Lig
ht, as 605th Panzer Jaegers had sent up a number of tracked 47mm guns. By noon he was ready to make his attack, and the men that had been handpicked by Goering himself, to first stand a watch over his lavish Karinhall estate, would now be thrown at Montgomery’s last dogged defense. They were just one small link in the chain of battle that stretched for miles in all directions, but this attack would carry weight far in excess of the numbers actually involved.

  Yet something was happening just east of this crucial crossroads in history, when a train arrived at the edge of the Tobruk perimeter and the “Little Men” of Kinlan’s tough Royal Gurkha Rifle Battalion leapt from the rolling stock, ready for action. The very presence of that rail line itself was yet another anomaly in the history, for the connection between the railhead at Mersa Matruh and Tobruk had not been finished by the British until 1942. This time, however, they had used the interval from February to May to feverishly extend that line, and it was a most timely decision.

  There were fewer men in the Light Battalion now, with 17 dead and another 20 wounded in Syria. Colonel Gandar had the men formed by companies in ten minutes, and now he looked to get some sense of what was happening on the battlefield ahead. The sun was well past mid day when he led his men forward, feeling the battle ahead of him with senses keened by many years of military service. He was listening to it, smelling it, and coming to some sense of what he was now leading his men into.

  His companies possessed a great deal of firepower, but here, in these open spaces, with little more than bare scrub for cover, the men would be vulnerable to all the many banes of infantry, chief among them being enemy artillery. He looked south with his field glasses, spying the distant squat shapes of the block houses that marked the outer perimeter. In his mind he now saw them as an archipelago of stony islands, perhaps the only cover he could find within miles. There his battalion might be able to work its way from one strongpoint to another, and he elected to move in that direction. In so doing he was going to launch his companies at the southernmost anchor of the British Commonwealth defense, like a man arriving at a beleaguered fortress, and then shouldering his way against the breach in a desperate effort to shut the gate.