The Long Goodbye
“My center is giving way, my right is in retreat, situation excellent.
I will attack.”
—General Ferdinand Foch
Chapter 10
Mersa Brega, 15 SEP, 1942 ~ 06:00
Rommel was exhausted. It had been another sleepless night, and the news from the front was frustrating. The Italians were finally finished at Benghazi. The deployment of a third enemy infantry division to that sector had finally put an end to the garrison there.
“Our Italian friends, and would be masters, are not happy about their situation,” said Rommel. “Yet Hitler demanded that Benghazi be held, and most of those units had little in the way of transport. Losing the port hardly matters. Most everything we need comes through Tripoli—and then takes weeks to get here. We use a third of the gasoline just transporting the rest to this position. If I had my way, I would move back to Tripoli at once.”
He was speaking to one of his new Corps Commanders, Generalleutnant Wilhelm Ritter von Thoma. Rommel had finally requested a replacement for General Crüwell, finding him too abrasive and disobedient to work with any longer. Crüwell was then shipped off to Russia, which is where von Thoma had just come from after commanding first the 17th Panzer Division, and then the 20th. He was a tall, aristocratic looking man who had a dubious reputation in Fedorov’s history. Some believed he had deliberately surrendered to the British to get out of the war after El Alamein, and then, while in captivity with General Crüwell, he let slip vital details of the German rocket program, giving the R.A.F. a choice new target.
Crüwell would escape his fate as a captive this time around, and now it remained to be seen whether or not von Thoma would become a reliable replacement.
“Useless mouths to feed,” he said to Rommel. “The Italians are good hard workers, but they do not like to fight. It’s simply too noisy on the battlefield to suit them.”
“Well it has been entirely too quiet of late,” said Rommel. “Finally they start with the morning artillery barrages again, which could be a sign that something is in the offing. I got a most unusual message the other day, delivered to me in that secure diplomatic pouch you brought me. Did you know about it?”
“Me? No, I do not read the mail I deliver, Herr General. What was it, if you don’t mind my asking—a message from the Führer? It must be nice to have such a cozy relationship like that.”
“Don’t think it is easy,” said Rommel. “Yes, I am fortunate to have the trust and confidence of the Führer, but the man can be… trying. As to this message, it was not from Hitler. It was a note from Himmler.”
“Himmler? What would the SS Chief want to convey to you? Is he sending one of his precious divisions?”
“Not exactly,” said Rommel. “Yet he mentioned a brigade he has formed, and stated he was holding it in readiness for deployment to Spain.”
“Spain? Why there?”
“He believes an invasion is imminent.”
“The British?”
“And their new friends, the Americans.”
“Invade Spain? That will not be as easy as it might sound. Cadiz is the only place they could look at, and even that is so close to Gibraltar that our Stukas would pound them to dust.”
“Oh?” Rommel smiled. “General, you are new here, but you will soon learn that our Stukas pound very little these days. Unless we can give them air superiority with our fighters, they are useless. That wasn’t so difficult last year, but now, the Americans are delivering scores of new aircraft to this theater, and the balance has tipped in favor of the enemy. If the Allies do launch such an attack, you can believe that they will be sure to bring along a few hundred fighters. Things look different on a battlefield when you are under constant attack from above. Goering clucks and boasts a good deal, and he has deigned to deliver his personal armored brigade into my hands, but if he would deliver a few more Bf-109s, I would be happier.”
“An invasion of Spain….” Von Thoma had a thoughtful look on his face. “You know I fought with the Condor Legion there—hard fighting. That’s where we first got our hands on those Bf-109s, and worked out all the problems until they were the finest fighter in the world. And we had the 88s there as well. I suggested several improvements.”
“I am glad for that,” said Rommel. “I was putting them to very good use, until the British rolled up a tank that even that gun cannot handle.”
“I have heard the rumors. Haven’t you captured one by now?”
Rommel flashed him a dark look. “Almost… In this instance, it was indeed a Stuka that got our first kill on one of them. It was disabled on the battlefield, and one of our recon platoons was approaching it when a monster appeared that froze their blood—some kind of massive engineering tank that looked like a demon from hell. It hauled off the enemy tank before we could get our hands on it.”
“But surely there were other kills.”
“No General, only one. This tank is completely invulnerable to any weapon we have—yes, even the new upgraded 88s. In fact, it is the reason I am sitting here instead of Alexandria. From what we have seen, there are not many of them, perhaps only a single brigade, but they move with incredible speed, and have a main gun that can outrange any weapon we have except the 88. Our tanks are hit before we can even see the enemy coming. I’ve tried everything, and all it resulted in was one wrecked panzer division after another. Crüwell was largely responsible. He would rush in, thinking he was up against those old British cruiser tanks. Then these monsters appeared.”
“Only a brigade you say? Where is it now? Surely you have intelligence.”
“We believe it is at Jalo, well south. If we dare make a move east, then it will be right on our flank as before.”
Why not simply block it with infantry, then swarm it with anti-tank teams carrying the new Panzerfausts?”
“A good idea, if I could get enough Panzerfausts to matter. The only vulnerable spot on that tank might be the tracks or wheels, but they move so damn fast that hitting one on the run is very difficult. And these tanks do not fight without infantry support—armored troops in a very fast vehicle with a 20 or 30mm gun, or so we believe. This brigade is a perfect combined arms kampfgruppe—infantry, armor, excellent heavy artillery support. I’ve tried everything, and when you get out to the front you will see the only solution I have come to—WWI.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Wire, trenches, mines, saturation kill zones for our artillery, and every 88 we have is dug in deep at hard points along the line. The infantry dug in as well, just like the first war. If we attempt to fight with our new tactics using the panzers, that brigade will trump any maneuver we make, and smash our Schwerpunkt. Then the rest of the British armored force comes in and it becomes a matter of simple attrition. We start a battle with 350 tanks, and end up with 70 or 80 when it is over. I got as far east as Mersa Matruh last year, but no farther. That was when we first encountered this new enemy formation. It came out of the south, and hit us on the flank at Bir el Khamsa. Believe me, that was quite a shock. Looking back on it now, I can see it was the beginning of the end for us here.”
“I see….” Von Thoma seemed concerned now, hearing a vacant, empty tone in Rommel’s voice. “If the British have such tanks, then why do they not attack?”
“Oh, they did attack. That’s what pushed us off our Gazala line. It was the same old story, Montgomery with the infantry pushing up the coast; O’Connor with the armor trying to swing south around our flank. I had all three of my panzer divisions lined up to smash him at his turning point. Then Crüwell ran off halfcocked and started a premature engagement. He got into trouble, called for Bayerlein, and by the time I got there it was a complete mess. I sent in my last division to try and win the day—then these monster tanks appeared again, and that was that. Well, Herr General, rest assured, the British are not done with us yet. That was what Himmler was whispering in that message you delivered—another big offensive. He believes the Allie
s are planning to open a second front.”
“In Spain?”
“There, and possibly in French North Africa. If it happens, then you can bet that it will put an end to my supplies and replacements. Himmler even suggested that I stand ready to detach units west if the need arises. Perhaps I will join them. The flies here are very bad in the summer. I’ve had my fill of Mersa Brega and El Agheila.”
Rommel’s Afrika Korps had reached the Mersa Brega line months ago, settling in behind well-established positions protected by wire, anti-tank ditches and minefields. The defeat at Gazala and the long retreat across Cyrenaica had taken some toll, but the enemy seemed in no better shape, and the pursuit was not pressed with any fervor. He had come over 250 miles in short order, but his major supply port at Tripoli was still another 450 miles to the west. Something was in the air, as Himmler’s message warned, and he would soon learn that the intelligence was very sound—the Allied landings at Lisbon and Casablanca were already underway as he spoke with von Thoma.
In the months while he waited on defense, eager to receive new tanks, infantry, vehicles and guns, he felt the buildup was far too slow, and chafed that he could never hope to entertain offensive operations again if OKW did not get serious about reinforcing and rearming his troops. That was a fantasy now, he knew, as there could be no advance while that heavy British armor stood watch. Yet why didn’t the enemy attack? That was von Thoma’s question, and now Rommel came to believe that they were building up for something very big.
In that he was quite correct, for the British had been completely rebuilding their own forces in the 8th Army over the last several months. O’Connor was waiting for fresh armor, particularly the new infantry tank dubbed the Churchill that had been promised, along with an influx of American Grants and Shermans. He had two Armored divisions to flesh out, the 7th and 1st, and was told he would get two more. This was later paired down to one, the 8th, as the 10th Armored was held in the UK pending the decision on the timing of Operation Torch.
The 4th Indian would return to relieve the 5th Indian, and the two South African Divisions were sent to invest Benghazi. The veteran Australian 9th Infantry was being called home, and Churchill continued to wrangle for at least the 2nd New Zealand Division to remain in theater. O’Connor was told he could use it to secure Benghazi, but after that, the division would embark from that port and head home. This left only the 50th Northumbrian in hand for offensive operations, and so O’Connor waited to receive additional forces from Britain. These eventually came in the 51st Highland Division, and the 44th Home Counties Division, giving him a solid British Infantry Corps to back his three armored divisions.
All these changes took 60 days, and in the meantime, supplies and fuel were trucked up from Alexandria, new forward depots established, airfields occupied in Cyrenaica, and squadrons built up with an influx of American planes. The plan was to build up sufficient strength to allow the 8th Army to resume full scale offensive operations without having to rely on Kinlan’s Brigade.
It was late July until hostilities resumed with artillery duels at Agedabia, Rommel’s easternmost line of defense. Then, in recent days, the Italians reported the movement of the 4th Indian Division and 2nd New Zealand to reinforce the South Africans around Benghazi. O’Connor wanted to take that port as a secure base and leave no “Tobruk” behind him if he advanced west. The first two weeks of August were therefore devoted to doing exactly that, while Rommel brooded to the south on his Mersa Brega line, unable or simply unwilling to do anything to aid the Italians at Benghazi.
With that port finally cleared on August 18th, O’Connor brought up the last of his armored reserves, the 8th Division. It was his initial intention to combine all three mobile divisions into one Corps, but he then came to think this formation would be too unwieldy. Seeing that the new 8th Division was heavy on the infantry tanks, he decided to parcel out its heavy brigades to bolster his other divisions. He therefore restructured his army with 1st and 7th Armored in X Corps, the three British divisions and 23rd Armored Brigade in XXX Corps, and then 2 New Zealand, 4th Indian and 1st South African forming XIII Corps. 2nd South African was to be held in reserve at Benghazi. He had many of the same cards as Montgomery had at El Alamein, but he had shuffled them about to produce these three balanced corps formations.
While 8th Army grew stronger week by week, Rommel would soon find his own Afrika Korps picked apart to help build an entire new army to defend in the west, the fallout from that unexpected message from Himmler. As a pinning attack, meant to hold German forces in place after the Torch landings, O’Connor moved his XXX Corps infantry up against the Mersa Brega Line while he maneuvered his X corps Armor into position on the southern flank. It was a natural move, not in any way unexpected by Rommel, as that was the formula for most any attack in this long campaign, fix and press the defense on the coastal road, while enfilading the line by a wide envelopment from the south.
“This O’Connor thinks he is fooling me here,” said Rommel to von Thoma. “I know damn well what he is planning.”
It was then that a courier came in, saluting, his uniform covered in dust. He had just come in from the makeshift landing strip, arriving on a Storch, and then riding to Rommel’s HQ on a motorcycle.
“Message from General Kesselring,” he said, handing off the envelope. “There is a map enclosed.”
“Thank you, Leutnant, even though I am certain you bring me nothing but more bad news. Go and see the adjutant in the next building. He’ll see that you get some refreshment.”
“Thank you, sir. The general has requested a response, and I’m to fly off with it at your earliest convenience.”
“Must be trouble,” said Rommel, opening the envelope and moving to the table where an oil lamp illuminated the room with a dull glow in the grey dawn. He found the map, opening it and spreading it out on the table.
“My, my,” he said under his breath. “Come have a look at this, von Thoma. It seems that message you delivered was right on the money.”
Von Thoma stepped over, hands behind his back, head inclined to look at the map. An eyebrow raised, the surprise evident. “Lisbon? The British violated Portuguese neutrality?”
“Oh, I have no doubt they rang the bell with flowers in hand and asked politely before they kicked in the door. And look here…. The Americans have landed at Casablanca.” Rommel raised an eyeglass, looking at the typed message now, then shook his head, a grim expression on his face. “Just as I feared,” he said, the weight of the moment heavy in his tone. “I am requested to immediately release the whole of 10th Panzer Division, and all of Goering’s troops as well. We sit here for three months rebuilding this army, and with this letter, everything I have struggled to secure goes out the door.”
The first shells of the morning artillery bombardment came rumbling ominously in the distance as he finished. Rommel looked at his watch. “Very punctual, these British. It usually lasts for twenty minutes, only this time, I think we will be lucky if it ends before noon. Welcome to Afrika, von Thoma. We are about to get very busy.”
Chapter 11
There was one more force at O’Connor’s disposal, the brigade that had been Rommel’s bane ever since he first encountered it at Bir el Khamsa. The British had used “Kinlan’s Heavies” as they were now called, to spearhead their flanking attack against Rommel’s Gazala line, but this time, with the strengthening of 8th Army, O’Connor suggested they have a go at the enemy without resorting to the use of Kinlan’s Brigade.
“You will always be available should things go wrong,” he explained. “Yet I think we can hold our own. I’ll have six infantry and two strong armor divisions, even after 2nd New Zealand leaves for home. So I propose to keep you in deep reserve. You can move up to the coast after we jump off here. Everything is set to go the first of October.”
“My man Reeves is already at Marada on a forward recon operation,” said Kinlan.
“Our 7th Armored will relieve him, and I’ll return him to
you forthwith. We’ve cleared out Tobruk now that I have Benghazi. So I’ve had a good amount of fuel moved south of Tobruk and stored there for your brigade. Sorry to hog it all for my boys, but a tanker came in two days ago at Alexandria, and we’re finally supplied. Replenish those marvelous tanker trucks you use in your train vehicles. Top off your tanks. I’m afraid I can’t offer you more of those charmed rounds your big tanks use, but at least we’ve got the fuel. Once we push Rommel out of Mersa Brega. You can move your brigade there.”
“Good,” said Kinlan. “We can use that fuel. We only had enough to refuel one Sabre of my heavies. The rest are thirsty, but I suppose we can make it to the Tobruk area easily enough.”
“Right then,” said O’Connor. “I’m off to the front. Wish me luck.”
“General, make your own luck,” said Kinlan with a wink. “And give them hell.”
* * *
The Mersa Brega line was perhaps the strongest in Libya from a standpoint of natural defense. The ground all along the coastal plain was marshy in places, and a morass of salt pans, wadis, and rocky terrain that impeded any real speed in maneuver on attack. The terrain formed a natural bottleneck, and sandy ground known as sebka, dune fields, and rocky escarpments clotted the southern flank as well. O’Connor had positioned 50th Division right on the coast road, with the 51st Highland Division on its left. A long rugged wadi separated the two divisions, running almost parallel to the coast itself, which would make communication between the two units difficult if one had to support the other. Further south, there was a narrow pass between the rocky ground near Matan Al Jafar and an east west escarpment. This was where O’Connor had posted his 1st Armored Division, which was heavy on Infantry tanks.
The Army was flush with armor now, their steel ranks swollen with new deliveries from both the Americans and the UK. In this single division he had nearly 100 of the American Grants, an odd medium tank that looked like a throwback from the first war.
Tigers East (Kirov Series Book 25) Page 9