Tigers East (Kirov Series Book 25)

by John Schettler

  It had a high profile, mounting a 37mm gun in the top turret, and then adding a bigger 75mm gun on the right forward hull in a boxy enclosure. The sloped armor plates were all assembled with rows of thick rivets along the edges, and it was a hot, noisy vehicle in the desert, an ungainly looking mechanical monster. The sponson box for the main gun put it so low that the tank could not assume a hull down position, and its high profile made it a very easy target. Compared to the newer tank designs being produced by the Germans, it was a complete anachronism. In spite of that, it had good 51mm frontal armor, and that 75mm gun packed a decent punch.

  While they were not happy with the design, the British had such a need for armor that they spent every last schilling they had in US banks to order 1,250, and then insisted on a few modifications, including better frontal armor. Added to these, they also had another 86 Crusader IIIs, and nearly 100 of the new Churchills, and an equal number of Valentines in that division, commanded by General Briggs.

  7th Armored was built more for speed and envelopment, and it had only 50 Grants, with all its remaining tanks being Crusader IIIs and the American M5 Stuarts, fresh from the factories. It was a scouting and reconnaissance tank, fast, agile, and with a turret mounted 37mm main gun. General Harding commanded this division, which found itself approaching the German flank with impassible dune fields on its right, preventing any contact with 1st Armored, and rugged terrain, ridges and hills to its left. It was simply terrible ground for the attacker, but O’Connor had over 750 tanks, and was counting on sheer mass to overwhelm the enemy once contact was finally made.

  O’Connor was supposed to attack soon after the landings at Lisbon and Casablanca, but this difficult terrain caused him considerable delay in getting his divisions positioned “in the wine bottle,” as he called it.

  “It only gets worse from here on out,” he briefed his men. “But once we push through this bottleneck, the ground is much better. My intention is to reach the Marble Arch near Merduma in three or four days. That may be a tough order if the enemy puts up a good defense here, but once we get there, then we’re the cork in the bottle, and Rommel has no way to threaten another move into Cyrenaica. In effect, gentlemen, it will remain in British hands permanently, this I can guarantee you. There will be no more falling back on Tobruk. After that, we fight for Tripolitania.”

  “Sir,” an officer of the 50th Division raised his hand. “Who are we up against on that coast road?”

  “Well Ben, you’ve got all the Italians in front of you. One look at you, however, and they’ll all turn tail and make a run for Tripoli. As for the 51st Division, your lot has drawn a dance with Rommel’s 164th Light.”

  “What sir?” said Wimberly, commander of the 51st. “Not the Mighty Ninety Lighty?” This got another laugh, as it was the nickname the British had given to the 90th Light, the division these new troops had heard so much about from the veterans in the other divisions. “Tenacious little Bastards,” they were told. “Never underestimate them.”

  “Now Jerry has been in a mad dash to get east of the Americans at Casablanca,” said O’Connor. “Kesselring wants nothing to do with Morocco, and now they’ve pulled back from Oran near the Algerian border—too close to the RAF for their liking I suppose. Everything is Willy Nilly in Spain, and Montgomery is closing in on Gibraltar. Now it’s our turn. Let’s show Rommel the door here, and move him out of the picture, baggage and all. I want to get to Tripoli before the Americans horn in on the show, They’re making a big push for Algiers as it stands. Very good then, off to your divisions!”

  To say that things were ‘Willy Nilly’ in Spain was an understatement. Eisenhower and Clark had quietly put out peace feelers to Franco. In truth, his membership in the Axis Club had been marginal. He was certainly complicit in allowing the Germans to traverse Spanish territory to get at Gibraltar, and there were many who wanted to see him hanged. Considering British animosity over the loss of Gibraltar, allowing him to stay seated in power was out of the question, but allowing him to retain his head on his shoulders, and accept early retirement in a comfortable villa was much more than he might have received otherwise, and that was the offer.

  Eisenhower sent the message, delivered by submarine to the Spanish coast as before, and then into the British spy network that still had men in Spain. Franco looked at his situation, with half his army unreliable, the other half wavering, insurgents in the north, Germans in country and a growing British force that had already fought its way through Seville and was now closing on Gibraltar. News of the destruction in Seville gave him a preview of what would likely happen to other cities in Spain if he allowed the fighting to continue. Yet if he declared his support for the Allies, as Eisenhower urged, what would the Germans do to him?

  The answer was that he would take a train to the front lines, ostensibly to buck up the morale of his army near the Portuguese border. In reality, however, he would secretly cross into Portugal, turning himself over to the British Army there, where he would be guaranteed immunity in exchange for making a national broadcast from Lisbon declaring Spain had abandoned the Axis, and exhorting his army to strike the Germans wherever they found them.

  This he did, and most of his army was only too willing to join the Allied cause. While the majority simply ceased operations and refused to budge, some went home, while others took up operations against the Germans. Few dared to openly engage German military units, but rail lines, bridges, and roads could make easy, and relatively safe targets. Hube was soon informed that there was considerable unrest in Spain, and demolition attacks from these insurgents were multiplying daily.

  The chaos caused by Hitler’s decision to disarm the Vichy French and occupy their territory was pronounced. After lengthy discussion with Kluge, Kietel, Jodl and Halder, Hitler threw up his hands in anger and cursed Franco.

  “That man has been a headache from the very first. I knew he would be unreliable, and now he’s gone running to the British. I’ve half a mind to send fifty divisions into Spain and crush every city to bare road dust! Yet, considering the situation on the Volga, we have far bigger fish to fry.”

  Of course, Hitler could not have found fifty divisions to carry out his threat, and soon Halder and Jodl convinced him that Spain was nothing more than a massive liability.

  “We have only the one rail line from Marseilles to Barcelona open now,” he said. “The Spanish Army opened the frontier they were holding north of Hube’s positions and the British already pushed an armored Brigade into Madrid.”

  “Why wasn’t it garrisoned?”

  “It was garrisoned, my Führer, but with Spanish troops. All our divisions, and there were only three, were south near Seville and Gibraltar where the main British drive was happening. Given that the rail line back along the southwest coast of Spain is now subject to interdiction, I believe the best solution we have is to pull out of Spain entirely. The Pyrenees Mountains will prove a formidable obstacle to any Allied incursion into Southern France, but if we attempt to hold Spain, it will need far more troops than we have there now—and we both know we do not have those fifty divisions you spoke of.”

  “Yet Gibraltar must be held,” said Hitler adamantly. “I designate it Festung Gibraltar, and our garrison there will fight to the last man—delay as long as possible.”

  “We can give that order, and our troops there will certainly comply and stand fast, but need I remind you that we took Gibraltar with the threat of gasoline to be poured into the cave openings from above and ignited. I fear the British will not have forgotten that.”

  Hitler’s hand was unsteady, yet his jaw was set and firm, his eyes smoldering with anger and resentment. “I will find out where Franco is hiding,” he said darkly, “and then I will send Obersturmbannführer Scorzeny in with his commandos and have his throat slit!”

  No one said anything more, watching and waiting in the strained silence of OKW headquarters. The Werewolf was still in the throes of his tantrum, and a very dangerous beast when so transforme
d. Then Hitler composed himself, reached for his eyeglasses with an unsteady hand, and stared at the map.

  “All of Morocco gone, and now Kesselring tells me he wishes to establish his defensive front at Algiers. What of Oran? Too far west, he says. The Allied air units in Spain will make any defense there impractical. Admiral Raeder has already taken it upon himself to move the Hindenburg and our other ships to Algiers. Why are my Generals and Admirals so eager to give the enemy ground, give them airfields, ports, and without a single shot being fired? Why?”

  No one spoke.

  “Very well. Spain is a nuisance. I will order Hube to withdraw his divisions through Barcelona at once, and they are to crush any impediment placed before them by the Spanish Army, swiftly and ruthlessly. For every German soldier harmed in this redeployment, I will have ten Spanish citizens rounded up in the nearest town or village and summarily executed! See that those orders go out to Himmler at once. Make provisions to watch the Spanish Frontier. As for Kesselring, he is to stand where he is at Algiers—not one backward step more! That port, and all of Algeria and Tunisia will be held. Further territorial losses in North Africa are unacceptable—no, they are forbidden. Thank God Rommel still holds the line in Libya. The British have been unable to move him for months! My other generals should take a lesson from him!”

  No one present thought it wise to raise the point that Rommel had not been attacked for months either. But that was all about to change. Down on that front, a Lieutenant and Sergeant were studying the no man’s land between their position and the enemy lines. It looked to be the first war all over again, as they could clearly see the wire, and knew that the ground must be heavily mined. Then they heard an awful falling whoosh in the sky, seeing it scored by white contrails. Something came plummeting down on the ground ahead, seeming to explode into a hundred fragments. Then the ground erupted with an equal number of explosions, as if strings of fireworks, or more like sticks of dynamite were popping off one after another.

  There was a thunderous roar, until the din and the explosions finally subsided, and the Sergeant looked at his officer, slack jawed. “Lord almighty,” he said. “What in bloody hell was that?” It was a peculiar mix of the divine and profane, but the Lieutenant had no answer for him.

  What they had witnessed was a little gift from Kinlan’s MLRS artillery batteries, missiles that distributed hundreds of small bomblets all over the mined ground ahead of the British lines. They were the firecrackers. The dynamite were the German mines exploding that they had been sent to clear.

  The men watched as the smoke and dust slowly cleared, blown off by a dry wind. Then the more familiar crack of the division 25 pounders behind them started, and both men settled in, knowing that would go on for at least thirty minutes. Yet as the heavy rounds fell, beginning in the no man’s land and then slowly walking forward towards the Italian positions, the adrenaline in their chests rose with each passing minute. It was time for the 50th Northumbrian to get back in the war, and they knew the whistles would soon be at the Captain’s mouths, and the mad rush would soon be on.

  Chapter 12

  Rommel had been correct. Around noon on the 1st of October, the opening barrage of the battle for Mersa Brega finally lifted, and 1st and 2nd Infantry Battalions of the 50th Northumbrian started through that blighted no man’s land. The last rounds had laid down smoke, but a cool breeze off the Gulf of Sirte was slowly blowing it inland. It still gave the infantry time to make that rush across the broken ground, the rifle teams surging forward, Bren teams behind them leaping into craters from the artillery barrage, and others setting up covering MG positions with the Vickers guns. A company of Royal Engineers would move up with each battalion, ready to get at the wire or any mines that might still bar the way.

  The first enemy unit they encountered was the Recon Battalion of the Italian Littorio Division. Those troops had drawn the lot to defend the main coastal road, and on their left, beyond the parched salt pans, was the Ariete Armored Division. That unit would be assaulted by the 8th Durham Light Infantry, and the Queen Mary’s Rifles, each battalion again supported by Royal Engineers. The Littorio Division had no more than 36 M14/41 tanks in fortified positions astride the road, and when their forward screen of Fiat M13 Tanks was driven back by the Northumbrians infantry, they waited until the retreating screen had reached their lines, then the M14s began firing with their 47mm main guns.

  Further south, the 2nd and 5th Seaforth Battalions of the 51st Highland Division were astride the Wadi that ran parallel to the coast. They would run up against fortified positions defended by the 8th Bersaglieri Regiment and the division AT guns. The dogged British infantry kept coming on, and after an hour, the 3rd Bersaglieri Battalion broke and began to withdraw. 3rd Nizza Armored Cars on their flank also withdrew, leaving five AB41s burning behind them, but this was the entire 8th Regiment, and the other two battalions held the line for the Blackshirts. Behind them, lined up abreast in several groups, was the full armored regiment of the newly supplied Ariete Division, 90 M14 Tanks. They were going to wait to see if the Blackshirts could hold and break this initial attack. If not, they were set to make a massive charge.

  It was the opening act of Rommel’s stand at Mersa Brega. He found his army weakened by the loss of the 10th Panzer Division, and all Goring’s troops, but having had some time to resupply, receive new vehicles, and tanks, and most of all fuel, he was in much better shape than he was in Fedorov’s history after retreating there from El Alamein. His mood was sullen, but not the black despair that had prompted him to quickly abandon that defensive position in the old history. While he loved the defensive nature of the ground, it was still a very long way from his major supply base at Tripoli, and he knew how quickly a battle like this could eat up supplies, vehicles, and fuel.

  If the British have enough in hand here to fight a battle of attrition, then I think I must find better ground, he thought. I won’t beat them that way, which is why I put the Italians on the coast road in the shop window, and hold my two Panzer Divisions back. My infantry will hold, but this O’Connor will come round the flank to the south in time. Then I decide whether or not to hit him in a counterattack.

  And yet, isn’t that exactly what happened at Gazala? If he comes with those heavy tanks again, then all I’ll accomplish here is to wreck the last too Panzer Divisions I have, and now, with these landings behind me in Morocco and Spain, something tells me I will get fewer and fewer replacements. I am told von Arnim will take over the operational defense there from Kesselring, so Smiling Al can become the overall Theater Commander. I never liked von Arnim. He’s a stiff backed academy General, and with little imagination, and now he has my 10th Panzer Division. I had better discuss things with him soon, and tell Kesselring to get these bothersome Italian Generals off my back.

  Cavallero was here again yesterday, complaining as he always does. He doesn’t like my placement of the two Italian Armored Divisions up front as I did. The fate of those infantry divisions at Benghazi still stings. The Italians think I am needlessly sacrificing their troops to save my own. He smiled as he thought that, because that was absolutely correct. Without my Afrika Korps, he mused, all those Italian Divisions would be in British prison camps in the desert by now, so Cavallero can moan and groan all he wishes. Yet he has the ear of Mussolini, who in turn will whine to Hitler, and on it goes.

  Politically, I can see why the Italians are getting more and more nervous here. The loss of their colonies in Africa could break their morale altogether, and knock them right out of this war. Look what just happened with the French. In many ways, I thought the French to be more reliable than the Italians, but they folded like a badly set up tent when Hitler ordered our troops to take Oran and Algiers. Frankly, I do not think we have seen the last of them. They must have cut a deal with the Allies. They have not interfered with Von Arnim or Nehring, but they still sit in their colonies, and we haven’t the men or time to round up all their troops and put them under guard, let alone their equipm
ent.

  Yes, something tells me that many of those troops will join Leclerc or De Gaulle, and we will fight them sooner or later. This whole affair in Africa has been a great waste. I was never adequately supported, particularly by the Luftwaffe. And yet… I had three Panzer Divisions here, regiments from Goring and Grossdeutschland at the high tide mark. I should have boxed the ears of the British with that force and chased them all the way to Alexandria. It was only that damnable Heavy Brigade… And where is it this time around? Is it waiting to pounce the minute I give orders to 15th and 21st Panzers to stop this British attack?

  * * *

  Late in the day, the British Northumbrian Division stormed into Mersa Brega, but the Italians had a bone to pick with them after Benghazi, and Littorio Division decided to commit everything it had in a major counterattack. Their tanks rattled into the town again, with hot fighting from one broken building to the next. This forced back the infantry of the British 2nd Battalion, but the heavy infantry tanks if the 1st Tank Brigade were right behind them and quickly moved up to challenge the Italian armor.

  There were 33 of the American Sherman tanks, a new model that had just been delivered a few weeks ago, much superior to the older Grants. They also brought up the Matilda Dozer tanks of the Royal engineers, which advanced on the Italian hard points outside the town, the enemy machinegun fire snapping off the big metal shovels up front, and the British infantry huddled behind this steel vanguard, their rifles fixed with bayonets. Behind them they suddenly heard the thunder of the Division artillery again. Fire from 48 guns was directed over the front at the road beyond the town, where it pounded columns of Italian vehicles. Meanwhile, 6th and 7th Green Howards and the 6th Yorkshire Infantry formed up to the rear of those guns, waiting to push forward when needed.