“Are the Italians coming up as I ordered?” he asked his new Chief of staff Fritz Bayerlein. He was now working with von Thoma to help coordinate the movement.
“Mussolini’s Boys have already reached the 164th, and the Trieste Motorized Division is right behind them, along with what’s left of the Ariete Division, which isn’t much.”
“Good, that will free up the 164th. And the 90th?”
“Trento Division should relieve them on the line, but not until very late today. They might reach the front by nightfall.”
“The British have pulled their infantry out,” said Rommel. “Tell Marcks to begin moving the 90th this way immediately, and 15th Panzer should continue east to join us here.”
“You mean to continue the attack?” asked von Thoma.
“You object?” Rommel looked at him.
“Well sir, the troops are scattered all over the desert; the divisions all intermingled with one another.”
“Then it is up to us to sort things out. We’ve sent the British packing, but they’ve left a lot of luggage behind as well. Don’t be fooled. They aren’t beaten yet. But if we can get to Nofilia in strength, they will be in a bad way. That is only 35 kilometers from where we stand now.”
“I can have the bulk of my division at Sidi Azzab by sunset,” said von Bismarck of the 21st Panzer.
“Then we will move with 15th Panzer taking the lead. The 7th will reorganize here and be ready to follow in the morning, with your division right behind it, Herr von Bismarck.”
“Do you really think you can cut off the entire 8th Army?” said von Thoma.
“I will certainly try,” said Rommel, somewhat irritated. “If we sit on our thumbs now, so will O’Connor. He’ll secure Nofilia, bring up reserves, and we’ll be back at it again in no time. If, however, I press him hard now, threaten to cut his route back through Mersa Brega, then I may compel him to withdraw through the defile. Then we put the cork back in the bottle again.”
“But we were just sitting there two weeks ago,” said von Thoma. “It was you that popped that cork with this withdrawal to Buerat.”
“That was then, this is now,” said Rommel, his cheeks flushed red with the cold desert air. “If the British do withdraw through the bottleneck, then we look for other options.”
“Another flanking attack—through the badlands near Marada?”
“O’Connor came that way when he thought he was pushing us out a few weeks ago.”
“You want Cyrenaica again?”
Now Rommel turned on him. “What I want is the choice to do what I wish,” he said sharply. “Appearances matter in war. Whether I want Cyrenaica is not the point. I must demonstrate that I can go there nonetheless. The fact that I might be able to take it if I choose is the entirety of it. O’Connor will look at my dispositions and then he will be forced to plan accordingly. We’ve gained at least a month with this battle. Now I want to make that two months. Tonight the Führer will have some more good news, just as I promised him. He will hear O’Connor was beaten, that the British are retreating, that the Afrika Korps is on the move east. For the next few days, let him enjoy the headlines.”
Now an officer came in with three messages, saluting and handing them off to Bayerlein. “Well,” he said, “scanning the pages, and looking over a photograph, which he now handed to Rommel. “This is most unusual. Something has happened at Tobruk.”
That surprised Rommel, for the port was just a backwaters outpost now, with most British supplies being routed into Benghazi. He glanced at the aerial recon photo, and the surprise deepened to real mystery. “That isn’t Tobruk,” he said. “The shape of the bay is all wrong. The pilot must have made an error.”
“It says here Tobruk was overflown at noon today and found to be completely destroyed.” Bayerlein handed Rommel the message.
“I tell you it’s wrong. If that’s Tobruk, I’ll eat my hat.”
“Then what about this?” The second message was handed over, and Rommel saw that it was coming direct from OKW. “Confirm massive detonation at the port of Tobruk. Forward latest aerial recon imaging at earliest opportunity.” Rommel looked up at the others.
“Someone at OKW wants me to have this dusty old cap for breakfast,” he said with a smile. “Very well, confirm it. Yet if that photograph is accurate, it must have been a truly massive explosion. What could cause such damage? Look at the southern edge of the bay, the sea is well inland there now, all the way to the escarpment near the airfield at Fort Marcucci. And look where the town should be. You can’t even make out the roads in this photo!” The more he looked at the image, the more he began to feel an uneasy sensation of fear.
Rommel had studied maps of that area for hours on end. He knew every landform and feature of the terrain, and how all the roads connected. He had given it a cursory glance earlier, but now he looked closer, seeing it was indeed Tobruk. There was the hill at Ras Belgamel, the Solaro Escarpment, Fort Pilastrino, some 10 kilometers from the bay. But the harbor, the town, even Fort Marcucci, were completely gone. What could have caused such tremendous devastation? Could they have had ships there, packed to the gills with ammunition and gasoline? Even that could not cause this destruction. He was deeply troubled. It didn’t seem like OKW had any clue as to what had happened. They were looking for more information from his Luftwaffe assets here. Very strange indeed.
“And here’s the last message,” said Bayerlein. “It seems we’ve finally got our hands on one of those monster tanks the British have been beating us with. They found one abandoned just beyond the cemetery at Ar Rimith.”
“Where is that?” Rommel was reaching for a map. “Here, about ten kilometers north. Let’s get moving, gentlemen. Off to your duties. As for me, I’m off to see this tank!”
He would jump into the nearest vehicle, and was off in a column of dust, with von Thoma staring stupidly after him. The British rearguards were still fighting near the cemetery when Rommel arrived a half hour later. His appearance energized the local commanders, where a mixed regimental sized force from 7th Panzer was cleaning up the remnants of light flak guns, some still firing with their 40mm Bofors. Rommel was impatient, and he looked at his watch.
“I want this area cleared in fifteen minutes!” he ordered, and that was done.
When he reached the cemetery, he passed among the dry graves, the buried bones of generations past. There were few headstones, and those that remained were now scored by bullet wounds and the flash and powder burns of shells and grenades. There, north of the cemetery on a thin desert track, he saw the tilted mass of the largest tank he had ever laid eyes on.
The German Tiger I weighed in at 54 tons, with a body length of 20 feet plus 8 inches. Gun forward it measured out to 27 feet, 9 inches. And it was just under 12 feet wide. The Challenger II was ten tons heavier, its body seven feet longer, and when gun forward it measured 44 feet with that long 120mm barrel. Only the width was about the same as the German tank. Even the later model King Tiger would not be as big as the Challenger II. Rommel could see the damaged track and wheels, the crater in the earth where the mine had gone off to hobble this vehicle. The long gun was bent and broken by an internal explosive, obviously deliberate. This spoke volumes to him.
The unit that fielded this tank was just a detachment, he thought. They had no engineering support, because our intelligence was correct. This heavy brigade was not here today, only a few vehicles. The ground around me still holds the imprint of their tank tracks, and I can read it very well. They couldn’t save it, so they stripped it and then tried to demolish it with charges.
He climbed up onto it, his hand flat against the heavy turret armor. The solidity and power that feeling gave him was something he never forgot. This was the monster that had stopped him from taking Egypt, the beast that had brought him to the shame of defeat. He had tried to explain that shame away with all his talk of strategic withdrawal and saving the army to fight another day, but the bile of defeat was still bitter taste, no matter
how much honey he stirred into that tea. Peering down through the top hatch, he was struck by the roomy turret, impressed by its flat design, nearly the width of the vehicle body itself. Everything there was wrecked and blackened by fire, but he gave orders that the Division tractors be brought forward and the tank was to be hauled off; transported to Sirte at once.
“I want it on a ship bound for Toulon within two weeks,” he said. “Someone back home will be very pleased to have a look at that beast. How the British could have built it remains a mystery to me. And if they could build it, then why do they persist with that.” He pointed to the wreck of a Crusader III, which seemed a feeble excuse for a tank beside the great mass of the Challenger II.
It was a most unexpected dividend from his little victory, like the errant RPG round that had been left behind at Palmyra, and the windfall delivered by Kapitan Heinrich when he captured the Norton Sound. There had been so little time to rig the demolition, and though the electronics were totally destroyed, someone was going to get a very good look at the composition of that Chobham armor, the powerful Perkins CV-12 engine, the David Brown TN-54 transmission, the Hydropneumatic suspension. This little gift of the Magi would have a dramatic effect on the future course of the war.
Part IX
The Kirov Gap
“Satan never wasted a fiery dart on an area covered by armor.”
— Beth Moore
Chapter 25
While O’Connor was advancing into Tripolitania, the Germans achieved a dramatic breakthrough north and south of Voronezh in late September. 2nd Panzer Army had clamped the city in an enormous vise, then the infantry freed up by the Soviet withdrawals came up to relieve those troops, allowing them to continue east. A small pocket formed around Voronezh, trapping 16 Soviet divisions, including most of the 2nd Guards Army and supporting troops. The drive east saw Hoth in the north, his 3rd Panzer Armee holding the northern shoulder, and Model’s larger 2nd Panzer Armee for the main offensive. German recon elements raced ahead through the breach. Cutting rail lines to prevent the enemy from using them to bring in speedy reserves.
South of the city, 24th Siberian held the shoulder, and Zhukov was forced to pull back everything he still had west of the upper Don. With strong infantry support available, the Germans shifted 12th and 55th Infantry Korps to that shoulder, again freeing up Model’s Panzers to move further east. There was a sharp battle around the railhead town of Panino, 80 kilometers east of Voronezh on 1 October, but the sheer mass of the German advance overwhelmed the defense. To the north and south, the ground was now a sea of mud, but Model cleverly found the hardened rail bed a perfect avenue for his drive. It ran southeast to the city of Anna, which is exactly where he wanted to go.
By October 8th, The Germans were 100 kilometers east of Voronezh and the Don, advancing into territory that they never occupied during Operation Blue in the old history. In fact, this was the original intention of Operation Blue as it was first conceived. The Germans wanted to pierce the enemy line east of Voronezh, and with that breakthrough, turn to attack the Soviet position south of the Don from the rear. It was their inability to make this breakthrough in Fedorov’s history, that forced them to instead move along the southern bank of the Don, which remained a bulwark of the Soviet defensive front. Now, the stunning pincer operation Halder had planned would deliver Voronezh, and write all new history with that speedy drive east.
At his wits end, Zhukov pulled units back over the Don, then pushed them north, including the entire 50th Army under Petrov, which extended the southern shoulder of the German penetration as it pushed east. He then set about grabbing any rear area unit he could find, border security regiments, NKVD guards, railroad battalions, flack units, and service troops, and threw them in a haphazard line to extend the northern shoulder. His problem was that he had no substantial force available in this area to stage a counterattack to try and blunt the German drive.
To make matters worse, the German 17th Army took Rossosh as the Soviets pulled out, then launched a surprise night river crossing operation just north of Pavlovsk on the Don. That attack was driving up the rail line past Voronskova towards Burnurlinkova. It was acting as a small southern pincer and, if Model shifted his drive south, he would bag 36 divisions, all the troops of 3rd and 11th Armies, along with 24th Siberian. It was another disaster in the making.
“They persist,” Zhukov said to Sergei Kirov. “The mud is slowing them down in the open country, but they are advancing up the hardened rail lines. This attack to the south of Burnurlinkova must be contained by counterattack, so I have moved Yeremenko’s 4th Shock Army to the rail lines, and pulled the 1st Special Rifle Corps under Katukov out of the Boguchar Bridgehead as well.”
“4th Shock Army?” said Kirov. “Those were troops you were holding for the Winter Offensive.”
“Yes, but that is all I can use. There is nothing else in reserve, and I’ve raided every nest I could find, from cities as far away as Tambov and Saratov, just to find scattered remnants that were reforming in the rear and throw something in front of those panzer divisions. The line won’t hold. It will have to be the mud that eventually stops them.”
“What can Katukov do?”
“He has good troops: 1st and 7th Guards Rifle Divisions, 4th and 11th Tank Brigades, and with all new T-34s, and then the 12th and 27th Cavalry Divisions along with a few smaller supporting regiments. These were the troops that fought at Mtsensk and saved Tula last Winter. They will be enough to challenge this southern pincer that crossed the Don at Pavlovsk. As for the German 2nd Panzer Army, it will take a strong fresh army to stop them. 4th Shock Army was in the Serafomovich Bridgehead. It was slated to be the exploitation Army for Operation Uranus. It is either that, or nothing.”
“Why not pull back all those armies and form a new line running from Anna, through Burnurlinkova, and then to Voronsovka?”
“We could do that as well,” said Zhukov, “but then all the German infantry presently opposite those armies will be free to redeploy again. They can thin out their line, shift troops north into the penetration, and that could allow the panzers even more freedom of movement.”
Kirov stared at the map, his brow deeply furrowed. They were in uncharted territory here, fighting for cities that Stalin had never lost. On the Volgograd Front, Steiner was pushing up the road from Martinovka towards Volgograd, and this also forced the Soviets to abandon the Beketova bulge, terrain they had held south of the city opposite Volkov’s troops. That fortified line had held for years, but now it was simply abandoned as the defense there focused more and more on the immediate approaches to the city. Yet this crisis east of Voronezh was the most serious event on the table. A decision had to be made.
“If you send 4th Shock Army, can it stop those panzers?”
“Possibly. At the very least we will take hold of the tiger’s jaws and keep them from closing for a time. Katukov will stop the southern pincer, and 4th Shock attacks the main drive in the north. But do not expect them to do anything more. We can probably halt the German advance, but taking ground back is out of the question.”
“What if we allowed a pocket to form? The Kirov pocket held up the German advance on Moscow a year ago, and it held out for over six months.”
“That was because we had a major city at its heart. Burnurlinkova cannot supply all the armies that would be in that pocket here, over 36 divisions.”
“What about Volgograd?”
“I have a train arriving from Saratov. It isn’t much, a single rifle division and three or four regiments of engineers, flack units, AT battalions. I’ve also shifted three divisions from the line of the Volga north of the city. I do not think Volkov will try another attack there after what happened to him last time.”
“What if he does? He got over the river there before.”
“Then, Mister General Secretary, we have the Volgograd pocket, and if that happens, I will attack with everything we have left in the Serafimovich Bridgehead and try to reach the Chir again. T
hey have the rail line open there now. The supply it has been delivering is the reason Steiner was able to break the stalemate. I had 18 divisions against those SS troops. It took that much to hold them in check for so long. The Volga Rifles practically died to a man. Only one division in the corps remains.”
“We have nothing else in reserve? No more tank corps?”
“I have three rifle divisions and a few tank brigades at Ryazan, and four or five airborne regiments guarding key airfields. Aside from units in the Serafimovich Bridgehead, the only free tank corps are well west of Moscow, in the North Front sector. I was holding them for a spoiling attack.”
“They would be better used where it matters, but we must step up tank production dramatically.”
“That would be wise, but unfortunately, everything is in Siberia or up at Perm, and both production and delivery is very slow. The factories in Volgograd have enough to do just repairing damaged tanks we send them. The Germans have most every other major production center. Aircraft deliveries are better, as the Americans have sent us a good deal through Siberia. Tanks take longer, and we need them desperately. I massed damn near every heavy tank I could scrape from the lines into a division for Operation Uranus.”
At that moment, a messenger arrived with a stiff salute and trouble in his eyes. Model had again broken through the thin screen of units that Zhukov had thrown at his advance. The Germans had tanks in Arkangelskoye 40 kilometers east of Anna, and other units were flowing through a 20 kilometer breach in the front and turning south. This was also compounded by a big push north to Martinovka by Steiner’s SS that broke the stalemate in the Kalach Bridgehead. The Germans had cleared the terrain north of the road to the city to a depth of eight to ten kilometers, and Volgograd was now under direct threat of attack. Three Divisions were now reorganizing prior to commencing offensive operations.
Tigers East (Kirov Series Book 25) Page 21