Squadron Leader A.C. ‘Jock’ Martin, the Commanding Officer of R.A.F. Luqa, had limped out to his plane for the twenty-fifth time that week, but there were all too few left. He had lost some very good men, including Flight Lieutenant Peter Keeble and his Flag Officer William Woods, old ‘Timber’ as he was called by the men. The German 109s had cut down his Gladiator, which was no match for the faster, more modern fighter. Now he wondered how long they would have to wait for help from Alexandria, and he feared it would be a very long time indeed.
Now he was patrolling in a Hurricane when tower control radioed the heading of yet another incoming formation of enemy planes. There was no one else up on CAP, and so he decided he would have to go in alone. What he found was a formation of twenty S-79s of the 34o Stormo intending to strike the airfield at Luqa. Martin knew he could not possibly stop a formation of that size, but he could raise hell and try to break them up as they approached the field. He got in one good pass, like a hawk falling on a formation of geese flying south, and managed to down one plane, wheel about and take a second from beneath, starting an engine fire. Then he had company with the arrival of Italian Sergente Abramo Lanzarini of the 72nd Squadriglia in an MC-200 fighter.
The two pilots maneuvered for advantage, each one skilled enough to send hot tracers zipping perilously close to the other. Then Martin hit his flaps, radically altering his speed to allow the Italian fighter to sweep by. He kicked the plane over to follow, poured on power with his guns blazing and ended the duel as the MC-200 went into an dive, smoke trailing from the tail.
Martin saw the Italian pilot had managed to leap from the plane, a loose strap from his seat harness sheared off as he did so, but to his horror, he saw no parachute open. The equipment had failed in the one task it was made for, and Sergente Abramo Lanzarini plummeted to his death.
It was difficult to witness such an event, but Martin tried to remind himself that he was shooting at planes, not the men inside them. It was a thin emotional barrier he surrounded himself with, knowing inherently that Lanzarini’s death could have been his own fate, as every pilot had an inbred kinship with the men he faced in the sky.
Lanzarini’s death had not been in vain, for his brave intervention had at least drawn Martin from his attack on the bombers. Now they were over the airfield at Luqa, and trying to hit the hangers where the work crews were fitfully struggling to get another Hurricane engine operational to give the hard pressed Squadron Leader some help.
The other main airfield at Hal Far had been hit very hard the previous day, and several Hurricanes had been lost on the ground. Lieutenants John Waters and Peter Hartley had been out from that station in their Swordfish when they got word that a naval flotilla was heading for the island. What they saw was more than they could deal with given the few planes they had. The Italian Navy was coming out to fight. All the battleships that had been at Taranto had sortied days before the long planned carrier raid by Admiral Cunningham’s fleet. Now they were gathering ominously in the Central Mediterranean, and the increased air activity over Malta began to take on the darker prospect of imminent invasion.
Then word came that the French Navy was at sea, getting up steam from their major base at Toulon. There were no details as to what had sailed, but the movement of “several large capital ships” was deemed most disturbing.
* * *
Now the meeting was being held to determine what to do about the impending crisis on Malta. Yet the allies did not yet know the full scope of the plans their enemy had for the island, or that even as they spoke, the engines were turning over on the German Ju-52s at four airfields to the north.
Wavell and Cunningham entered, all the men standing to greet them, and then Wavell came right up to Admiral Volsky and extended a hand in a hearty greeting.
“That was quite a display just now, Admiral,” he said in perfect Russian, for Wavell had mastered the language when he served as a military observer with the Russian Army in 1911, and was eager to have a chance to use that tool. “We have seen the smoke, and I have no doubt that there is more fire behind it than meets the eye.”
Volsky smiled, glancing at Fedorov to make the introductions. “You speak Russian—a very pleasant surprise. Our Mister Nikolin here is adept in English, but now he will not have to carry so much water from the well.”
“Indeed,” said Wavell, shaking Fedorov’s hand as he was introduced. Then to Admiral Tovey he said: “General O’Connor was supposed to be joining us, flying in from Tobruk this morning. It appears he’s running late, so we may as well begin. Gentlemen, we have a good deal to sort out here. The wolves are on the move in the desert again, and they will soon be on our doorstep. I also regret to inform you that Malta is again under heavy air attack. Things are heating up. I must admit I did not expect the Germans to reinforce the Italians here in North Africa this quickly.”
Fedorov was not surprised to hear this news for he knew the Germans would intensify their air attacks against Malta. He also knew they had developed a plan to invade the island, though it was not until 1942 that this came anywhere close to fruition, and the operation had been cancelled.
Wavell continued his briefing. “I have ordered General O’Connor to withdraw to Tobruk, as there is no way we can hope to hold on to Cyrenaica with so many troops earmarked for Greece.”
Fedorov gave Admiral Volsky a sidelong glance, but Tovey spoke next.
“If I may, general, I have some information to convey from Bletchley Park.”
This was the plan that Fedorov had arranged. He had prepared intelligence on Rommel’s true intentions to try and demonstrate the real threat to Egypt. Now Tovey handed Wavell a thin report showing the planned German buildup in North Africa. It listed every unit that had been sent in the history Fedorov knew, 5th Light Division, later reinforced to become the 21st Panzer Division, the 15th Panzers, 90th Light, 164th Light and eventually 10th Panzer Division.
“My goodness,” said Wavell. “We knew about the plans to move their new 15th Panzer Division, but not these others. Five divisions?”
“BP isn’t sure of the timetable, but they believe these units will eventually form for service in North Africa given present intelligence. Some are new formations, others don’t exist yet. And as for this present action now underway, your intelligence characterizing Rommel’s move as being merely defensive in nature is mistaken. Bletchley Park now believes he intends to drive all the way to Alexandria, and may bloody well do so if we let him.”
Tovey was stretching the matter here, but he knew he could rely on the ingenuity of Alan Turing at BP to generate any intelligence required to make his assertions ring true. This had been the plan they agreed upon at their crucial Faeroes conference, that Fedorov would feed intelligence to BP through Turing as they all struggled to steer the unwieldy ship of war.
“I see…” Wavell folded his arms, obviously concerned, yet taking the news with calm professionalism. “And how certain is Bletchley Park on this? Haven’t they informed Mister Eden and the Prime Minister?”
“At the moment it seems Mister Churchill has politics in mind concerning any movement to support Greece, and not military matters,” said Tovey, “which brings us to the heart of this business. Our Russian friends here also have an intelligence arm, and good men on the ground throughout the Balkans. Here is the German plan to take Yugoslavia and Greece—Operation Marita—and they believe this information is quite sound.”
Now Cunningham’s face truly darkened. “My God,” he said. “This is certainly not a force we can hope to hold for very long.”
“Thirty six divisions in all, including reserves,” said Tovey, “and note the heavy concentration in armor, a full ten Panzer Divisions will be committed. In this light, you may wish to reconsider your present plans to reinforce Greece.”
Wavell scratched his head, clearly surprised by the intelligence, yet experienced enough to realize that was all it was, the best guess of a web like network of men, with information gleaned from brothels,
bars, and hotels as much as through signals intelligence or any real reading of enemy plans and orders. Intelligence was a shadowy cloak and dagger world of whispers, rumors, and elaborate deceptions, so he took the information with a grain of salt, while giving it thoughtful consideration at the same time.
“I’ve scraped the bottom of the barrel as it stands,” he said. “If I send anything more to Greece there will be nothing but the sand and sky between Alexandria and this General Rommel.”
“You misunderstand me,” said Tovey. “I am a naval officer, General, but given this intelligence it would be my conclusion that any effort to reinforce Greece at all would be foolhardy.”
Wavell smiled. “I have thought as much, but you must realize these dispositions were not entirely of my own making. In my last meeting with the Prime Minister, the man questioned me on the posting of each and every battalion at my disposal. Churchill can be somewhat insufferable, with all due respect, and he is rather insistent that Greece be strongly reinforced. I informed Mister Dill and others in London that the real danger here would not occur until the Germans sent motorized units and armor to North Africa. Now that whirlwind is upon us, and our own General O’Connor is in full retreat, trying to save what little armor we have left there while I send half the cupboard off to Greece.”
“Well General,” said Tovey. “I am aware that the First Sea Lord met with Churchill and determined that Egypt would be Germany’s next move should they fail to break us with the Luftwaffe. The loss of Gibraltar has made that threat even more perilous for us and possible for the enemy.”
“Agreed,” said Wavell. “Yet the Prime Minister seems adamant on the matter of Greece.”
“I am well aware of his determination,” said Tovey, but HMS Invincible is here for a reason, which I must now disclose.”
There came a knock on the cabin door and an adjutant appeared with a rush of urgency, bearing a single page message from the W/T room.
“Please excuse me, sir” The man came in and quietly handed Wavell a message, saluting and withdrawing as he had come.
Wavell took a long breath as he read the paper, then fixed them all with a steady gaze. “Well gentlemen, we have yet another problem. The Germans are landing paratroops on Malta.”
Chapter 20
They came out of the grey pre-dawn sky, the lines of planes seeming endless to Squadron Leader Jock Martin, at R.A.F. Luqa. He was up in a Hurricane with Squadron mate George Burges. They had the only two serviceable planes at the field that morning, and they were going to be quite busy.
The island was simply not ready for the storm blowing in on the cold morning air. It was led by another formation of eighteen S-79s of the 34th Stormo, only this time there were twelve C200 fighters in escort. They were coming out of the northeast, and in so doing they pulled the two British Hurricanes off in that direction, a deliberate ploy to draw off any resources from the main attack. Over 150 Ju-52s transports carrying the leading waves of enemy troops.
34th Stormo was just one of six formations assigned to the bombing that day. They would hit the Grand Harbor, the seaplane base at Kalafrana, the airfields at Ta’Qali, Luqa and Hal Far and targets of opportunity all over the island. The air raid sirens droned mournfully as weary crews of the 7th AA Regiment ran to man their batteries. It was the tenth consecutive day that had begun like this, and in spite of some success in shooting down fifteen enemy planes, the bombers were getting through the relatively thin defense and doing a good deal of damage on the ground.
Malta was not ready, not the island fortress that Lieutenant General Dobbie called it in his address to rally the troops. In his Order of the Day he announced that the Germans had landed paratroops on the northern island of Gozo twenty minutes earlier, and the fight was on. “The decision of His Majesty’s Government to fight until our enemies are defeated will be heard with the greatest satisfaction by all ranks of the Garrison of Malta,” the order began. While they might finally get a crack at their tormentors face to face on the ground, the hard truth of the matter was that the troops would have little satisfaction in that.
“It may be that hard times lie ahead for us, but I know that however hard they may be, the courage and determination of all ranks will not falter, and that with God’s help we will maintain the security of this fortress.” Dobbie’s order was an understatement, as the troops were going to need God’s help if they had any chance to weather the storm that was coming.
By 1942 the British garrison would triple in size, with a hundred aircraft ready to oppose an attack. Yet now, it was a pathetic shadow of that force. Before the war, the British thought the island would be indefensible. The Italian Regia Aeronautica could count 5400 aircraft in Italy and North Africa. Malta received only a few old fighters in packing crates, the famous Gladiators that had been left there as spares for the British aircraft carriers. They would take the names “Faith, Hope and Charity” before the Hurricanes arrived, but after ten days of steady air attacks, the old Gladiators were long gone.
The Island itself was commanded by a throwback from the First World War, Lieutenant General Dobbie. He had been ordered to retire, but made an appeal to the Chief of the Imperial General Staff, Edmund Ironside, who managed to get him a serving command as Governor of Malta. Old gladiators, in the air and on the ground, held the “fortress” in the early going, and little help had arrived by the end of 1940. It was going to take the heavenly intervention that Dobbie was counting on to stop the German attack. Malta had no more of a chance than the Rock of Gibraltar had, and it would not last long in spite of a dogged defense.
When the skies over the main island darkened with parachutes, the weary defenders saw the leading edge of what they would be up against. The planes had come in from airfields all over southern Italy and Sicily, Brindisi, Lecce, Foggia, Palermo, Comiso, and Trapani. The troops landing on Gozo were those of the Italian Folgore Parachute Division, who had claimed the honor of putting men on the ground first. They would secure Victoria and seize the small fishing port and ferry site at Mgarr harbor on the southern tip of that island. Lightly defended, largely by local militias, Gozo would become a reserve staging area for supplies, and a place to get wounded off the main island where field hospitals would be established.
The main attack would be a German operation, and their first targets would be the airfields at Ta’Qali, Luga, and Safi. There were several open areas where aircraft dispersal fields had been sited at Mqabba and Qrendi. They were not as heavily defended as the main fields, and made excellent landing sites for the Fallschirmjagers. Tante Ju came in very low that morning, with the flights of Ju-52s at no more than 500 feet to achieve a tight concentration of troops on the target area. Student had been training his men for these low level “Sturm” jumps for months.
The troops were preceded by a company of Brandenburger commandos, the first lightning in the storm, just as they had been in the attack against Gibraltar. These men came in on agile Storch reconnaissance aircraft, capable of landing on very short airstrips, roads, or even fields. They would put down what amounted to a company of men, who would spread out to cut telephone and telegraph wires and sow discord all over the island. A platoon size force was able to seize one of the secondary airfields to silence the four AA batteries there, and the Ju-52s came in ten minutes later.
All the paratroops dropped with weapons, K98 rifles, MP40 MGs and extra ammunition in canisters that fell with the troops by parachute. They would be ready to fight the moment they hit the ground, though the low altitude jump saw many with sprained ankles and other injuries. Yet the bulk of the troops weathered the drop, and soon a regimental sized force was building up near Ta’Qali. A Luftwaffe forward air controller was assigned to every company to call in the lavish air support that was just fifty to sixty kilometers away in Sicily. Soon the morning skies would hear the scream of Stuka close support squadrons that were already in the air to loiter on call for the troops on the ground.
The entire 7th Fleiger Division, thre
e regiments, would be augmented by a special Sturm Regiment in the attack. The reserve force would be the 22nd Luftland Air Landing Division, flown in to Italian airfields from Romania in the days prior to the attack. A full regiment of German mountain infantry was also staged at Syracuse and Catania on Sicily, with all the assault shipping and transport that the Italians could provide. They would be sent only if the Italian Navy could first assure the Germans that they could achieve naval superiority.
Adding in the Folgore Regiment, the Axis forces available came to nine full regiments. Against this, the Malta Garrison at this time was no bigger than the one that had defended Gibraltar. Lieutenant General Dobbie commanded 2nd Battalion Devonshire Regiment, 2nd Battalion of the Queen’s Own Royal West Kent Regiment, 1st Battalion Dorsetshire Regiment and the 2nd Battalion Royal Irish Fusiliers. The 8th Battalion Manchester Regiment had been the only reinforcement sent to the island after the outbreak of the war, making five British battalions in all, and one Maltese battalion. They would be outnumbered twelve battalions to six in the crucial first six hours of the assault, and if the Germans could quickly seize one of the key airfields, the 22nd Luftland could fly in directly there to rapidly build up troop strength on the ground.
At sea the Italians would initiate the first stage of the naval operation. The battleships Veneto, Roma and Littorio were staged from Naples with a strong escort of cruisers and destroyers. Their mission was to provide close artillery support and directly engage the harbor shore batteries. The distant covering force was staged from Taranto, and it was comprised of the battleships Cesare, Doria and Duilio with an equal escort force. It’s mission was to fend off the expected sortie of the British Navy from Alexandria, and the Admirals meeting to discuss the matter would not disappoint.
Three Kings (Kirov Series) Page 17