THE FORESIGHT WAR

by Anthony G Williams

  Accompanying the tanks were RAF officers in Covenanter command vehicles, providing forward air control for the circling Beaufighters. Whenever Italian defences seemed to be stiffening, a brief call from a FAC brought a pair of fighter-bombers hurtling down to rocket and bomb the hapless defenders.

  The outcome was in no doubt. The British troops were few in number, but the quality of their equipment, training and experience coupled with the shock effect of complete surprise shattered the Italian defences. By nightfall, Tripoli was in British hands and the first ships of the Royal Navy were entering the intact harbour. Italian North Africa had been struck in the heart.

  On the same morning eight hundred miles to the east, Lieutenant General Richard O’Connor, Commander of the Western Desert Force, launched the 7th Armoured Division against the Italians at Sidi Barrani. The Division was fully equipped with Crusader IIs, together with Cromwell close-support tanks and Conqueror SPGs. Tracks through the defending minefields had been cleared by Centaur ARVs modified for the purpose and armoured units had also been landed behind the Italian lines to create more confusion.

  The Desert Air Force joined in the carefully co-ordinated attacks, with the new Brigands, which along with the Herefords formed the core of the Force and had the same shattering effect on the Italians as the Stukas had had on the Poles and French. Unnerved by the news from Tripoli, the Italians did not hold out for long.

  As the infantry divisions mopped up the bulk of the Italian troops in Egypt, the armoured forces ground relentlessly into Libya towards Bardia, supported by tank landing ships hopping around the coast to deliver small tank units where they could do most harm. Simultaneously, heavy reconnaissance elements equipped with Humber armoured cars sped across the desert of Cyrenaica to the Gulf of Sirte, cutting off the Italian line of retreat along the coast road. The Humbers had considerably better speed, range and reliability than tanks, but could still match the best of the Italian tanks in a straight fight. Overhead, the aircraft of the Desert Air Force hung in the air like a raised sword, chopping down at the smallest sign of resistance.

  Over the course of the next week, amphibious landings at Benghazi and Tobruk met with little resistance. Some of the Italian units fought with bitter determination, but the spirit of their army had been broken by the crushing superiority of the British strategy, tactics and equipment. The obliteration of Italian North Africa took just ten days.

  ‘Hardly surprising, really. Even in my time, O’Connor inflicted a spectacular defeat on the Italians and might well have mopped them up before Rommel could arrive on the scene if Churchill hadn’t insisted on diverting forces to help Greece. This time, the Italians were facing nineteen-forty-five level forces infinitely more capable than the Desert Army and Air force had been in my time. Rather like the French facing the Wehrmacht, only more so.’ Don found it hard to feel the same sense of elation as his friends in the Ops Room, knowing only too well what lay ahead.

  ‘Cheer up, for once!’ Taylor was still beaming with delight at the stunning success of the Army. ‘It isn’t often we have something like this to celebrate!’

  ‘I’d feel happier if we had better news from the Western Approaches. Those electroboats are arriving in numbers now, and they’re every bit as dangerous as we feared. On top of the mining and bombing of ports, things are beginning to get tight.’

  ‘We’re learning fast how to deal with them,’ claimed Johnson. ‘It’s largely a matter of developing the right tactics through experience.’

  ‘And we’re hitting back!’ Morgan was also determined to keep the mood of celebration. ‘The new radio navigation aids and Pathfinder tactics are really bringing results. The Gelsenkirchen oil refinery was obliterated the night before last.’

  Taylor leaned forward, smiling at Don. ‘So what’s likely to happen now? Do we throw the Italians out of Greece or Ethiopia next?’

  Don considered for a moment. ‘That’s going to be up to Churchill, but I’m afraid he’s so pro-Greek it’s going to be difficult to deflect him, despite the fact that Chamberlain was persuaded not to give his guarantee to the Greeks last year.’

  Mary looked at him penetratingly. ‘I have a feeling you have something else in mind.’

  ‘Right. We are now sharing a frontier with the French in Tunisia. They’ve stayed loyal to the Vichy government, as has most of the French Empire. We are also keeping the best ships in the French Navy bottled up at Oran, under pain of destruction if they try to move. But de Gaulle has already taken charge in some of the African colonies. If he can lead a Free French force from Libya into Tunisia to persuade the government there to join him, that could start a domino effect which would give us the French Empire and much of her fleet without a shot being fired.’

  Mary thought about it. ‘That’s way ahead of schedule, isn’t it? French Africa isn’t supposed to be taken over until after the Americans land in 1942. How will Hitler react to that?’

  ‘Invade the rest of France. He only kept the Vichy government in being to keep the French Empire loyal to it and therefore out of the war. I think I’d better see Churchill.’

  Very much later, Don staggered into their apartment and collapsed into an armchair, hand reaching blindly out as Mary put a glass of Scotch into it. ‘Where does the old man get his stamina from?’ He groaned.

  Mary perched on the arm of the chair and ruffled his hair. ‘Did you win?’

  Don smiled crookedly. ‘An honourable draw. De Gaulle can have an armoured regiment with support troops and three squadrons of Free French Spitfires provided that most of the rest goes to Greece.’

  ‘Is that safe? To take so much out of Africa?’

  ‘Ought to be. Malta should be OK now, there’s no reason for the Axis to attack it any more as they no longer have trade routes with Africa to protect. The Italians still have an army in Ethiopia and the Horn of Africa, but it’s cut off and can do no harm to us there, we can mop it up at our leisure.’

  ‘What do you think the chances are?’

  Don took a long sip of whisky. ‘Very hard to judge. The Germans made mincemeat of us in Greece last time, even took Crete which was unforgivable. Our forces are immensely more effective now, but the Wehrmacht is just as good, if not better. We only beat them in Norway because we committed far more forces, particularly armoured divisions. It was just a small sideshow to the Germans, who were concentrating on France. And this time the Germans will have overland communications and supply routes, while we’ll be dependent on the sea.’

  ‘You sound really worried.’

  He sighed. ‘Combat analysis after the war showed that a hundred German troops were as good as a hundred and twenty of any other nation’s. That’s still likely to be the case. It’s not going to be easy.’

  Winter 1940–41

  General Ubaldo Soddu, the overall commander of the Italian forces in Albania, was not happy. Tasked by Mussolini with the subjugation of Greece, he had duly marched his divisions over the border in October, only to see them repulsed and pushed well back into Albania by the astonishingly aggressive Greek Army. Italian superiority in numbers, tanks, transport and aircraft were counting for nothing in the mountainous terrain. They could hold the lowlands all right, but to make progress they had to clear the Greeks from the mountains, and that was proving far more difficult than anyone had imagined. Worse still, the British were sending increasing numbers of aircraft to harrass his troops, as well as nasty little portable anti-tank guns. Still, the reinforcements on the way by sea should help.

  His aide was looking nervous again, always a bad sign. ‘What is it?’ He snapped.

  ‘The reinforcements, sir. It seems the British sent a naval force into the Adriatic – heavy cruisers and light aircraft carriers. They found the convoy.’

  Soddu closed his eyes wearily. Would nothing in this accursed campaign ever go right? ‘Go on. How many were sunk?’

  There was an ominous hesitation. ‘All of them, sir.’

  At the end of the month, General S
oddu was relieved of his command.

  ‘I don’t care about Il Duce’s precious pride anymore! He kept us out of Libya until it was too late to come to his aid, because he thought he might win a famous victory. Now he’s trying to keep us away from Greece. Doesn’t the idiot realise that he can posture and pretend all he likes, his precious army has all the fighting ability of a flock of sheep?’

  Rather unfair, Herrman thought. Some Italian units had shown bravery and determination. The terrain suited the Greeks, though, who were ferocious in defence. The Führer paced up and down; Herrman had never seen him so angry with his ally, for whom he had always had a soft spot.

  ‘It would not be advisable to try to reinforce the Italians through Albania,’ Herrman offered. ‘There is only a sea route and the Royal Navy is too strong. Now Bulgaria has joined the Tripartite Pact, we can invade Greece through Thrace and Macedonia. Alternatively, we could invade Yugoslavia on the way. As I recall, that was a quick and painless campaign in my time; it was easy to turn the Serbs and Croats against each other. It left a serious partisan problem, though. The country is ideal for it.’

  Hitler grunted. ‘I didn’t want to fight in the Balkans at all, but to neutralise them with diplomacy. I can do without any distractions from the preparations for Russia. Now the Italians have left me no choice. I can’t have the British on my southern borders.’

  He paced around the room, thinking. Herrman wondered if he would ever get used to the surroundings, which seemed to fit a standard pattern wherever he went; the heavy panelling hung with Nazi flags, the awful furniture and kitsch statuary, occasional paintings of triumphant Aryan warriors, contrasting with those of blonde maidens demurely revealing their charms.

  The Führer stopped pacing. ‘I’ll give Yugoslavia one more chance to join the Pact. If they refuse, I’ll take them!’

  ‘They will agree, but there’ll be a popular revolt against the government for doing so,’ Herrman predicted confidently.

  ‘So be it! I’m not wasting any more time than I have to on the Balkans.’

  ‘The British will send troops to Greece if we invade.’

  ‘Good! Let them see how they will fare against the Wehrmacht for a change!’

  ‘We must defend the north-east! It has a strong line of fortifications, well armed. Besides, we cannot possibly abandon Thrace, Macedonia and Salonika. The people would never forgive us!’ General Metaxas, the Greek leader, was clearly appalled at the suggestion. Geoffrey Taylor, leading the covert British delegation, was trying to balance firmness with reasonableness.

  ‘I know the Yugoslavs have given assurances as to their neutrality, but we have it on the highest authority that they won’t be able to stick to that. The Germans will brush them aside. Then they will be able to attack from the north, and cut off your troops in the north-east.’

  ‘So you say!’

  Taylor was feeling acutely uncomfortable. He knew that the defences of the Metaxas Line were dear to the heart of their architect. He also knew that Metaxas would be dead within weeks.

  ‘We are organising the shipping to bring our divisions over to you. I have to tell you, though, that we will only deploy further west, on the Aliakmon Line and the border with Yugoslavia. We won’t put any troops into the north-east.’

  Metaxas nodded curtly. ‘We can look after that ourselves.’

  The Lochagos lay just below the crest, watching elements of the XL Mountain Corps of the Wehrmacht pressing relentlessly forward through the Monastir Gap linking Yugoslavia with Greece. The British SAS unit lay beside him, the forward air controller giving clipped instructions over the wireless.

  They did not have long to wait. With a rising howl of Hercules engines (how appropriate, thought the FAC irrelevantly) a pair of Brigands swooped down on the troops, rockets rippling from underwing. The Greek Army captain shouted encouragement as the German troops dived for cover, then waited eagerly as the fighter-bombers lazily turned to begin a strafing run.

  Suddenly, two similar-looking aircraft flashed down out of the cloud layer, heading unerringly for the unsuspecting Brigands. A brief hammering of cannon fire, and the British planes tumbled broken to the ground. No parachutes opened.

  ‘Focke Wulf 190s! How did they…? The Germans must be using mobile radar! I’d better warn HQ.’

  The leader of the SAS team stirred uneasily. ‘Don’t stay on the wireless for long. We know they have detection equipment.’

  The FAC nodded and sent his message. Then he rose slightly to put the equipment away. There was an odd snapping sound and the FAC jerked violently then slumped to the ground.

  ‘Get down! Sniper!’ The experienced troops needed no telling. They slid backwards down the slope to make their escape. The SAS lieutenant looked back up at the still body of the FAC, and cursed. ‘We’ve lost the wireless!’

  ‘Not much use to us now,’ his sergeant commented. ‘We can do no more here.’

  The lieutenant nodded and the small troop followed the grim-faced Lochargos away from the Gap.

  The long barrels of the sixty-two-pounders gave the game away. Poking skywards at identical angles from the shapeless lumps of camouflage netting, they revealed the presence of a troop of Conqueror self-propelled guns, emplaced behind Vroia on the Aliakmon Line. Every few minutes new instructions came through from the Auster spotter plane, bravely risking flak and fighters to ensure the gunners hit the attacking German forces some eight miles away. The barrels shifted minutely, the guns fired a ragged salvo – deafening, metallic thumps – followed by a clanking of metal as the empty cartridge cases were ejected, clearing the breeches for the next shells waiting in the loading trays.

  Despite the winter cold, the hatches and rear doors of the Conquerors were open to reduce the fumes in the fighting compartments. The crews froze as a sudden, violent hammering filled the air.

  ‘Air attack!’ The crews scrabbled frantically to slam the rear doors shut as a gunner in each vehicle struggled up into the hatch, grasping the handles of the Vickers-Browning 0.5 and swinging it skywards. Their accompanying Comet AA tank whose firing had alerted them was still engaging the diving aircraft with short bursts of the Oerlikons. Tracers laced the sky as the Conquerors joined in, as if trying the snare the enemy in a web of smoke. Rockets shot forward from the Fw 190s, an eruption of rapid explosions obliterating the vehicles in earth and dust.

  Heads popped back out of hatches as the engine noise died away.

  ‘Prepare to move out! Now they’ve found us their counter-battery units will be zeroing in!’ The gunners needed no further encouragement, and the armoured beasts roared and growled as they lurched heavily out of their firing points, turned tightly on their tracks and lumbered ponderously away in search of the new firing position which had previously been identified for just such an eventuality.

  Seven miles to the east, the Eighth Armoured Division was not having an easy time. The Aliakmon Line was not as well fortified as the Metaxas Line and the precious armoured units were being held behind the Line to race from place to place to cut off any threatened German breakthrough.

  The driver of the Crusader II cursed through gritted teeth as he wrenched the steering levers back and forth, aiming the speeding tank for the narrow gap between two buildings of the burning, deserted village. Once through, he spun the tank with a violence which threatened to tear the tracks off, then nudged it slowly forward.

  As expected, the first of the Panzer IIIs emerged through the dust and smoke of battle some three hundred yards away. A short command and the Crusader’s six-pounder gun fired with an intense blast, rocking the tank on its suspension. The leading Panzer jerked to a halt, but two more appeared, one on either side, their guns firing heavy shells which collapsed the buildings around the Crusader.

  ‘Get us out of here!’ Yelled the Sergeant, who had collected much dust and rubble through keeping his head out of the hatch. As the tank ground slowly backwards, it tilted up to clear the rubble, then began to lurch down the other side. A
solid armour-piercing shot slammed into the gun mantlet, knocking the turret completely off the tank. Almost simultaneously, a second shot smashed the frontal armour. The Crusader began to burn.

  A thousand yards away, the gunner of the Cavalier waited tensely, straining to see through the dust. Grey shapes suddenly emerged into the open, muzzles raised as they headed towards the self-propelled anti-tank gun.

  ‘Fire when you’re ready!’

  The gunner needed no urging, and the Cavalier lurched as the massive high-velocity cannon sent seventeen pounds of solid, hardened steel screaming towards the Panzers at nearly three thousand feet per second. The turret of one tank was smashed apart by the second shot; by then, the other tanks had spotted the Cavalier and opened fire.

  Shellfire crashed around the SPG and the vehicle rang as a solid shot deflected off the thick, well-sloped frontal armour. The crew fired steadily, destroying a second tank. More of the Panzers emerged from the smoke.

  ‘Watch out – they’re flanking us!’

  The side armour of the Cavalier was much thinner than the frontal plate and the SPGs could not risk being attacked from the flanks.

  ‘Fire smoke and pull back – we’ve got to get out of here!’

  The smoke mortars lobbed their screening shells out in front of the SPG as it reversed rapidly out of the battle line to seek a safer firing position.

  ‘We can keep our end up in a straight fight; the problem is that the Germans keep on coming.’ The staff officer was staring at the map in frustration. The steady onward thrust of the Axis columns was starkly displayed.

  Taylor grunted in sympathy. ‘The qualitative balance is close. The new version of the Panzer III has a seventy-five millimetre gun as well as thicker armour; it’s more than a match for the Crusader II. Fortunately we brought enough Cavaliers over to stop the rot, but an SPG is never as good as a tank in a mobile battle. We’ve some new ammunition which will give our six-pounder tank gun enough punch to penetrate the German armour at long range but it’s not over here yet. You’re right about the numbers, though. Whenever we try to hold our positions we’re in danger of being bypassed and swamped. We can’t bring up reinforcements as fast as they can. I don’t see that we have any option but to pull out.’