Now they heard the crack of 25 pounders, and the British guns began to find the range. It was a full a barrage from three battalions, falling first on the bridge sector, and then rolling west along the line of the river where the Germans had taken up positions. After a hot ten minutes, things quieted down, then the pop of mortar fire was heard, and there were shouts of alarm from their forward positions.
“Smoke!” the Corporal shouted, which set the Private to wave dismissively at the enemy beyond their lines. “It’s only smoke,” he said. “They’ve probably run out of ammunition.”
“Don’t be a fool, Packshee. They use that to cover their advance. Now we get our turn. Stay low.”
The Moonbird saw the Sergeant checking his rifle. The burly man waved his broad arm at a section on the right, and three men moved forward toward the bunkers. The sound of gunfire began, first rifles, then a terrible buzzing sound from hell that the Sergeant had heard too many times before, the dread German MG-42 machinegun. The Private stuck up his head, aghast when those rounds began biting into that forward strongpoint, right where the Corporal had told him to set up his Bren Gun.
Then he saw a big explosion there, and a sapper’s body was literally blown up and out of the entrenched position. He shirked in terror, biting his lip, and heard the deep throated sound of the enemy soldiers calling to one another. They were coming. The bunker had been hit with a panzerfaust, and the two man gun crew killed outright.
Sergeant Anandsubramanian whistled to his reserve squad, ordering them forward. “Hold that bunker!”
The Private saw him rush forward, and his heart was pounding. There he was, cowering in a covered trench, the sound of battle all around him now, and it was a terrible sound indeed. He could hear the cries of wounded men, the earth shaking sound of explosions from mortar fire and grenades. But not one of the Engineers had reached the bunker yet, and no one was firing his prized Bren Gun back at the enemy.
He stared through the dust and smoke, seeing the broad figure of his Sergeant firing his rifle at the unseen enemy. Then something just snapped in him, driven by the fearful rush of adrenaline. He could not just sit there. Up ahead, he could see dark shadows looming in the smoke. They were coming!
Private Kapoor was up on his feet before he even knew what he was doing, and he ran for all he was worth. One of the fastest men in the platoon, he was so nimble afoot that he just leapt right over the next trench line where the Sergeant was rallying a squad, and he kept right on running toward that bunker.
“Packshee!” Came the Sergeant’s voice, a shrill edge in it that cut. But the Private kept running, leaping at last right into that strongpoint and looking wildly about to find his Bren Gun. It was laying there on one side, right next to the slumped bodies of two men, their tunics red with the stain of a bloody death.
Whether it was panic, courage, or insanity, it did not matter. Any of the three would have been equally fair reactions to the situation where he now found himself. What did matter was that the terrible energy that shook his frame now set his hands in motion. He seized that gun, setting the bipod legs right up on the edge of that bunker, and then he began to fire it, just as he had seen the British soldiers do, in short, sharp bursts. He fired at the shadows looming in that smoke, his eyes wide with both fear and excitement now.
Packshee was attacking the Germans!
The Sergeant could not believe what he had seen the young man do. He stood up and waved his men forward. “Veera Madrassi, Adi Kollu, Adi Kollu!”
The reserve squad rushed forward bravely, guns firing. They reached the bunker, where Packshee was still spitting fire at the oncoming enemy. To either side of that position, the other engineers looking on began to cheer and shout: “Har Har Mahadev!”
Then the Sergeant saw the cold evil shape of a potato masher grenade clatter off a wood beam, and grasped it as quickly as he could, hurling it back at the enemy. Then two dark shapes coalesced from the smoke and dust to become enemy soldiers. The Sergeant took the first with his bayonet, the second he wrestled with, bringing him to the ground, and all the while Packshee continued firing, and with very good discipline, realizing he was now on his last ammo cartridge.
There came a shout, and the strange sound of other voices calling in that guttural sounding language of the Germans. The shadows receded. Private Kapoor fired his last fierce burst, now out of ammunition, turning wide eyed to see blood all over the tunic of his Sergeant.
Thankfully, it was only the blood from his fallen enemy, and Packshee saw the long knife in his Sergeant’s hand, the fire of rage in his eyes. They heard more harsh shouts. A machinegun buzzed at them, the rounds kicking into the sandbagged position.
“Back!” shouted the Sergeant, and he literally took the Private by his collar and hauled him out of that bunker. The smoke had rolled over them, obscuring everything, as Anandsubramanian dragged his charge along, three other men retired with him, all that was left of that squad. They reached the second trench line that the Private had leapt over earlier, and settled in, choking in the dust and gasping for breath.
They had abandoned that bunker none too soon, for another panzerfaust round came surging in, blasting the structure so badly that the wooden beams of the low roof collapsed. It had been fired for spite as much as anything else, because the German mountaineers were falling back. The crack of those British 25 pounders had dismayed them, and this attack was soon over.
There, still breathing hard in the trench, the Private looked up, wide eyed, at his Sergeant. “We attacked them! Didn’t we Sergeant? Did we drive them away?”
The sergeant gave the young man a long look. He wanted to speak hard words, about discipline and following orders and remembering his training, but he said none of that. The boy in front of him had just crossed over that thin, yet palpable line that led him into manhood, and he smiled.
“You attacked them Packshee. We only came to help. I intend to go right to the Company Subedar and get you a medal! And when things settle down, we’re going right back to that bunker so you can get your Bren Gun. Rest now. Then you can go and look for some more ammunition.”
The private bobbed his head, very happy.
Dusk could not come too early that day, the red sun falling through the haze and smoke of that battle. The Germans did not return. When the Northamptons gave way, the 32nd Sappers and Miners had held the line, and that night they would dig even deeper into the dry ground, their picks and shovels singing as they chinked against the stones.
The waxing gibbous moon sunk low on the horizon, setting very late, just before midnight. The men had eaten and rested from their long day’s ordeal, and Anandsubramanian was sitting with his eyes closed, listening to the night. Then he heard the Moonbird singing, his voice high and bright, yet tinged with a deep sense of sadness, and the resolution of newfound purpose.
All his young life, Private Kapoor had been afraid of the Germans, which is why he had resolved that he simply must go and fight them. His father had told him the story of what happened in his home town of Madras in the first war, when the German raider Emden slipped into the port one night to raise hell. The Germans hit two oil tankers, causing a tremendous explosion that lit the city up with the rising flames. Then they had wantonly shelled the buildings near the harbor, hitting the National Bank of India, the Port Trust, Boat House, and Madras High Court. It was done as much to sew the seed of terror than to do any real harm, the only attack made on Indian soil during that first awful war. Terror did strike the city after that, causing many thousands to flee, and ever after the name Emden was synonymous with the fear raising skill of a daring enemy.
But Packshee wasn’t afraid of the Germans any longer, and the Sergeant could hear that in his song. In that single unforgiving minute in the bunker, he had been changed, transformed, the boy becoming a man. There was no sound of fear in the Moonbird’s voice as he sang that night. There was only sadness, resolution, and a deep understanding that could only be grasped in the sight of the blood that had been sp
illed in battle that day. But there was also joy in that song, acceptance; the song of a man who had finally found, and now knew, his place in the scheme of things.
The Moonbird sang…
“When I go from hence, let this be my parting word,
that what I have seen is unsurpassable...
Let this be my parting word…
Here have I caught sight of him who is formless.
My whole body and my limbs have thrilled with his touch who is beyond touch;
and if the end comes here,
let it come—let this be my parting word.”
Chapter 20
The Germans had taken the farming town of Salamiyar, midway between Homs and Hamah, and some 30 kilometers to the east. Good roads connected to each of those two cities, and so the town formed one point of an equilateral triangle. 4th Panzer was finally getting fueled up again and ready to move. 3rd Panzer had already moved through its lines to take the lead.
With the arrival of Kubler and his 1st Mountain Division by rail, that force was moving to relieve 10th Motorized. Hans Hube was a veteran of this fast maneuver warfare that Guderian wanted. Heavy set, serious in aspect and purpose, it had been his 16th Panzer Division that held the British at bay in Spain after their landings in Portugal. After that he had moved to Marseilles for transfer to Kesselring’s command in North Africa, but when Guderian accepted command of Operation Phoenix, he made a direct request for the man.
The feint to the south was carried off just as we planned, he thought. It was only to buy us the time to get all of Kubler’s mountain troops in position, and of course, to pull all the British reserves here to the Homs sector. Now it’s time to run. I take the entire 14th Panzer Korps east now, right through Palmyra to the Euphrates. The Brandenburgers are already out there, and they will come under my overall command when we get close. With this force, I can take Iraq.
Hube’s confidence was not boastful. The force he would have would outclass anything the British had east of Homs. The first to feel the bite of those panzers would be General Miles with his 56th Infantry Division. His troops had been posted all along the route of the Tripoli pipeline, centered on Palmyra, and that was where the action was moving now.
I/6th Panzer Battalion was in the lead, moving that night to a gap in the long line of hills that stood like an outer rampart shielding the T4 pumping station and facilities at Tiyas. The panzers swept through Bir Abu Qaylah, and quickly overran a company of light trucked infantry that had been watching the gap. Behind them came I/3 Panzergrenadier Battalion, and they would push hard to reach the T4 station by dawn.
The three panzer battalions in 6th Regiment each had 18 VK-55 Lions, the earlier model with the 75mm main gun. The second company was composed of an equal number of the Pz-IV-F1s, also with a 75mm gun, though its velocity and hitting power was not as great as that on the VK-55. That did not really matter much, for the divisions had deployed with a preponderance of HE rounds when intelligence indicated they should expect very little in the way of armor from the other side.
So the lions moved east at dawn, General Westhoven closely monitoring the progress of his battalions on the radio. That initial spearhead would attack T4, supported by the motorized infantry regiment. A blocking force was posted on the road leading west to Homs to prevent any intervention from that direction, and then the second mechanized echelon, the 3rd Panzer Battalion, and one more Panzergrenadier battalion in halftracks, swung east of T4 and continued up the road to Palmyra.
A strong pinning attack was put in again by the Prinz Eugen Division, and this time the action was on the right flank of the position occupied by the 32nd Madras Engineers. Kubler had his division northeast of Homs, and he demonstrated strongly by pushing down the road from Salamiyar, and putting in a liberal dose of artillery. The intent was to fool the British into thinking the Germans were mounting a big offensive aimed at taking Homs, hoping they would see Hube’s initial move at T4 as an attempt to outflank that city. That was how it would seem to Wavell on the morning of the15th, but the frantic radio calls coming in from T4 would soon change his mind.
* * *
“Damn!” The General swore, and deservingly so. The Germans had pushed into that gap as he had feared, but they had not turned west to envelop Homs as he first believed they would. They went right for the pipeline stations at T4.
“They’ve snookered us yet again—came right through that gap. Is Tiyas holding?”
“For the moment,” said Anderson. “remember that Miles and his 56th also tangled with the Brandenburgers yesterday at As Suknah, right south of Tayyibah Pass. Could they be planning a pincer move on Palmyra?”
“It bloody well looks like it. Palmyra is the center of the board. From there they could turn about and come west again to Homs, or southwest for Damascus.”
“And east for Dier-ez-Zour,” Anderson cautioned.
“And these are bloody panzer divisions. Miles had his lot of 6-Pounders, but if the Germans concentrate, his division won’t hold.”
“Perhaps they didn’t think they could turn us here at Homs without dealing with the 56th Infantry first. After all, Miles would have been right on their backside if they had come for us.”
“Right,” said Wavell, sleepless and weary. “They want Palmyra, that’s for certain.”
A runner came in with the latest reports, saluting as he handed the message off to Anderson.
“It says here that the Germans relieved their 10th Motorized Division with another infantry force—1st Mountain Division. RAF says they spotted a lot of dust kicked up around the German positions, and heading east.”
Wavell pursed his lips. “Palmyra. The whole bloody Corps is going to head east. By God, their infantry is just here to give us a nice big bear hug. They want to run all the way to the Euphrates. Any word on that regiment that slipped through at Tayyibah Pass?”
“Miles says he’s posted a brigade east of Palmyra anchored on T3, but there’s been no further movement in that direction.”
“Because they don’t think they’ll even need the damn Regiment,” said Wavell. “They’re going to hit Miles with three divisions. That regiment of Brandenburgers east of Palmyra is just a path finder. In fact, it might even be continuing east towards Dier-ez-Zour as we speak, to join the rest of its division on the Euphrates. General, this is much bigger than we thought, and by God, I don’t really think they want Syria and Lebanon back again. They want Iraq! They’ll have the Brandenburgers out in front, and then this whole bloody panzer corps behind it. They could run all the way to Baghdad!”
“Well what in blazes are we going to do about it?”
“First off, “ Wavell looked at the map. “Let’s fight them for T4 on this end of things. Send word to 31st Armored. I want all the tanks they have to mount a counterattack up this main road. They might not get through, but Jerry will at least have to look over his shoulder. Then I think we need to give them a bone to chew on. We’ll pull out of Hamah this morning. The marshland and canals north of Homs are easy ground to hold, and we should be able to extend our line east. I’ll want the whole of the 31st Armored Division in that attack I mentioned. We’ve got to make it more than a nuisance. If we can force them to watch their back, they may have to deploy one of those motorized divisions here, and that will weaken their drive for the Euphrates.”
“Good enough,” said Anderson. “I’ll get the lads moving at once.”
“And we’ll want to notify Brigadier Kingstone directly. He’s got the 10th Indian back of him, yes?”
“Yes sir.”
“Well we’ll be asking a good deal of them, a good deal indeed.”
* * *
Glubb Pasha got hit hard that morning, and whether or not he held good ground, Duren’s 3rd Brandenburg Regiment sent him and his Arab Legion packing. He pulled into Dier-ez Zour, disheartened, and with a truck full of wounded men from his light companies. He had served to merely delay the enemy by stealing the morning from them, but knew he could n
ot hold.
“We’ve stuck our head in it here,” he said to Brigadier Kingstone. “My scouts tell me that Jerry is coming at us from three sides now. The French couldn’t stop them on the east bank either.”
“And they’ve bloody well come up from the west as well,” said Kingstone. “I sent two battalions and a company of armored cars out to see about it.
“Have they taken Palmyra?”
“Not yet, but that’s what they’re after. I just got off the radio with General Anderson. We should expect bad company soon if the 56th can’t hold on to Palmyra, and the whole line of the Tripoli pipeline has gone to hell. Now we’ve just got the Haifa line, and its carrying all the oil O’Connor needs for 8th Army, and then some.”
“Well they ran right past the French and are probably half way to As Suwar by now.” Glubb folded his arms, quite unhappy.
“How could you possibly know that?”
“General, I’ve a little bird that flits about. Haven’t I told you about it? But seriously, I was just up that river valley before I was recalled here, and I took the liberty of leaving a radio with the locals. You’d better have RAF take a better look.”
Glubb was correct. The Lehr Regiment had motored on past the French, followed closely by Langen’s 4th Regiment. Then a man rushed in with more bad news, only serving to sour Kingstone’s already acerbic mood. The Germans had taken the airfield at Jubaylah, and now they were driving hard for the secondary field at Ayyash, That was just ten kilometers up the road from Dier-ez Zour.” Kingstone’s 4th Cav had dug in astride the road, but it was being hit with armored vehicles, the Panzerjager Battalion had twelve Panthers, six Marder IIIs, three Nashorn 88s, and three more mounted on halftracks. That was going to be more than the lightly armed cavalry could handle.
“My God,” said Kingstone. “We thought those paratroopers of theirs were tough the first time around, but this motorized unit is a real nightmare.”
Lions at Dawn (Kirov Series Book 28) Page 17