Able Sentry

by John Schettler

  Hale’s got Jarabub, and he’s fighting in Siwa, and here I am stuck in the middle of this bloody desert. I was supposed to be on my objective right now, but these two little firefights will end up costing us six hours. Get to Sultan Apache by 24:00 on the 7th? Not bloody likely. If we move all out from here, we might get there by tomorrow night. I should have spoken up when I went to Division HQ. I knew it would take much longer, because…. Damnit all, because I’ve been here before. I know these roads, this god forsaken ground. It makes no sense, but there it is.

  “Sims!”

  “Yes sir?”

  “We jog southeast here—off this road. Tell Reeves to head for Garn el Grein. We’ve invading Egypt.”

  The Libyan fighters had taken a beating, and fell back off the heights of hill 541. But there was always another sawed off hill in the desert, and now they were making for hill 505, which also overlooked the road south. But Kinlan’s order was taking his column east. When they saw the British veer off the road, noting the sand and dust trailing up behind them, they began to hoot and cheer, thinking they had forced the British to run. Nothing could be farther from the truth, but they would savor the moment, one small claim on victory, and then melt away west, back towards the Sarir oil fields where they had come from.

  03:00 Local, 8 JAN 2026

  Brigadier Hale was gratified that there wasn’t much fight in the Egyptian platoon holding Fort Siwa. The stone works could have been a formidable obstacle, as they did not want to use heavy weapons to destroy the place. The threat posed by six hovering Apaches in the night was enough to convince the Egyptians that captivity was preferable to death that night. They knew they might only hold the fort for a few hours at best, and their lives were not worth that. There was nothing pressing about the situation in the overall scheme of things. They knew that reinforcements were coming from the east, and soon it would be the British Paras trying to hold on here, in much the same situation as they found themselves now.

  So Fort Siwa surrendered under a white flag at three in the morning. The rest of the Egyptian battalion, except for a group of stragglers still fighting in the groves to the southeast, were all herded into a 500 meter wide pocket near the Safari Gardens, including the Battalion HQ. Brigadier Hale started negotiations that hour to see if he could get the remainder of the Egyptian troops there to lay down their arms.

  “Tell them I’ve got 18 Apaches out there, and I won’t have to worry about using them in the terrain they now hold. So they can either spend the rest of the morning sleeping in one of these nice little resorts here, or they can die under the chain guns and rocket fire from those helos. Oh yes, Lieutenant. Tell them if they reserve at the inns now, I’ll throw in free breakfast.”

  05:00 Local, 8 JAN 2026

  Up on the road from Siwa to Sultan Apache, D Company, 2 Para Battalion, had been watching all through the previous night, and listening to the sound of distant gunfire coming from the direction of Siwa. The men were just stowing their kits after breakfast and tea, when the ground to their front suddenly erupted with artillery rounds.

  “Incoming!” shouted a Sergeant, and the men ran for the cover of the small trenches they had dug and sandbagged the previous night. They lay low, covering their heads as the rounds came in, but they mostly kicked up sand and rocks, injuring no one. Lieutenant Dilling took the roll call, and all men were present and of sound body and mind.

  “That can’t be coming from Sultan Apache,” said Dilling. “At least not from up beyond the escarpment.”

  “They might have moved a battery forward, sir,” said a Sergeant as he looked over the map. “They could hit us from just outside the east perimeter gate.”

  “More than likely. Get on the radio and report this. Tell them to get some Apache’s up there and have a look.”

  “Right sir.”

  Brigadier Hale would be quick to comply, and he doubled down by also sending A and C companies of 2nd Para Battalion to the scene. They landed in a haze of blowing sand, and quickly formed up to move on the suspected location of that artillery battery. The Apaches were already landing rockets on that position, but when the Paras got closer, they saw that the guns were defended by what looked like a full company of Egyptian Special Forces. That fight forced the Egyptians to pull back through the east gate, and move back towards the escarpment. The British Paras could then see more men in berets taking up positions at the top of that sheer wall of stone, and they knew that no one was getting to Sultan Apache from this side.

  That small drama was small potatoes compared to the news Kinlan received that morning. The Egyptian 2nd Mech Division was now assembled in force between Sollum and Sidi Omar on the wire, and at 09:00 they crossed the frontier into Libya. By mid-day, they would be 80 kilometers from Tobruk. One hundred and fifteen kilometers to the south, Kinlan had just crossed the wire going the other way, into Egypt….

  * * *

  At 06:00 on the 8th, Brigadier Hale radioed Kinlan to tell him he had Siwa in hand, as the sun rose in fiery gold that morning.

  “We’ve got the place,” he said, “though I can’t say the local Siwis think much of us. But Jake, we’ll have company soon from the east—mechanized. We’ve got the Apaches, but a company of Challengers would sit well with me about now.”

  “Well,” said Kinlan, “we’ve only just crossed the wire into Egypt at Garn el Grein, and the wadi slowed us down a good deal. It’s not likely that we’ll get down to Sultan Apache before tomorrow morning, but I’ll keep moving tonight. Just the same, I’ll detach a company of the Dragoons and put them on the road to Siwa.”

  “Good enough Jake. I’m going to start mounting up in the helos to see if we can slow this mech force down. Hale out.”

  Brigadier Hale had men at Zeitun, the eastern tip of the Siwa wetlands, and he ordered them east to see if they could establish a blocking position. That afternoon, they got a look at a dust trail to the east, and knew their expected guests were starting to arrive.

  “How much you figure they’ll come with?” said a Private. His Corporal frowned. “That’s 3rd Mech Division laddie, three full brigades. It’s most likely the lead battalion coming up, but this place is going to be crawling with them by tomorrow. That division is probably strung out on the road east for fifty miles.”

  Brigadier Hale knew that to a certainty from air recon flown that day. The Air Force had been making harassing strikes, but it was deep in the Egyptian Desert, and they couldn’t linger there long. Now the General knew he had to get men between the point of that column, and Sultan Apache. He also knew that we would not be getting much more air cover down here, not with 2nd Mech crossing into Libya and heading for Tobruk.

  “Lieutenant Stokes!”

  “Yes sir.”

  “Let’s get the Gurkhas mounted up and move them by helo to the West Gate on the road to Qara Oasis—two companies. Mechanized units can’t cross the escarpment southeast of Sultan Apache, so they’ll have to take that road if they want to get in there. As for our situation here, order 3rd Para Battalion to send a company to reinforce the men we have east of Zeitun. I’ll want them here, on the road to the southern gate through that escarpment.”

  “I’m sorry, sir, but the Egyptian column has already reached that road junction. We have the whole of 3rd Para up here, at Birket Timeira on the wadi. That blocks access to that southern gate.”

  “Then we’ll need a blocking position on the road to Siwa. See that gets bumped to battalion strength.”

  “Right away, sir.”

  There were four gates on the perimeter of the oil site, north, south, east and west. 3rd Para would move first, as the enemy was already close to the southern gate, the only one that went directly through a gap in the escarpment. The Gurkhas would send a single company under cover of darkness to scout out the approach to the eastern gate, then a second company would lift as per Hale’s order. The road ran due north toward that gate, parallel to the escarpment, which bent sharply in that direction. The whole Sultan Apa
che site was surrounded on three sides by those sheer stony walls, and only open to the desert along its northern front, which was where Kinlan was heading.

  At Siwa itself, Brigadier Hale would hold three companies of 1st Para Battalion in reserve. The remainder of his Brigade, the Support Battalion and engineers, were still at Jarabub holding that area.

  The plan now sounded simple enough. There were still two battalions of the Egyptian 222nd Special Forces Brigade at Sultan Apache. They had to be defeated, the facilities secured, and hopefully the British Nationals rescued safely. That was one area that was “dicey” as the planners saw things. What if the defending enemy troops threatened harm on those people unless they were left alone? It would be up to Kinlan and Hale to sort that out, and that hour was drawing near.

  Part VII

  Sultan Apache

  “It’s a Cakewalk, when you know how.”

  ― Jerry Lopez

  Chapter 19

  Sir Douglas Moore was a long time British Petroleum Executive, and he was also the man in charge at Sultan Apache, at least until the Egyptian Army came. He and his people had been rounded up and herded into the warehouses and other support buildings, even allowed to take to their quarters after they were searched for cell phones or any other communication devices, and questioned. All their names were taken down, pockets emptied, keys confiscated. Then the soldiers had gone through the entire place, opening every file cabinet and door to size up what was there, undoubtedly looking for anything useful for their own intelligence people.

  Not much was found. Sultan Apache was a business concern, the business of making a rich profit in the recovery, refining, transmission, and sale of oil. The war was most inconvenient, a typical example of “above ground” incidents that often plagued the oil industry, which labored daily to control events happening below ground in those oil fields.

  Surely the government knows what has happened, he thought. We’ve had no news, but they can’t just leave us here. Something will be done to get us out, of that I’m certain. And something must also be done to secure the considerable investment the company has made here. If the Egyptians think they’ll nationalize these fields and take them from us, they have another thing coming.

  Yet that was exactly what Egypt was going to do. War was war, and the Sinai was already on fire, though Sir Douglas knew nothing of that. It wasn’t until his studied ear heard the distant thump of helicopters that he realized help was finally coming.

  “Hear that Dickens? They’re coming.”

  Dickens, a short bespeckled bald headed executive, inclined his head, blinking. “Could just be the Egyptians. After all, that’s how they got here, descending on us like a swarm of locusts.”

  “No, those are different more deep throated. They mean business. I think that’s our 16th Air Assault Brigade.”

  “Shall I spread the word, sir?”

  “Not just yet, Dickens. Let’s wait it out a bit and see what develops. But if they do come, we’ll tell the rank and file to be ready to move on short notice. If we bustle about too soon, we’ll just alert the Wogs, and they’ll tighten the guard here.”

  “I understand, sir.”

  Sir Douglas wasn’t very politically correct with his name calling, but after seeing his entire operation so rudely seized by the Egyptian Army, he wasn’t worried about calling them anything he liked.

  When hostilities broke out, and Egypt came in on the side of China, the pipeline from the Sultan Apache fields to Mersa Matruh was also shut down, part of the big oil embargo being enforced on the West. So nothing had been moving through the big steel arteries for weeks, and the pump stations sat silent in the deserts of Egypt, Jordan, Arabia and Syria. Nothing was moving to the Red Sea or Mediterranean, and the oil pinch was beginning to bite. It was always the Western powers that had laid and enforced “sanctions” on nations that would not toe their political line. Both Iraq and Iran had been suffering for years under tough sanctions, and now they were repaying the favor.

  China’s only problem was that, as long as the naval war was still underway in the Indian Ocean and Arabian Sea, nothing was getting to Shanghai by sea either. The tankers huddled at friendly ports, many still filled with crude oil. But the great economic machines that consumed it were slowly running dry.

  Naturally, oil prices spiked, along with commercial container ship and tanker insurance rates, all through the proverbial roof. Thus far the US had forestalled heavy shortages, because by 2020 it was already the world’s top producer of oil, passing both Saudi Arabia and Russia. The squeeze on the shale oil had paid off, but it too had peaked around 2020, and started a decline that might never be reversed.

  Mustapha Mond, the World Controller in Aldus Huxley’s landmark novel Brave New World had remarked that “the wheels must always turn” in that machinated society. In 2025, the wheels had stopped, and no one knew when or if they would ever start again.

  For Sir Douglas, and all the oil hands and executive team members from Sultan Apache, their own immediate safety was a more primal concern. They did not know that any operation aimed at rescuing them was even underway until they heard those helicopters. Then they began to hear the artillery, the distant explosions that told them some kind of battle was slowly rolling through the desert, and heading their way. Hopes raised considerably, but Sir Douglas realized this might also put his people in considerable danger.

  What was happening? It was maddening not knowing, but at least heartening that the government had come for them. Yet what would the Egyptians do with them if the relief forces got too close? The more he thought about it, the answer that came to him was nothing. They couldn’t move us, he thought. They came here on helicopters, but they’ll need those to fight their little battles here. And they certainly don’t have a truck park here with them. Thank God we kept our bus transport assets in Mersa Matruh, only sending them here when needed. Would they use us as hostages? Bargaining chips?

  We’ll just have to wait and see.

  * * *

  Up on the north coast, the Egyptian 2nd Mech Division continued its relentless advance towards Tobruk. 40 Commando had set up blocking positions at Gambut and Sidi Rezegh, waiting for reinforcements they expected from 16th Air Assault Brigade. The Egyptian forces pushed to within 20 kilometers of the harbor, harassed by air strikes with every forward move the attempted. Then, to make matters worse, another column was reported moving toward Tobruk from the west.

  “Sir, it looks like the Libyans are getting into it. They’re on the coast highway to the west. Welsh Guards reports they’ve spotted tanks with their drones.”

  “Tanks? With the Libyans?”

  “Yes sir. T-62’s. About twenty or so.”

  “Then we’ll need Challengers over there.”

  It was the “Nightmare Scenario” for the mission planners. They had counted on the Egyptians being too preoccupied with Sinai to send much to Siwa or Tobruk, and some even argued that they would not cross into Libyan territory. They were all wrong. At the very least, Tobruk was about to become a besieged camp, and even if Kinlan carried off his mission, and managed to get all the way up north again, he would have another battle waiting for him there when he arrived.

  General Arnold of 3rd Division had supervised the landings, and now he looked at the impending situation and knew that he had to decide whether or not to fight for the airfield at El Adem. It was outside the perimeter, and sticking out like a sore bump. Defending it would be difficult, so if threatened he would have to move any helicopters there to the port area. All the infantry was digging in, and the four companies of Challengers he had were now a godsend. He could cover all the main roads, and hold one company in reserve near the oil refinery at Tobruk.

  The Egyptians would not malinger outside that defensive front. They immediately began to assemble for an attack as they pressed up the coastal road from the east, but this would take time. That was the commodity most needed by both sides now—time. The British needed it to begin moving th
eir forces at Siwa and Sultan Apache north. The Egyptians needed it to get their division formed up, bring up more reserves, and launch an attack.

  * * *

  As the sun began to set on the 8th, the 3rd Mech Division had arrived in the south. General Abdul Salid had the division, and now he looked at the map, scratching his head. The ground he was approaching was mostly below sea level, a morass of hard and soft clay beds, limestone flats, rock salt plateaus, depressions of salty sebkha, all riven by wadis. But there, looming in the distance beneath a haze, was a solid wall of sheer rocky cliffs, the escarpment that surrounded Sultan Apache on three sides.

  I am told to bring my division here and stop the British, he thought. Yet nothing was said about this! We come all this way from the Nile, hounded by enemy air strikes the whole way, and now I see this wall of stone. My infantry could not even climb it, let alone tanks and APC’s.

  He squinted at his map again. The lead brigade had come to the edge of a deep depression, and the thin track he had been on descended to 80 meters below sea level. It passed through the crusty salt sebkha depression, along Wadi Humid, and then climbed to a low plain that led to a narrow canyon, a gap in the great stone fortress about two kilometers wide. That is the castle gate, he thought. From there the road enters a low plain, running north but the escarpment continues on my left. It becomes gradually lower, and a little over 20 kilometers on, the road angles left to come to the North Gate—El Abayad.

  That is one road I could take. The other would be to turn west as soon as I cross this low depression. That would take me along the southern reach of the escarpment, past the Tomb of Haduna, under the frowning rise of the cliffs of El Talh. There the road splits, and one track leads up to the brackish salt lake of Birket Timeira. That eventually takes me to a lower, more gradual rise in this sheer stone wall, and the southern gate to Sultan Apache. Otherwise, I could simply continue west to Siwa.