Winds of Change (Empires Lost Book 2)

by Charles S. Jackson

  “I’ve seen worse…” was all the young man could say in return, his expression grim as he fought to avoid reliving many unpleasant memories.

  “I know, Old Chap… I know…” Knowles conceded softly, laying a friendly hand on his favourite troop commander’s shoulder “…But you and your boys have gotten out of this one, so all’s well that ends well, eh?” With those simple words of encouragement, Knowles took note of the seeping wound above Davids’ eye. “First thing you need to do is get yourself off to the field hospital and have that seen to… you’ll no doubt have a bloody fine lump there shortly, and I’d say it’ll need a few stitches too by the look of it.”

  “You’ll need me here if the attack comes,” Davids replied plaintively, reluctant to leave his men or his ruined tank for even a few minutes, let alone the hours that would surely be wasted travelling back to Agruda for treatment. “The gun still works and we can traverse manually! We need every seventeen pounder we’ve got on duty…!”

  “That’s an order…” Knowles reaffirmed, allowing a hint of authority to creep into his voice. “It looks like that attack was no more than a ruse to trick us into revealing some of our positions… there’s no ground attack on the way and as you can see, this old girl isn’t going anywhere right now anyway. Get yourself off to see the medic and have your head seen to: we’ll be just fine waiting for you here.”

  Davids wasn’t happy at all, but he knew there was nothing to be done. He’d been given a direct order and as even-tempered and reasonable a man as Major Knowles was, Davids knew all too well that once the man had given an order, he expected it to be obeyed to the letter. He stared up into the blue sky, squinting as he dabbed at the cut in his forehead with a probing index finger and recoiling slightly in a wince of pain. Knowles was right – he should go and have his head looked at – but that didn’t make the idea of leaving his men or the rest of the troops around him any less abhorrent. In his mind he felt as if he were letting them all down by abandoning his post, and Jimmy Davids didn’t like that feeling one little bit.

  As sunset drew near, what had once been a blazing, desert sun had become an angry, red orb hanging low over the western horizon. Temperatures that had pushed higher than 38° centigrade through the mid afternoon had subsided, settling at a far more palatable level around the low twenties as long shadows stretched across the landscape. At the main Allied defensive lines in the north, not far from the southern outskirts of Ismailia, British, Commonwealth and Free French troops settled in for another evening, the likelihood of attack diminishing substantially as daylight waned. A gusting easterly wind came in hot off the desolate Sinai Peninsula across the western shores of the Great Bitter Lake, only to be transformed by its journey across the water into a mild, soothing breeze that had defenders and local inhabitants alike breathing a collective sigh of relief.

  Most of the northern defences were dug into the featureless, rocky desert on the western side of the Hurgada-Al Ismaileya Road, just two thousand metres from the shores of the Great Bitter Lake and twenty kilometres south of the city of Ismailia on the banks of the canal. The line included the perimeter of what had once been RAF Fayid, a major base of operations for the Royal Air Force prior to the fall of Ismailia some weeks before. The base’s main buildings were now no more than shattered and burned out hulks, devastated by Luftwaffe attacks and shelling, and beyond those ruins the broken, cracked remnants of the base’s main runway stretched away due west.

  On the opposite side of the main road, a strip of rich agricultural land hugged the western bank along its entire length south of Ismailia, supplied with fresh water for farming and human consumption by a narrow irrigation channel. Known as the Sweetwater Canal, it was a waterway that began in the south near Port Taufiq and ran parallel with the Suez Canal as far as Wadi Tumilat, south-east of Ismailia, where it turned west to link up with a network of canals near Zagazig that drew fresh water from the Nile north of Cairo. As the channels headed west toward that mighty river, they followed in the ancient paths of canals dug at the order of the pharaohs, several thousand years Before Christ.

  Save for that single, continuous section of green farmland along the western bank, there was nothing but empty, featureless desert south of the Bitter Lakes for many kilometres. Further west lay Cairo and the Nile, while along the entirety of the eastern bank of the canal lay the equally harsh and inhospitable landscape of the Sinai Peninsula as the desert stretched away in that direction for hundreds of kilometres, continuing on into Palestine and beyond.

  North of the city of Ismailia, situated on the shores of Lake Timsah, the scenery was markedly different. There the outer reaches of the great Nile Delta spread wide, bringing with it the seasonal floods of fertile soil as far east as Port Said and the banks of the Suez Canal. This region had been settled for over five thousand years and was a land filled with a rich history that stretched back well before biblical times. A huge body of salt water in its own right, the Great and Small Bitter Lakes combined covered an area of over 250km2, connected to the Mediterranean and Red Seas to the north and south respectively by the stark grandeur of the Suez Canal itself: a feat of engineering that was arguably one of the greatest man-made achievements of the 19th Century.

  The average level of the Red Sea was approximately 1.2 metres higher than that of the Mediterranean and as the salt water canal was completely devoid of locks, the seasonal flows produced a profound effect upon the environment of the region as a result, particularly in the north where the ‘invasion’ of literally hundreds of species of flora and fauna from the Red Sea was slowly developing as a distinct threat to many vulnerable plants and animals indigenous to the Nile Delta and Eastern Mediterranean.

  The idea of a north-south canal linking the Mediterranean at Port Said with the Red Sea at Port Taufiq had first been proposed by Napoleon Bonaparte, after having learned of the discovery of a ‘Canal of the Pharaohs’ built between the First and Second Millennium BC that ran east from the Nile toward the Great Bitter Lake before turning south and heading for the Red Sea via the old Wadi Tumilat.

  Surveys of the time however had incorrectly judged the difference in sea levels between the north and south to be as great as ten metres; a situation that would require the use of locks in any prospective canal and result in prohibitive costs. The project was subsequently abandoned. It was another fifty years before French diplomat and engineer Ferdinand de Lesseps approached the Wali Sa’id Pasha, Viceroy of Egypt, and secured permission for the creation of a company for the purpose of building a canal that would allow passage for the ships of the world between the Mediterranean and the Gulf of Suez.

  The Suez Canal Company (Compagnie Universelle du Canal Maritime de Suez) was subsequently formed. Construction commenced at Port Said on 25th of April, 1859 and would continue for over ten years, requiring the services of an estimated 1.5 million workers and costing the lives of tens of thousands in the process. The canal was eventually opened to shipping on 17th of November, 1869, and although business was slow to catch on in the first few years it nevertheless had an immediate and dramatic effect on world trade, particularly with regard to the subsequent European colonisation of the African continent.

  The British government initially opposed the existence of the canal, preferring an overland rail route between Alexandria and Suez and fearing that a readily-available passage for shipping would threaten commerce with India. Most of the Empire’s trade from the Far East travelled by sailing ship at the time, brought around the Cape of Good Hope to be stored in British warehouses, but the prevailing west-to-east winds of the Mediterranean meant these vessels couldn’t transit the Suez Canal, leaving the British Empire at something of an economic disadvantage. Toward the later stages of the 19th Century however, much of that had changed forever. To begin with, sail progressively gave way to steam for the purpose of ship propulsion around the world. Advances in steam technology produced huge improvements in range and reliability that once-and-for-all freed these ships from
their reliance on the vagaries of wind and weather for their passage.

  Egypt during that time was a nation that had begun to amass a huge level of debt with European financiers. The new leader, Isma’il Pasha (nephew and successor to Sa’id Pasha), had set about bringing his country into the modern world and had instituted sweeping social and economic reforms as a result. This, along with a protracted and largely unsuccessful war with Ethiopia at that time, forced the Egyptian Government to borrow more and more from the European powers. As the situation worsened, the financial crisis finally forced the Pasha to sell off his share of control of the canal to the British Government for four million pounds, leaving the United Kingdom as a significant stakeholder, although French shareholders still held the majority of control.

  Corruption and mismanagement were rife, and as borrowing continued to spiral out of control, a point was reached where Egypt was no longer able to pay its debts with the European banks, leaving delegates from Britain and France effectively in command of the country’s finances. A desperate Isma’il Pasha attempted to force a solution to the problem by whipping up a nationalist frenzy of anti-European sentiment, urging Egyptians to rise up against this foreign interference.

  The Major Powers of course would have none of it. On 26th June 1879, Isma’il was deposed at the insistence of Britain and France and replaced by his son, Tewfik Pasha, who proved to be far more pliable and agreeable to European influence. Disaffection within swelling ranks of unemployed Egyptian civilians and ex-military alike however sowed the seeds for a concerted challenge against the new Pasha’s authority. With support growing throughout the country, an army colonel by the name of Ahmed Urabi gained control of the army and directly threatened the Pasha (and, by definition, British and French interests as a result).

  Tensions increased within the country, with outbreaks of rioting and outright violence in the streets of Alexandria and elsewhere by the middle of 1882. French and British warships were stationed off the coast of Alexandria, ostensibly in support of the Pasha, and as Urabi’s army gained control of the city an ultimatum was delivered ordering them to withdraw from coastal gun batteries overlooking the European fleets. The directive was ignored and the Royal Navy subsequently bombarded Alexandria, landing marines soon afterward to capture the city following heavy resistance.

  As revolt spread throughout the country, the Major Powers feared Egypt would default on its loans and that overall control of the strategically vital Suez Canal would be lost. The House of Commons voted in favour of intervention and an invasion force was landed at Alexandria. The 1882 Anglo-Egyptian War lasted just five weeks, by which time Urabi’s forces had been defeated and Cairo taken without a shot fired. The subsequent British occupation, initially intended as a short-term measure, would eventually last for more than forty years.

  The signing of an Anglo-Egyptian treaty in 1922 and again in 1936 had in theory been intended to bring that British control to an end. However, while the United Kingdom would retain command of the Canal Zone itself as part of the new agreements, Britain would nevertheless also continue to retain a military presence in Egypt for protection of its interests in the Middle East – Interests that remained unthreatened until the outbreak of the Second World War in 1939 and the subsequent involvement of the Axis Powers in North African affairs.

  Port Taufiq

  Suez, Egypt

  As that cooling breeze swept across the Bitter Lakes to the north, the streets of Suez were treated to no such relief. The wide expanses of the Red Sea were of no benefit as a dusty, lifeless wind blew westward across the canal from the Sinai Peninsula, leaving the denizens of the city streets scorched by the experience. Heat… oppressive heat, the noise of the streets and an overpowering stench that pervaded everything: those three themes between them described the environment surrounding him better than any other at that very moment.

  In the two years Lieutenant-General Montgomery had spent in Egypt (most of that in Cairo), he’d become accustomed to the cacophony of sound that invariably assaulted the ears the moment one stepped outside the relative calm of headquarters and ventured into the city. Street hawkers and beggars were everywhere (as had also been the case in Cairo), and they’d learned to target westerners and Englishmen particularly; as much because their disdain for causing a scene would make them more likely to hand over cash quickly as it was for any likelihood that they’d actually have more money to spare.

  The heat was mostly tolerable now that the assault of direct sunlight had all but disappeared – and it helped that the offices they’d occupied both in Cairo and at Suez had been air conditioned – but the all-encompassing smell of the surrounding streets, markets and residential compounds was something few British officers or enlisted men were able to disregard. Compounded and magnified by that same dry, merciless heat, the dirty canals, open sewers and general levels of rotting garbage collecting everywhere had produced a potent miasma of odours that defied classification, although they hinted darkly at various mixtures of vegetable matter, dead things and foetid human waste.

  Already bad before the war, considering the generally poor availability of such things as clean, running water (even fresh water at that), the situation had become significantly worse since the outbreak of hostilities in North Africa. There were no street cleaners or garbage collection services now, if in fact there’d ever been any (Montgomery was dubious), and the 8th Army’s Chief Medical Officer had been warning for some time now of the dangers of a cholera or typhus epidemic amongst the local population. All things considered, it was a miracle there’d been no such outbreak already. The hardships faced by ordinary Egyptians, great already, had increased exponentially since war had come to North Africa. For most, every new day was another dark, desperate battle for survival.

  Lieutenant-General Bernard Law Montgomery CB, DSO had been no stranger, on occasion, to combat or hardship. Slim and wiry of frame, he was a man possessed of a keen wit, sharp eyes, a prominent nose and a genuine smile he’d had little opportunity to display during recent times. He wore a standard-issue, khaki tank suit that displayed no rank, and his moustache and what little hair showed beneath his black, armoured corps beret were clearly turning grey.

  Fifty-four years of age, he’d seen service in France during the First World War and had been severely wounded in October 1914, having been shot through the right lung by a German sniper at Bailleul near the Belgian border. A sergeant sent to assist him was also shot and killed, the man’s body falling across his, and that same sniper had continued to fire at the wounded officer until sunset. Only the protection of that dead sergeant’s body had shielded him from the further harm during that long, tortuous afternoon.

  At the outbreak of war in Europe in 1939, Monty had been posted to the British Expeditionary Force in France as a major-general with Lord Gort’s staff. He’d been called back to London just weeks before the German invasion of France and had been reposted to North Africa as 2IC (second-in-command) to the two preceding commanders prior to his taking on that command himself just eight weeks ago. A succession of defeats had accompanied an almost continual withdrawal eastward across Tunisia and into Egypt and had resulted in both his predecessors being relieved of their commands: it was under that dark cloud of existing failure that Montgomery had assumed his command as General Officer Commanding (GOC), 8th Army.

  While serving under Generals Sir Archibald Wavell and Sir Claude Auchinleck, Monty had proven himself time and time again as an able commander in the field, if at times receiving mild criticism from above for being perceived as overly cautious. It was a trait that had earned him a reputation, rightly or wrongly, of showing a reluctance to go on the offensive unless odds were stacked overwhelmingly in his favour, although few in the rank-and-file soldiery would’ve openly complained about such a thing. There’d been little opportunity for offensive operations in any case since he’d assumed command, as the mediocre but numerically-superior Italian Army – supported by elite units of the Wehrmacht and Luf
twaffe attached to the Deutsche Afrika Korps – had continued to push the tired and poorly-supplied Commonwealth units eastward back to Alexandria, Port Said and beyond.

  Both those cities had fallen after bitter fighting that had resulted in terrible casualties on both sides – both military and civilian – and had prompted the retreating Allied forces to declare the Egyptian capital an open city rather than see further devastation wrought on the local populace. Much as had been the case for the British in 1882, The Wehrmacht and Italian forces had subsequently occupied Cairo without a shot being fired and in the three weeks since, the Axis had all but halted their advance completely along the entire front.

  Some lauded the situation as an indication the enemy’s supply lines had been over-extended… that the offensive had run out of steam. For his part, Montgomery thought their optimism to be grossly premature and he harboured no illusions as to what the future held in store. Their foe might well be taking a short, well-earned rest and refit of equipment after two solid years of desert battle but the final push would come soon enough, and as the man who’d just been handed the unenviable task of trying to stop it, he knew full well that the almost unavoidable defeat to come would also likely signify the end of his career in the short term as it had for his otherwise capable predecessors.

  Those concerns were certainly running through the general’s mind as he waited at the main docks of Port Taufiq later that evening, the shelter of his Humber light reconnaissance car providing small comfort from the still-stifling heat as it stood parked near a large warehouse, a few metres from the water’s edge. The entire port was abuzz with activity as it had been almost non-stop for many weeks. Carts drawn by teams of mules, camels or bullocks moved this way and that at no better than walking pace, all overloaded with cargo that was of too great a variety in size and type to accurately classify.