Winds of Change (Empires Lost Book 2)

by Charles S. Jackson

  None of that mattered right at that moment however as they waited inside their tank at the defensive lines near Agruda, just before dawn on that Friday morning. Their destroyed Firefly had been removed and towed back to Suez for repair or salvage and a repositioned gun pit had been substantially widened to accept its replacement, the new AC-1 prototype XFV001 Jake. They’d received reports during the night from their advanced scouts indicating a large enemy force was on the move east from Cairo and everyone along the lines was on full alert as a result.

  Davids’ AFV had been positioned roughly fifteen hundred metres or so south of main road to Cairo and was now relatively safe, snugged inside a pit deep enough to leave just the broad, flat turret exposed. At only 2.5-metres high, the AC-1 possessed a quite low silhouette to begin with and it was barely visible at all once settled into its secure, hull-down position. XFV002 Elwood was also at the battle line, dug into its own fortified position approximately two kilometres away and 500 metres north of the Cairo-Suez Road. On either side of them, spaced at roughly even intervals, lay the rest of 3RTR’s tanks.

  They were spread out in a long, uneven line that stretched approximately seven kilometres across the Egyptian desert. Accompanied by supporting infantry from the Australian 2/28th Battalion, they were all too few armoured vehicles to cover the amount of land required should any concentrated assault come. To the north, the line stretched across to the eastern edge of an area of rough, hilly terrain that was far too uneven to allow the passage of tanks or armoured vehicles. There, not far short of the Genaiva Road, the defences of the 2/28th joined up with further 8th Army fortifications coming in from the east, these manned by other units of the Australian 9th Division (of which the 2/28th was also a part) and the Indian 4th Division, supported by tanks of the famed British 7th Armoured Division – the ‘Desert Rats’.

  The 2/28th’s lines’ opposite end rose in the lee of a tall mountain range at the northern edges of the huge Eastern Desert that comprised the majority of the area between the Upper Nile and the Red Sea and reached as far south as Eritrea and Ethiopia. The jagged, inhospitable peaks were impassable to vehicles or large groups of men and therefore formed a fine natural barrier to prevent any flanking manoeuvre. Any attempt to encircle the 8th Army to the south would require a long and arduous journey through narrow and difficult mountain passes that would eventually arrive at the western shore of the Red Sea near Aen Sokhna, still forty or fifty kilometres south of Suez.

  “All units… all units… Handshake to all units…” The sudden transmission from the CP, blaring through David’s headset over the open command channel, brought his wavering attention instantly back to the here and now. “Contact front – multiple vehicles – range three thousand yards – bearing two-six-four.”

  It was the warning they were waiting for and along the entire line, gunners opened their breeches. The first rays of dawn were finally reaching out across the desert around them sending long, distended shadows across the ground ahead of the dug-in men and vehicles. The sun was barely showing above the eastern horizon as yet but it would of course continue to rise, and that was something that would significantly favour the defenders. Even so, they all knew that they’d also be significantly outnumbered should the alert prove to be a full assault and all were well aware of the dangers they faced in a capable and well-equipped enemy.

  The first shells of the Italian barrage landed slightly short of the Allied positions on the Cairo-Suez Road and began to ‘walk’ unerringly forward as the growing spread of detonations quickly created a pall of smoke and dust that rose skyward and partially obscured most of the western horizon across a broad front (something that had been an intended by-product of the bombardment). There was a breeze rising however that swept across the desert from the east, ensuring any advantage was fleeting at best.

  The barrage itself moved across the Allied lines and beyond leaving a few casualties here or there, but they were relatively light for all that: advanced warning of an impending attack had meant the defenders were well dug in and little short of a direct hit was likely to have any effect as a result. As the shelling continued into the rear lines and then suddenly ceased, Lieutenant-Colonel Anderson, CO of the 2/28th was already out of his forward bunker and moving about the trenches. Intent on checking casualties and boosting morale, he was accompanied by his 2IC and communications officer, the pair following him with a heavy and theoretically ‘portable’ radio strapped to the back of a stoic senior NCO by the name of Arthur Morris.

  “Lifted already?” Anderson asked rhetorically as he halted, sliding in between a pair of riflemen and lifting his head momentarily above the trench line to peer into the dusty haze to the west. “Bit of a piss-poor barrage … light-to-medium gunnery at best and not long enough by half to have any chance of effectively disrupting our lines.” He turned his eyes skyward for a few seconds, scanning the horizon but not really expecting to see anything. “HQ’s had no reports of any enemy air support… why would they lift their bombardment so quickly otherwise?”

  “Intel’s been receiving reports the ‘Eye-ties’ were wearing out their gun tubes…” his 2IC, a young lieutenant by the name of Wickenby replied thoughtfully. “Maybe they’re worried the ‘drop-shorts’ will shell their own troops by mistake like at El Alamein…?” ‘Drop-short’ was a common and not altogether kindly colloquial term often used by Australian and Commonwealth forces in reference to their own artillery units, for the very same self-explanatory reason.

  “They’ve had a good few months to repair and refit since the last major offensive, Bob,” Anderson countered with a dubious grimace. “I’d be bloody annoyed as their local commander if they hadn’t received new gear during that kind of lull.” He shook his head slowly, remaining unconvinced. “Why would you not commit full arty support if you’re not ‘fair dinkum’ about the assault? And we’ve seen no air support either as yet… when do they ever come at us without the RAI or the Luftwaffe for back-up? I’m starting to suspect this may be nothing more than a feint or a probing attack.”

  “I’d be happier still if we had some mines to lay down up front as well,” Wickenby observed softly, voicing his displeasure over a situation none were happy about.

  “You and me both, Bob,” Anderson agreed with a faint nod. “But wishing alone’s not gonna make it so. The Powers-That-Be have decided the limited numbers we have left are needed elsewhere, and until we get more from the Yanks – if they ever arrive – we’ll just have to make do.”

  “Message from GHQ, sir,” Lieutenant Daniel Abercrombie announced, quickly interrupting his CO as he lowered a radio handset from his ear and returned it to Sergeant Morris, standing beside him. “They’re received reports from ‘special assets’ that there are no Luftwaffe sorties scheduled today... no information on the RAI as yet: Formidable is scrambling fighter-bombers as a precaution. They’re reporting no evidence of any air- or land-based enemy movements from the north – everything ‘all clear’ at the moment up that way. HQ also advises they have confirmation of counter-battery coordinates based on the enemy bombardment: they want us to know that naval support is being allocated as we speak and any further enemy activity will be responded to immediately.”

  “‘Special assets’,” Anderson repeated, smiling thinly at a euphemism that had previously been used by his HQ as an all-encompassing term to cover everything from forward scouts and special forces to pro-British agents within the native Egyptian populace still operating within occupied territories. The accuracy of reports varied dramatically but any warning was better than none, and any report of enemy activity had to be taken seriously.

  “Nice of them to let us know they’ll wait for us to take another pounding before they shoot back,” Wickenby growled softly, unimpressed by the news. “How many more of our blokes do we need to lose?”

  “When they say ‘naval support, they usually mean a battleship or heavy cruiser, Bob,” Anderson answered quickly, attempting to mollify his 2IC somewhat. “Any s
hip of that kind would be a prime target and they won’t want to announce its presence unless they have to. I don’t like it any more that you do but I understand the game they’re playing.”

  “I’d be more worried about the Luftwaffe, myself,” Abercrombie observed with a grimace. “I’ve seen their bloody gunships in action and I don’t care to get too close to ‘em a second time…!” Abercrombie was a British officer attached to the 2/28th from HQ at Suez and was also a veteran of the desperate, ultimately-futile battles in defence of London of two years before.

  “I wouldn’t worry too much about enemy air support just yet, Danny,” Anderson countered with a reassuring, slightly evil smile. Neville brought something nasty back from Suez with those two bloody great tanks the week before last and I should think anything that gets past the Fleet Air Arm will be in for a bloody big surprise!”

  The first ranks of the Littorio’s 3rd Cavalry – two troops of L10/39 light tanks and a trio of AB41 armoured cars – were decimated within seconds as they appeared out of the post-bombardment haze that was settling across the western horizon. Spread thinly in a broad and mostly even line of advance, they were allowed to draw to within a thousand metres of the Allied lines before all eleven vehicles were torn apart by the multiple impacts of dozens shells fired from tanks and dug-in anti-tank guns alike.

  With the battle finally joined following some tense moments of ‘hold fire’ under direct orders from the local CP, the eruption of high-velocity guns along the lines signalled that all were now free to engage any enemy within range. Although there were still patches of clearing smoke and dust across the battlefield that hampered their ability to target at longer ranges, many of the Sherman Fireflies and battalion AT guns (both armed with the superlative 17-pounder) were able to fire effectively on enemy armour out to ranges of almost 1,500 metres – distances well beyond the capabilities of the automatic cannon fitted to either the L10/39 or the Autoblinda (which shared the same turret).

  For many years prior to the actual outbreak of war in Europe, Nazi Germany had worked closely with Italy – its sympathetic and openly fascist neighbour – to develop the country’s manufacturing and engineering capabilities to the point where both were sufficient to ensure Il Duce’s armed forces could field a credible military presence. As a secondary benefit, the collaboration during the late 1930s had also served to draw the two nations together far more quickly than would’ve been likely otherwise and had resulted in securing Mussolini as a staunch and unwavering ally.

  The L10/39 light tank was a direct result of that technical ‘exchange’. Save for a few minor differences in detail due to local preference, the vehicle’s hull was basically a licence-built copy of the Wehrmacht’s P-1 series light tank mated to the turret of a P-7A Puma armoured car. The tank’s designation followed standard Italian naming procedure, in that it carried ‘L’ (for ‘light tank’) followed respectively by the approximate weight in tonnes and the year of entry into service. By the same token, the Italian copy of the P-3 medium panzer (which weighed 26 tonnes and entered service in 1941) carried the title of M26/41.

  While the M26/41 was a far larger and more heavily armoured tank than the L10/39, it was nevertheless no match for the armour-piercing, tungsten-cored shells of the Allies’ 17-pounders. As the first ranks of the IV Armoured Battalion rumbled into range accompanied by the remaining vehicles of the 3rd Cavalry, they were presented with the burning wreckage of their advanced guard. They too were systematically decimated by the defenders guns, although to their credit a few platoon commanders survived long enough to report the position of several Allied tank and gun emplacements before damage from enemy fire either forced from their stricken tanks or destroying them entirely.

  “Medium tank, fourteen-hundred yards…!” Jimmy Davids called a loud warning as he caught sight of an enemy vehicle appearing out of the distant haze on the western horizon. “Load HEAT round…!”

  “Acquiring…” Nick Ingalls called over the intercom seconds later, and there was the muffled sound of firing from the .50 calibre spotting rifle mounted above the barrel of XFV001 Jake’s main gun.

  Accurate estimation of range became problematic over long distances and as such the new Sentinel prototypes were fitted with a ranging gun mounted in line with the main cannon – a semi-automatic rifle which fired tracer rounds with ballistics matched perfectly to the ammunition used by the larger weapon. It’d been a difficult concept for Ingalls to grasp to begin with but two weeks of intensive training had sharpened his skill to the point that he was able to land the third and fourth ranging shots on target, both ricocheting off the distant tank’s sloped glacis plate and arching high into the air.

  “On target...!” Nick called excitedly upon observation of the fall of shot, and Davids’ reply was almost instantaneous.

  “Fire…!”

  The entire tank shook violently in its pit as the rifled main gun discharged with a roar, its huge breech recoiling almost 40cm within the turret as everyone inside kept well out of the way. As a cloud of flame erupted from the muzzle, throwing dust and smoke high into the air, a 105mm shaped-charge shell weighing 24kg hurtled away downrange at close to 1,100 metres per second, the pink glare of the tracer flare affixed to its base clearly visible.

  The enemy M26/41 didn’t stand a chance. As the HEAT round struck the vehicle squarely on the centre of its glacis plate and detonated in a bright flash, the specially-shaped cone of copper within its warhead formed a superheated jet of molten metal that punched its way through the tank’s armoured hull as if it were butter. All the vehicle’s hatches blew open simultaneously, jets of flame and clouds of thick black smoke spewing high into the air from every opening. No crew members managed to exit the vehicle.

  “Target destroyed!” Davids crowed in adrenalin-laced elation, already turning the magnified optics built into his commander’s cupola to seek out another target as the spent shell case ejected automatically and fell to the turret floor with a loud clatter.

  “Armoured car… fifteen hundred yards… load HESH…!”

  “Acquiring…” Ingalls advised quickly, finding the new target quickly in his own sights as Alvin Toms quickly slid the requested shell into the huge breech and slammed the breech block home with a loud rattle and clang.

  As Ingalls was taking aim, Alvin Toms collected the expended shell case, wearing asbestos gloves for protection, and slid it into the armoured ejection slot at the rear of the turret. The moment he closed the internal hatch, the action of turning it shut automatically rotated the slot through 180° and allowed the expended cartridge case to fall from beneath the turret bustle overhang and roll away across the rear hull.

  “On target…!” Ingalls advised seconds later as the spotting rifle above the main gun fired again, the tiny balls of arcing tracer finding the hull of an Autoblinda AB41 after just a few shots.

  “Fire…!”

  Tentatively titled the XM42 4-inch Gun in US Army service, the OQF 50-pounder Mark I fired again, shaking the entire vehicle and once more releasing a huge cloud of smoke and flame from the muzzle as the projectile hurtled forth, spanning the intervening distance in less than 1½ seconds. In Realtime almost exclusive only to Commonwealth forces, HESH (high explosive squash head) was a simple type of shell that was little more than a large and streamlined lump of plastic explosive fitted with an impact fuse at its rear. The warhead instantly deformed upon striking the side of targeted AB41’s hull creating a large, roughly-circular ‘cow pat’ which then detonated a few milliseconds later.

  The effect was devastating. Intended as a ‘general purpose’ round for use against vehicles and fortified structures, the HESH round used explosive force to damage its target. Against tanks the force of the detonation against the armour of the outer hull or turret used the shock created to detach a piece of the very armour itself inside the vehicle and sent lethal shards and shrapnel flying about to the detriment of crew and equipment therein.

  In the case of the AB41 however, wi
th armour that at best was no more than 25mm thick, the blast effect alone was powerful enough to basically destroy it entirely. With a single large, blinding flash and cloud of blackened smoke, debris and pieces of wreckage spiralled high into the air and what little was left of the smoking hulk collapsed to the ground, completely unrecognisable.

  Back at the Italian command and rally point, Bitossi swore fiercely as details started to arrive regarding his advanced units’ savaging at the hands of the British. Intelligence reports supplied predominantly from German sources had claimed their enemy was exhausted, under-supplied and little more than a spent force… and that one good ‘push’ should break through entirely. Back in Cairo, the general had seen a recent newsreel from Berlin that had shown Adolf Hitler himself giving a speech in which he’d said in reference to the remaining Allied defences in North Africa that: “You only have to kick in the door, and the whole rotten structure will come crashing down…” There’d been no evidence of ‘rotten structures’ or infirmities in the enemy’s defences that Maggiore-Generale Gervasio Bitossi had so far encountered, and for the most part it was his men left to pay the price for the over-optimism of superiors in Rome and Berlin as a result.

  “They’re destroying our centre before we can even get into range!” He snarled angrily, glaring down from the position of the AB41’s commander’s hatch as he directed his words toward his communications NCO inside the hull. “Order the Twelfth and Fifty-First forward at full speed: they need to push up now! We need to execute a pincer manoeuvre to at least put some pressure on their flanks and perhaps force a withdrawal.” A moment’s breath and he continued with growing anger: “…And where the fuck are our bloody artillery? Do they think their day’s work is over and it’s time for some vino now they’ve tossed a few rounds downrange?”