Winds of Change (Empires Lost Book 2)

by Charles S. Jackson

  “Fire control problems, signore,” the sergeant replied a moment later, lowering the headset from his ears as he called up from the bowels of the vehicle’s hull. “Colonnello Francisco advises they’re having trouble maintaining contact with their forward observers.”

  “Their FO’s aren’t responding because they’ve been bloody-well blown to bits! Madre di Dio! Roberto, kindly advise the colonnello accordingly and suggest to him that if he’s not doing anything more pressing at the moment, he might consider firing on the original bombardment coordinate he already fucking has!”

  Another short burst of virulent profanity followed, before another thought occurred to him. “Also, find out from HQ where their heavy artillery and bloody air support have gotten to? We’re supposed to have both on hand for this advance: I want some attack aircraft or gunships hitting them hard and I bloody-well want it now! Our boys are getting slaughtered out there without bombers or heavy guns backing them up!”

  “Colonel Francisco advised they’re firing now, signore,” the NCO reported a few seconds later before returning to his radio in order to ascertain the whereabouts of Bitossi’s requested air support.

  A few kilometres south of the main CP, Colonel Aldo Francisco gave the order for the 554th Self-Propelled Artillery Group to recommence firing based on their original bombardment coordinates. Twelve mobile howitzers stood about in a loose formation, spread well enough apart that in the event of retaliatory enemy fire, the destruction of any one unit wouldn’t result in damage to the others. There were two distinct models – the Semovente 75/32 and Semovente 149/40 – and both were of indigenous Italian design based on the hull platform of the M26/41 medium tank. Both carried large, roomy turrets that were identical, save for the weapon actually fitted. The smaller of the two mounted a 75mm gun derived from the army’s standard Modello 37 towed field gun while the larger sported a variant of another Italian design – the 149mm Modello 37 heavy howitzer.

  Neither were particularly long-ranging weapons but both were reliable and accurate enough and were also possessed of more than sufficient reach for the task at hand that morning. As crews prepared for a second, heavier bombardment, gunlayers within Francisco’s command vehicle – also an AB41 armoured car – returned their revised firing solutions and final adjustments were made. None of the gunners or commanders present at that moment possessed any clue as to the maelstrom they were about to bring down upon their own heads.

  Slightly less than two kilometres west of Jimmy Davids’ position, Tenente Luigi Arbib Pascucci sat within his self-propelled gun and stared out at the battle ahead through his commander’s cupola optics. Unlike the mobile artillery vehicles, the Semovente M41L da 90/53 had been designed from the ground up as a tank destroyer. A squat, low-set and turretless vehicle with thick and heavily-sloped armour, the 90/53 was armed with a main gun derived from an Italian heavy anti-aircraft weapon similarly known as the Cannone da 90/53.

  Fitted to a gimballed mount set into the centre of the wide, sloped glacis plate, the 90mm gun possessed limited traverse or elevation however it fired a range of quite powerful anti-tank and anti-personnel rounds and was perfectly suited to long range tank vs. tank engagements. So far there were very few of the newly-developed vehicle in service and Second Lieutenant Pascucci had voluntarily left his previous posting to the Littorio’s sister division, Ariete, to take command of the state-of-the art fighting vehicle.

  The troop of three Semovente had been attached to the Littorio’s 51st Armoured Battalion to provide added, long-range ‘punch’ in recognition of a lack of heavy tanks available to the Italian Army. Indigenous reproductions of the Germans’ P-4 Panther main battle tank were in development, however long delays had so far prevented production of anything other than prototypes of the desperately-needed P41/42 heavy tank from seeing the light of day.

  Turretless tank destroyers however could be produced faster and cheaper. The naming of Pascucci’s vehicle followed the standard Italian format for SPGs, in that the M41L referred to the ‘Model 41’ tank platform it was derived from, along with an ‘L’ suffix denoting a ‘long-barrelled’ gun (followed by ‘da 90/53’ advising the fitting of a 90mm gun with a barrel of 53 calibres in length – approximately 4.7m)

  Possessed with a main gun that was potentially quite lethal out to ranges of two kilometres or more, the Semovente M41L had been subsequently fitted with the best optics and fire control systems available and as such, Pascucci was therefore able – barely – to pick out the tiny dark shapes that were the turrets of dug-in tanks emplaced along the Allied lines. At the highest magnifications available he was also able to note several large muzzle flashes from one particular area that coincided with the sudden destruction of two Italian armoured vehicles relatively close to his own position.

  To the lieutenant’s mind they’d been hit at distances that would’ve seen almost impossible for normal tank guns under the current conditions and would’ve been an extremely difficult task even for his vehicle’s quite powerful armament. Those facts alone suggested a new type of armoured vehicle they’d never before encountered; almost certainly one of the vehicles their intelligence unit had warned of.

  “Attenzione, ‘Tigri’!” He instantly called out over their unit radio frequency, gaining the complete attention of the commanders of the other two tank destroyers in his unit through the use of their recognised group title. “Special target – enemy tank dug-in, range approximately nineteen hundred metres on my bearing zero-nine-five… Engage immediately; I’m designating as a significant threat! Fire at will…!” Then, over the Semovente’s internal comms he added: Enzo: target on my previous bearings – large tank, nineteen hundred – load effetto pronto!”

  Almost in unison, all three of the squat, turtle-like vehicles slowed to a complete halt in line abreast formation with just a dozen metres or so between them. The M41L’s long, ponderous barrel rose to almost full elevation, traversing a few degrees to the right at the same time as his gunner strained his eyes to lock down the distant target through his own optics.

  “Effetto pronto loaded!” His loader advised as the inside of the vehicle reverberated with the unmistakeable sound of a 90mm HEAT shell being loaded and the breech block slamming home.

  “Target acquired… I think…” Enzo replied soon after, uncertainty clear in his tone. “It’s a long shot, signore… I’m not making any promises…”

  “Do your best, Enzo – I have faith, il mio amico…” He paused for a moment, then ordered: “Fuoco…!”

  The Semovente’s 90mm cannon discharged with a roar, a cloud of flame and smoke discharging from the muzzle as a 10kg shaped-charge warhead thundered downrange at better than 800 metres per second.

  Slightly more than two seconds later it struck the surface of the rocky desert just a metre or so to the left of XFV001 and detonated in a huge blast of earth and smoke that shook the tank savagely and left all within it momentarily deafened. All the men within were seasoned veterans and there was no mistaking the fact that they’d been targeted by an enemy gun of significant power.

  “Clear the breech!” Davids bellowed as he instantly dismissed the light tank he’d been intending to fire upon and quickly swivelled his commander’s optics to the left and right, desperately seeking out the source of the near-miss. “Load HEAT, on the double…!”

  “Excellent shot, Enzo!” Pascucci advised upon observation of the distant explosion. “A miss… but a bloody close one!”

  “I have them this time, signore!” His gunner advised confidently, fine tuning his aim slightly to correct the inaccuracy as one of the nearby Semovente fired its own gun on the same target. That shot was another near-miss – to the right – however this time, Davids picked up the M41L’s muzzle blast and the streak of incoming tracer in his peripheral vision.

  “Tank destroyers…!” He called a sharp warning as he focussed his optics at their highest magnification, trying to effectively estimate an accurate range. “Three units… range at least ni
neteen hundred… no… two thousand yards! Designating northern most Semovente as priority target…” Having seen only the M41L to the right of Pascucci’s firing, Davids mistakenly took it to be the only one targeting their tank.

  “Acquiring…” Ingalls advised over the intercom and the ranging rifle above the tank’s main gun fired again, this time with at least half-a-dozen rounds as the huge muzzle elevated in recognition of the far greater range. “On target…!”

  “Fire…!”

  Wham…! The gun fired again, automatically ejecting the huge spent case as the HEAT round arced away on its ballistic course.

  Pascucci was about to give the order to fire a second time as the Semovente standing a dozen metres to his north quite unexpectedly exploded in a huge fireball under the impact of a 105mm shaped-charge round. The blast shook their vehicle violently, while the expanding clouds of smoke and dust created also momentarily obscured their line-of-sight on the target. There were a few tense seconds before the light breeze had cleared the air ahead sufficiently for them to see their distant enemy once more.

  “Fuoco…!” Pascucci howled loudly the moment his gunner had given the all clear, and the 90mm gun thundered once more, sending their angry reply hurtling downrange.

  The shock of the near-miss of moments before paled completely into insignificance in comparison to the sudden, massive blow that struck Jake just two seconds later. Davids’ head, still bandaged due to the injury he’d received two weeks before, was hurt again as he was slammed against the inside of his commander’s cupola and the rest of his crew were also bruised and battered as they were thrown about inside the tank. Electrical systems faltered, and the vehicle’s dim internal lighting blacked out momentarily, returning a second later as the entire hull rang and vibrated with the deafening impact.

  “Sound off…! Injuries…! Damage reports…!” Davids bellowed angrily, shaking off his own grogginess through sheer willpower as a migraine flared in the back of his head. “Is everyone okay?”

  “Driver okay,” Angus responded immediately over the intercom, fear evident in his shaken tone. “Engines still running and ready to go…”

  “Fire control okay,” Ingalls also advised the moment Connolly had finished, the turret turning slightly to either side as he tested his systems. “Hydraulic and electrical systems appear to be operating… main gun okay…”

  Load HEAT…!” Davids ordered immediately, struggling to clear his aching head as he stared through his commander’s optics once more, desperately searching for the two remaining tank destroyers he’d already identified. Jesus, this is one hell of a machine! He added silently in his mind as began to fully register than the vehicle they were in had just shrugged off a direct hit from a large-calibre, high-velocity tank gun without damage of any note.

  Any opportunity to fire again was lost however as another Italian artillery bombardment began and visibility was again obscured, this time quite comprehensively as numerous smoke and high explosive rounds fell right across the Allied lines. As was the case during the previous barrage there was little real damage or casualties inflicted, however the renewed activity from enemy guns did create much activity in somewhat more distant circles.

  “Air support two minutes away,” Abercrombie announced, the radio headset pressed to one ear while he jammed his finger into the other in a mostly-unsuccessful attempt to drown out the cacophony of the artillery barrage outside the CP. “HQ also advised stand by for naval gunfire support – they have co-ordinates and are preparing to initiate counter-battery fire.”

  “Belay that order!” Anderson snapped, jabbing an almost accusatory finger in the man’s direction. “Tell Suez to hold fire on naval assets!”

  “Are you sure, sir?” Wickenby asked, almost incredulous. “You want to refuse arty support?”

  “This is a feint, Bob,” Anderson explained quickly as he took several long strides across the bunker’s concrete floor and snatched the headset from Abercrombie. “There’s no Luftwaffe, no RAI or heavy arty on their side. It’s the ‘night before Christmas’ right along the front to Ismailia and we’re the only part of the line where a ‘mouse’ is stirring.” Headset in hand, he paused just long enough to make his point. “This is a feint, Bob – a spoofing raid – and I’m not going to have the Royal Navy announce their presence over a waste of time. All that would accomplish would be the bloody Luftwaffe sending their next big raid to Suez and sending whatever ships they have there to the bottom of the Red Sea.” He lifted the headset to his own ear and entered into conversation with the operator at the other end.

  “Hello, Corroboree.... this is Handshake. Priority order: cancel naval gunfire support… I repeat: cancel naval gunfire support! Assessment of enemy action suggests low-level threat only. We have aerial assets enroute that can assist…” There was a long pause, during which Anderson listened intently, before he finally added: “Thank you, Corroboree – we will advise if further assistance required. Handshake over and out…”

  “I hope you’re right, sir,” Wickenby said grimly, making an effort to appear positive but not really managing it as Anderson handed the headset back to Abercrombie.

  “You can hear how piss-weak their bombardment is, Bob… they’ve only thrown the lead elements of one division at us, if that…” He lifted both hands outstretched, as if to add weight to his argument. “Even they don’t have the ticker to make it look fair-dinkum… our boys will make mincemeat of ‘em without protection from their own air forces!”

  The trail running up through the mountains – one could hardly call it a road – was rough and precipitous and wound its way to the north-west from Aen Sokhna to the Cairo-Suez Road though sixty kilometres or more of towering, jagged peaks. At some points barely wide enough to allow single-lane traffic, a military force of any reasonable size would’ve needed the better part of a day or more to negotiate its length.

  At a cruising speed of over 320 knots, F-3C Sea Fury ‘A-for-Able’ of the Royal Navy’s FAA Squadron 803 managed the same journey in just six minutes, following the course of the track through those valleys and using the surrounding ranges as a cover against enemy radar. Eight more of the F-3Cs followed on behind him in a loose line-ahead formation, all painted in the Fleet Air Arm’s standard camouflage scheme of slate-grey/sea-grey with under-surfaces coated in duck egg blue.

  The formation comprised three flights of three with Lieutenant-Commander Allen McTavish commanding, and all nine of the pilots present were seasoned veterans with several years of combat experience. Two years before, 803Sqn had been all but wiped out during what became known as the Second Battle of The Dogger Bank; a naval engagement that had been part of the opening phases of the German invasion of 1940 and had resulted in the worst British naval defeat in modern history.

  Flying at the time from HMS Ark Royal, 803Sqn had sortied against Kriegsmarine naval forces in the North Sea and had reduced the huge German aircraft carrier Graf Zeppelin to little more than a burning hulk. In return, the squadron had escaped with just five of their original twenty-four aircraft of which all five surviving pilots were present in that morning’s flight, McTavish included.

  Their training was exceptional and – all things considered – their morale was also remarkably high, the value of both boosted substantially by the excellent capabilities of the aircraft they flew. The F-3C was originally a British design originating out of Hawker Aviation that had been derived from earlier, land-based Typhoon and Tempest fighters-bomber prototypes. Powered by an 18-cylinder Bristol Centaurus radial engine, the aircraft had a length of 10.6 metres, a wing span of 11.7 and a maximum take-off weight of almost 5,700kg. Main armament was a pair of 20mm Hispano cannon in each wing and the Sea Fury could also carry almost 1,000kg of stores on four pylons beneath its wings that included bombs, rocket pods, gun pods or external fuel tanks.

  Based on reports from Desert Air Force command centre at Suez, there was no indication of enemy aircraft as yet – something McTavish found extremely unusual. T
he all-powerful Luftwaffe invariably accompanied any major push by land forces and the distinct lack of air support that morning was as clear an indication as any that the assault they were responding to was little more than a storm in a teacup. That being said, the Lieutenant Commander wasn’t taking anything for granted as he’d led his pilots north west through the mountains, keeping below the level of the surrounding peaks wherever possible to avoid detection by enemy radar.

  The aircraft burst free into open desert a dozen kilometres or so west of the Bitossi’s CP at the Genaiva Road intersection and turned back onto an intercept heading immediately, having already received accurate location coordinates for both the Italian command and the mobile artillery battery courtesy of nearby Allied ELINT units.

  “Red Leader to all units… Red Leader to all units...” McTavish made the call to the rest of his pilots as he cast a quick glance at the folded map held in a clear plastic pocket strapped the upper section of his right thigh. “Ninety seconds to target… stay low and keep an eye out for Ack-Ack – you all know what their mobile flak guns can do if they draw a bead on you. Hit them first if you see any – we can deal with the arty at our leisure if they’re out of the picture. Red flight on me after the attack and we’ll have a look for that CP as well – the rest of you head for home, best possible speed. We may not get another pass, so let’s make the most of it… Red Leader over and out…”

  McTavish turned the Sea Fury onto a north-westerly heading, the rest following his lead as short messages of acknowledgement were issued in response to his orders. They stayed low, never straying more than a hundred metres or so above the flat, featureless desert with the intention of flying below enemy radar for as long as possible. With any luck they’d remain undetected long enough to hit their objective with complete surprise.