Winds of Change (Empires Lost Book 2)

by Charles S. Jackson

  All the same, that was of no consolation to those poor souls caught too close to the bombardment, Cafarelli thought solemnly as another shell landed with a roar perhaps two or three hundred metres away, resulting in the total destruction of two IFVs moving in close formation. Staring out through the aiming slit of one of the armoured car’s side-mounted firing ports, he shuddered involuntarily and fingered the rosary beads about his neck as the smoke and debris cleared to reveal nothing remained save for a huge, smoking crater and a few unrecognisable pieces of charred, twisted metal. As the Puma rolled on, he muttered a silent prayer to the Virgin Mary. He didn’t know if it would do him any good, but he was of the definite opinion that, at worst, it certainly couldn’t hurt.

  Genaiva Road north of Agruda Defences

  West of Suez, Egypt

  Michael Wittman, the crew of Panther-121 and the rest of his four-tank troop waited patiently on the side of the Genaiva Road, sheltered from observation by the slope of a low range of rocky hills as it carved out a shallow bend to the south-west. The entire 1st Company of the LSSAH Panzer Regiment waited with them, along with a company of Marder infantry fighting vehicles loaded with SS Panzergrenadiers and a company of motorised infantry from the Italian 101st Trieste Division supported by a troop of Italian Semovente tank destroyers.

  Just a kilometre or two further east, Wehrmacht pioneers worked feverishly to clear a path through British minefield defences at a point where intelligence had suggested it would be at its thinnest for some distance to either side. The engineers were operating under the cover of smoke and a quite savage artillery bombardment that was intended to keep the enemy’s heads down, all of which was now aided by quite strong winds building out of the south west that threatened to develop into a serious dust storm.

  The Allied defenders were firing back sporadically all the same with mortars and light field guns: they might not have been able to clearly see their targets through the swirling clouds of dust and hissing grey smoke but falling shells could take their toll on exposed crews all the same, and while all those patiently waiting admired the pioneers for their courage and determination, none envied them for the onerous and dangerous mission they were undertaking.

  Wittman and his men had been diverted north from their original mission and had joined up with the rest of the waiting task force on the direct order – rumour had it – of Reichsmarschall Reuters himself. They’d been unhappy about leaving the attack and ‘abandoning’ their colleagues – although they’d admittedly been much less unhappy about also missing the bombardment from HMS Malaya that was still ongoing to the south – and all were eager and impatient to move forward.

  The Abwehr had good reason to believe that the Allied front at the point it crossed the Genaiva Road was close to being at its thinnest and was therefore ripe for breakthrough by a Schwerpunkt – an ‘armoured fist’ – of sufficient force. The minefields, barbed wire and tank traps were a significant obstacle all the same, and required cutting edge technology to force an effective breach.

  With the all-enveloping smoke and dust now cutting visibility down to no more than a few dozen metres at best, a pair of Sturmpanthers trundled up to the western edge of the Allied minefields. The P-24B – unofficially christened the ‘Brumbär’ or ‘Grouch’ by its own crews – was a purpose-built combat engineer vehicle based on the chassis and drive train of the P-4 Panther tank. Slower and heavier than the Panther, it carried slightly thicker armour in places as it was intended to be used alongside assaulting infantry to clear obstacles and enemy fortifications.

  To that end, its enlarged, bulbous turret was fitted with a short barrelled demolition gun of 170mm calibre. Of absolutely no use whatsoever for long range combat, it could fire a 30kg HESH shell out to ranges of little more than 2,000 metres and was filled with a C4-type plastic explosive that comprised fully two-thirds of the projectile’s entire weight. At short ranges or in urban environments, the weapon was devastatingly destructive and could be used to great effect against bunkers and other such fortifications that would otherwise prove difficult for normal tank guns to defeat.

  The vehicles’ turret armaments were not the focus of the current exercise however. Behind each Brumbär, small but quite bulky armoured trailer was being towed on a set of ‘free-wheeling’ caterpillar tracks. Nicknamed the Muräne (or ‘Moray Eel’), the MSpSW Minenräum Sprengsatzwerfer (literally ‘mine clearing explosive thrower’) was a small, unguided rocket attached to a 250-metre coil of flexible hose packed with plastic explosive. Used for clearing paths through minefields, it was a far more effective and far less labour-intensive method than the arduous and incredibly dangerous task of using combat engineers to clear the weapons by hand.

  A 25-pounder shell landed close to one Brumbär as the pair advanced slowly, showering the vehicle with earth and shrapnel and causing the crew to flinch but ultimately accomplishing little else. The burned-out shell of another P-24B nearby was evidence to the fact that direct hits from artillery were in fact possible and quite deadly when they occurred, but they were unlikely for all that, particularly in situations where an advance was all but completely obscured by smoke and the enemy guns were unable to get any accurate target information.

  Shells of varying sizes howled overhead in both directions, battery and counter-battery of medium and heavy artillery duelling away with neither gaining any significant advantage in that sector. Bullets from indiscriminate machine gun fire sizzled past, one or two whining off the thick armour of their front glacis plates to as little effect as the shrapnel had been seconds before.

  Both vehicles drew up to the edge of the minefield, coming to a halt just short of a barrier of coiled barbed wire and warning signs that indicated its presence. Little more than five meters apart, the drivers had tried to remain in parallel as best they could, the heavy trailers they towed lined up directly behind them. Inside the northern-most Brumbär, the troop commander decided they were in a good enough position and gave the order to deploy. Both gunners fired their remote triggers simultaneously, each signal sent by wireless transmission back to the trailers at their rear.

  The components of the Muräne were completely enclosed within a thick steel box, the sides of which were angled sharply inward from its base to increase the likelihood of any shell hit deflecting rather than penetrating through to the coils of powerful explosive inside. The top of the trailer was wide open however and the pointed nose of a short, squat rocket was clearly visible within its launch tube if viewed from directly above. Both rockets roared to life in that moment and thundered from their launchers, arching away above the roof of each Brumbär toward the enemy lines at the head of a pillar of boiling grey exhaust, a long, thick cord of explosive training behind each as the coil within each trailer quickly unravelled.

  The rockets’ motors died within seconds – they weren’t intended for long range use after all – and the long, white hoses trailing behind each fell quickly to earth, each stretched out flat across 250 metres of minefield in irregular but generally-straight lines, still roughly five metres or so apart. The troop commander didn’t wait long to give the command, and both lengths of explosive cord detonated together in a huge, rolling cloud of smoke, flame and earth and sprayed high into the air.

  The Muräne worked through ‘sympathetic detonation’ and they did their job well. The combined force of the massive overpressure and subterranean shock waves as the plastic explosive went off was more than enough to set off every anti-tank and anti-personnel mine buried nearby, causing a multitude of smaller secondary explosions to radiate outward from the main blast area in an elongated ‘ripple effect’. That blast was also powerful enough to shatter or obliterate most of the above-ground obstacles and tank traps that had also been set up to impede progress. The two Sprengsatzwerfern had between them effectively cleared a path through the minefield almost fifteen metres wide and 250 metres long. The pair of Brumbär dumped their now-useless trailers by remote release and advanced slowly into the cleared
lane, their huge demolition guns ready to deal with any unexpected enemy resistance.

  Wittman and the rest of his troop needed no extra motivation as the word to ‘go’ flashed about the forces gathered there, and the lead elements of light tanks and infantry fighting vehicles began to move off immediately, following the combat engineer vehicles into the cleared section of minefield. As the Panthers moved out in their turn, a staffel of S-15A Libelle roared past low overhead, their cannon hammering away at unseen targets as they disappeared into smoke and dust rising into the air like a grey-brown wall.

  There was AA fire in return – although no one could tell how effective it might have been – and the assault forces were peppered from above by falling shells as a result in calibres ranging from light machine guns right through to the streaking pink tracer of 40mm Bofors rounds. The volume of fire, although not specifically directed at them, was sufficient to warrant all crews ‘buttoning up’ to prevent any unnecessary casualties.

  Bombs exploded close by off to the east, the occasional flash of detonation vaguely visible through the pall of smoke and dust ahead, and as they heard the unmistakeable sound of the attack jets streaking away northward following their attack, a massive artillery barrage once again smashed down upon the British defenders on either side of their line of advance, the howl of shells overhead deafening even from within the tanks and AFVs.

  Wittman’s troop began to pick up speed as the stream of vehicles poured into the breach through the minefield. They were toward the rear of the column, and normally that would’ve been something to be unhappy about, but they knew their orders and understood that their objective wasn’t to deal with the enemy holding the surrounding lines. That job fell to the tanks and troops pushing in ahead of them, while Wittman and his quickly-assembled, ad hoc battle group were instead intended to break free of the enemy defences and push deeper into the rear.

  Further east along the Genaiva Road was a strategic target the Reichsmarschall himself had placed great value on, and the honour of destroying and/or capturing it (if capture proved to be possible) had been given to Michael Wittman and his men. They’d been provided the finest tanks the Wehrmacht could field to do the job and he had no intention of dishonouring his men, his unit or the Waffen-SS by even contemplating the idea of failure.

  The troop of Panther P-4Ds roared on amid the throng of advancing armoured vehicles as the artillery barrage lifted momentarily and another flight of attack jets howled down out of the sky to bombard the Allied defences.

  16 . Schwerpunkt

  Cairo-Suez Road

  West of Suez, Egypt

  The lead elements of 1FSK reached the Cairo-Suez Road roughly eight kilometres east of the 2/28th CP, the long strip of battered asphalt shimmering in the distance in each direction, the bitumen already heating noticeably under the onslaught of the morning sun. Witzig had drawn his crew to a halt momentarily, intending to allow the rest of his group to catch up, as the coded alert message came through from HQ.

  “Wüstefuchs reading you loud and clear, Spinne…” he acknowledged, pressing the headset to his ear as he stood half out of his commander’s hatch and stared vaguely off toward the west where a faint pall of smoke and dust could be clearly seen hanging low against the horizon; the remnants of the bombardment against 2/28th’s HQ. “Information acknowledged: Tristan und Isolde are on the move, bearing…” he lifted a folded map in his other hand and stared at it carefully “…approximately three-one-five… repeat… I make it bearing three-one-five from our position …” There was another pause as he received further information. “Acknowledged, Spinne… primary objective should be Isolde and soft-skinned targets… primary mission remains to capture if possible… will comply… Wüstefuchs over and out…!”

  “They’re on the move!” He shouted across to Schreiner a moment later as the man’s vehicle pulled up beside his. “Heading north-east toward Kibrit: Luftflotte is allocating resources to assist in locating, but the approximate bearing is three-one-five – intel suggests they’re going to attempt an evacuation by air.”

  “Not if we can help it, Herr Major…!” His 2IC called back with a toothy, positively evil grin.

  “Remember, Arno: we need to take them alive if possible.”

  “Natürlich, Mein Herr,” Schreiner’s grin never faded for a moment. “If it is possible, we most certainly will…!” And with that he signalled his driver to move off, the man gunning the Thor’s engine and sending the vehicle roaring off along the Cairo-Suez Road in a westerly direction at better than eighty kilometres per hour.

  “Scheisse…!” Witzig growled under his breath. Schreiner was going to be a problem that day – the feeling in his bones told him there was no doubting it and he’d have to keep a sharp eye out. His P-21/U1 moved off at speed, straining to catch up with its sibling as he passed on the appropriate coordinates to the rest of his command and they too continued their advance.

  The Sentinels and their attendant group of armoured vehicles rumbled north-west at around thirty kilometres per hour, although the ride was positively bone-jarring for those out on the flanks of the convoy whose vehicles were forced to forge their way across the rough desert surface on either side of the narrow, unsealed track they were following. The road cut through a valley between two low, featureless hills, the disused remnants of the main Cairo-Suez railway line running with them to their right for some distance through the initial segment of their journey.

  In all truth, the road’s surface was little better and Thorne, still in his standing position in the rear hull of the open-topped M101, had been forced to catch and reposition his sunglasses several times after they’d literally been shaken from his face by the constant, jarring vibration. Behind them, long, billowing plumes of dust rose and mingled with the grit and debris that was already being snatched up and cast about by the hot, gusting winds. As unpleasant as the nascent dust storm was, neither Thorne nor any of the others present were particularly unhappy about its arrival – their dust trails would otherwise have been clearly visible from great distances by air, making it impossible for them to hide their progress.

  Right across the still-clear eastern horizon, the otherwise cloudless blue sky displayed the faint white streaks and whorls of multiple contrails as both sides battled desperately for dominance above them. A rotte of medium bombers – Junkers B-13s – had howled past to their rear a few moments before, appearing above the dust clouds to the west and passing close enough for one of the Sweepers at the rear of the column to let fly with its twin rotary machine guns. They’d downed one but the remaining three, having business elsewhere, had continued on and paid them no mind.

  There’d been several sweeps overhead by flights of RAF fighters which, the poor state of recognition from the air being what it was, had also fortunately paid them no mind. The nearest point in the lines at that moment was probably six or eight kilometres away – very little distance indeed by air – yet for all that, Luftwaffe activity in their area had been markedly light… light to the point – in Thorne’s darkening opinion – of being conspicuously so. There was a growing suspicion at the back of his mind that the enemy knew of – or at least suspected – the presence of the Tunguska and was making an effort to remain out of range of its missiles. Although that probably aided them in the short term, the fact that the enemy seemed to know where they were was most definitely not a pleasant idea all the same.

  Progress reports of the battle overall had been few and far between, but from what little they had heard even at these early stages, it seemed that things weren’t going well on any front. In Thorne’s remembered version of history, Hitler had made his speech of only having to “…kick in the door, and the whole rotten structure will come crashing down…” in reference to the invasion of the Soviet Union. In that reality, the Chancellor had quickly been shown the error of that statement during the following Russian Winter, and in such massive defeats as Stalingrad and the Kursk Salient. In this world however, used with reg
ard to the remnants of British and Commonwealth Forces in North Africa, it seemed quite likely he’d be proven entirely correct.

  Thorne remained in constant contact with Eileen and the rest of the Hindsight group. Although they’d refrained from giving exact positions, his best estimates placed the trucks approximately five kilometres or so ahead of them, close to the eastern end of the Genaiva Road. There was a general haziness across the sky in that direction that could possibly be left-over dust trails from their passing, but it was impossible to tell with any certainty.

  If that was the case, that put them almost halfway to Kibrit already, something that gave Thorne at least some hope they might indeed make it without incident. With this storm now brewing, it mightn’t be too long before any threat from the air was substantially lessened.

  “Air contact bearing two-eight-nine...!” Morris declared at that moment, gaining his full attention and ruining his immediate hopes as the NCO relayed information passed on from one of the division’s mobile radar units. “Probable enemy aircraft approaching, sir... flight profile suggests most likely gunships!”

  “Son of a bitch...!” Thorne growled softly, turning toward the north-north-west and scanning the horizon, eyes narrowed as if that might make any difference to his ability to see through the low level dust haze. “And here we are, standing out like dog’s balls!” He fumbled for the radio mike at his belt. “Mitch...! We got company – choppers off to the north-west... you tracking ‘em?”

  “Only for about the last five minutes, Max, but they weren’t looking like heading our way for most of that time, so I didn’t bother mentioning it...” the almost apologetic response came back from the Tunguska’s commander a few seconds later. “I make out eight SH-6 gunships – all the latest ‘Gustav’ model unless I’m very much mistaken... looks to me like One Staffel of SHG, based on the camo and unit markings...”