Rommel could not know it at that moment, but he was under attack by warriors from a far flung future, in equipment so advanced that his forces would have no chance of ever defeating it. Even the superb 88mm flak gun, a weapon which he had used to savage British armor up until that point, was completely ineffective against these new enemy tanks. At point blank range it might penetrate between 100 and 120mm of armor, and it was striking a target with protection that could resist over ten times that in RHA Armor equivalent. When Rommel saw that, with his own eyes, he knew that his only recourse was a swift and hasty retreat to save his panzers from almost certain destruction.
Even after that shattering setback, he persisted after being heavily reinforced and resupplied, and set his mind on taking the vital port of Tobruk. In that action, he had come so close to success that at one point, General Montgomery had taken up a rifle himself and was firing at German troops near the harbor. Then, troops had arrived that threatened to push shut the gate he had broken down to gain entry to the British fortress, and his vaunted Hermann Goring Brigade had been forced to withdraw. His deep southern flank was again being threatened by that unstoppable heavy British armor. By now he had determined that it was a small force, perhaps one of a kind, a prototype unit being tested in this cauldron of war. He fell back, took up a line of defense near Gazala, and there he sat, impudent, bruised, sulking behind entrenched positions screened by wire, mines, and covered by all the artillery he could command.
The swift moving battles that had characterized his campaign had now returned to the morass of the first world war. Finally his enemy sought to push him west, and his last stubborn defense at Gazala was eventually broken again by that heavy armor threatening his deep southern flank. Back he went, all the way to Agheila, leaving most of the Italian infantry to defend the highlands of Cyrenaica and fall back on Benghazi. Again he set his men to digging their trenches. He was pushed out of Agheila, fell back to Mersa Brega, where Hitler had ordered him to stand to the very last, though his every instinct was to move west again, and get as far from those terrible enemy tanks as he could.
In that battle, he finally saw one up close. It had struck a mine, disabling its massive steel tracks, and for some reason, the British had chosen to gut it with explosives and leave it on the field, something they had never done before. In all his many actions against that brigade, only one of those tanks had been killed in the past, by a deadly Stuka pilot that had put his bomb right on target. This second death was a suicide, which seemed very strange to him. There it was, looming in the smoke of its own death, and Rommel just stood there, hands clasped behind his back, looking at the behemoth with a mixture of dread and awe. There it sat, the bane of the Desert Fox, seeming to mock him, even in the throes of its own death.
There was the demon that had stopped him from taking Egypt and reaching the Suez Canal as he had promised his Führer. There was the nightmare that had haunted him over hundreds of miles of empty desert, a nemesis so powerful that if his enemy had such a beast, he knew there would soon be no chance for Germany in this war.
But he never saw those tanks again. When O’Connor sought to break out through his defense at Mersa Brega, the attack was not led by the heavy brigade, but by the old clattering Matilda IIs and new American Grants. By comparison, they seemed like small toys, and he could not understand why the British had refused to use the hammer they had in hand. He had ordered his engineers to recover that last fallen beast, dragging its metal carcass back to Sirte, and then Tripoli for shipment to Toulon. He remembered one last night before he sent it on its way, just standing there, seeing the dull moonlight play over its rugged contours. The main gun had been spiked with a grenade or some other explosive, but it was still longer than any of his heavy artillery pieces, and more deadly.
He stopped O’Connor at Mersa Brega, the first time he had fought since Bir el Khamsa without being forced to yield the ground to save his army. He stopped the British, right in their tracks. Then, at his leisure, and still wary of his open flank to the south, he slowly withdrew to the Buerat line near Sirte. He did so more for logistical reasons than anything else, much to the chagrin of the Italians. All he would do is hand the enemy the empty desert, but he would shorten his supply line by hundreds of miles, while lengthening theirs. It was the same logic he used to justify his withdrawal from Buerat to Tarhuna, where he now stood on this cold night in February, looking up at the merciless steady fire of the stars.
He wondered where his nemesis had gone, until he got news that the brigade had withdrawn to Tobruk. Then came the unaccountable report of a massive explosion at that harbor, and he never saw the enemy that had defeated him again. After some months reorganizing and re-equipping, O’Connor finally came at his Tarhuna line. Rommel’s counterattack had been swift and bold, a complete success. And instead of trying to drive all the way north to the coast as he might have in the past, he simply smiled, held his lean panzer divisions by the reins, and consolidated his position while the British staggered back from the heavy blow he had delivered.
It was another stubborn victory in his mind, and a reaffirmation that he could still fight, still win, and was not inevitably doomed to defeat here after all. Yet now the presence of two other Allied armies in Algeria to the west would complicate all his plans. He had already dispatched his 10th Panzer Division, and all the Hermann Goring troops. Now Kesselring wanted another panzer division to help bolster that front, where the aristocratic von Arnim was clearly overmatched.
If they think they are going to pick my army apart like this, and leave me sitting here defending Tripoli while von Arnim delights the Führer with his counterpunches, then they are sorely mistaken. There was a new army in the field there now, a new force—the Americans. From all accounts their troops were as arrogant as they were inexperienced, a slovenly raw green force that was succeeding only because von Arnim was so badly outnumbered.
So I will propose something else, he thought. If they want my veterans at their beck and call, then I will lead them. It will be my hand that delivers this attack on the Americans, and I will shatter them completely, teaching this impudent General Patton a lesson he will never forget.
At the meeting with Kesselring, he proposed he send not one panzer division west, but two, and that he would go with them. He believed he could fall back to Mareth, the best defensive position in North Africa, and hold there easily while he took his best troops west to deal with the Americans. It was the same decision the Germans had made in the old history, only this time they would be stronger when they came. It would be his last chance for glory here, perhaps his last dance in the desert. But he would restore his honor, reclaim the laurels of victory, and show the Führer that he was completely deserving of the Field Marshal’s baton that had been bestowed upon him.
Rommel was going to fight.
Somehow Kesselring had worked a miracle in persuading both Mussolini and Hitler to permit him to do what he was now about to undertake. With Tripoli no longer being visited by the supply ships, Kesselring argued that it made better logistical sense to focus the entire supply effort on Tunis and Bizerte, and allow Rommel to move to Mareth. When the Italians whined about the loss of their only colony in Africa, Kesselring’s proposal that Mussolini be promised Tunisia in compensation was accepted by Hitler. The one key word that had been the sugar in Kesselring’s tea had been “attack.”
Hitler’s mind was now entirely focused on the offensives he already had ordered into the Middle East. His Operation Phoenix was proceeding according to plan, with his fast moving Brandenburgers already on the Euphrates river and driving towards Haditha, the junction of the two vital pipelines that fed the British position in Egypt. Heinz Guderian and Hans Hube had taken Palmyra and they were now reorganizing to drive east to join this vanguard as Hitler ordered more elite troops into the campaign.
The 22nd Luftland Division had made the long journey from Tunisia to Toulon, and then went by rail to Italy and Greece with the rest of Student’
s 7th Fliegerkorps to prepare for Operation Merkur, but now it was to be diverted to support the Brandenburgers. Everywhere the dazzling prospects of the German army on attack were now the apple of the Führer’s eye. So when Kesselring presented the plan to move Rommel’s panzers west into Tunisia, to attack the Americans and destroy them, to then swing north behind Montgomery and completely unhinge the Allied effort in Algeria, Hitler smiled and gave his approval.
The one condition he made was that Tripoli be held as a fortress city as long as humanly possible. As Tripolitania was the last Italian controlled province in North Africa, Rommel suggested they hold it. He would commit no German troops there, preferring to send them to Mareth where they would hold the line there indefinitely, or so he believed. Mussolini had been promising to send more troops to Tunisia, so let him make good on that and send them to Tripoli instead.
As he moved west, the British 8th Army at his back was not the force that had been flush with victory led by General Montgomery, but a twice chastened army that had just suffered a severe check on the Tarhuna line. O’Connor needed time to reorganize, haul fresh supplies and munitions up to the front, replace the many tanks that had been lost in that last battle with the Desert Fox. It would be weeks, perhaps even a long month before he would declare himself ready to again take to the offensive, and in that interval, he would see more and more of his armored force siphoned off to the campaign in Syria. Britain was now again fighting a two front war in the Middle East, and O’Connor knew that it might be some time before his losses, particularly to the armor, could be made good.
Rommel knew this, added his voice to Kesselring’s, and the weight of those two Field Marshals carried the day. The lion that had been stalking him all across North Africa, O’Connor’s 8th Army, would be sleeping in its den. And while the cat was away… He smiled to think his battle for Libya was finally over, and good riddance, or so he thought.
My bold promises to the Führer vanished at Bir el Khamsa, along with my dream of crossing the Nile. Now comes the battle for Tunisia, but I intend to go much farther if possible, deep into Algeria.
As he moved up the coast into Tunisia, Rommel’s spirits were buoyed by the green, verdant plenty of this new land. There were orchards, plantations, stands of trees that became forests as they rolled up the slopes of distant hills. He knew that in the south, the Chott country was every bit as barren and hostile as the terrain he had fought over in Libya, but along the central mountains and coast, Tunisia was a paradise compared to the Libyan desert. Here there was fresh water in natural wells virtually everywhere. The troops would be well fed, but a new challenge would present itself that they seldom had to deal with in Libya—rain. February was the wet season, and where there was dryness and dust in the warmer months, there would be mud now with the rain.
He would not let that stop him, riding up Highway 15 from Gabes and heading west with the 501st Schwerepanzer Battalion and his heavy artillery right behind him. Von Bismarck’s 21st Panzer Division was already heading west on another route. It had moved up the lush coast highway to Sfax, then turned west on the long road that would take it through the pass at Faid to Sbeitla and Kasserine, where an Italian garrison, the Superga Mountain Division, had been guarding supplies being delivered by rail from Tunis.
The Americans were already probing at their positions. A recon operation had been mounted by Blade Force towards Thelepte, where the Luftwaffe had an important airfield. They had, in fact, been the first US troops to cross the Tunisian border near Bou Chebka, about 30 kilometers southwest of Kasserine Pass. Farther north, on the same road they had used, the fighting then underway was happening in and around the key German supply center at Tebessa. When it was clear that the Americans were driving for that town, Kesselring had managed to get most of Weber’s 334th Infantry Division there by rail—this while von Arnim fell back from the rail line that ran between Tebessa, through Ain Beida, and all the way to Constantine.
The British 43rd Wessex Division had finally cleared that city, and was now setting its engineers to the damaged bridges to open the roads for movement. That would be a very difficult job, and it was seen that many spans would have to be rebuilt in their entirety after the German demolitions. Rommel read Kesselring’s status report, smiling.
Montgomery was stuck on the coast, all bunched up in the difficult mountain country, while this American General Patton had his army strung out from Constantine to Tebessa. From all accounts, there were two American mobile divisions with armor. This Patton was trying to maintain contact with Montgomery as he continued to push farther south and east—to hold and take at the same time. It was time to show him what this war was all about.
Ernst Hell’s 15th Infantry Division was now in good positions on the coast, their line anchored at Philippeville by the 327th Infantry, so von Arnim had moved all of the Hermann Goring Division south to reinforce 10th Panzer. Those two divisions were now consolidating some 40 to 50 kilometers southwest of Souk Ahras, well supplied from the depot there, and covered by German fighters at that key airfield. That would be the right cross. Rommel was now hastening to bring up the rest of his mobile divisions, and they would be the left hook.
Even as 21st Panzer’s lead elements were reaching Faid Pass on the 3rd of February, Rommel was doubling down on his promise to Kesselring. He was bringing not two, but all three of his crack panzer divisions west on Highway 15 from Gabes. Randow’s 15th Panzer was in the lead, moving towards Ghafsa, and behind him came Funck’s 7th Panzers, the Ghost Division that Rommel loved so dearly. General George Patton was about to be on the receiving end of an attack that was much stronger than it had been in the old history—not three divisions, but five, and all of them panzers.
Yet Patton also had more in hand than the US fielded in the old history. Along with all of Ward’s 1st Armored, he had CCA of Harmon’s 2nd, and the other half of that division was now moving up to the front. This would double the number of American tanks on the field, balancing the odds.
The Americans seemed very intent on getting their hands on Tebessa, where the 334th was still putting up a stubborn defense. They had already pushed out patrols well north of that city, their lead elements approaching the Tunisian border at Charpinville. Rommel did not really want them crossing there, for that would cut the rail line to Tebessa from Tunis, about 30 kilometers east of Charpinville.
Just how far was this Patton intending to go? Did he really think he could advance so impudently into Tunisia like this? Did he perceive the two iron fists that were now clenching to strike him?
Chapter 5
On the late afternoon of February 4th, 1st Battalion of the 30th RCT, 3rd Infantry, climbed up the ragged slopes of a high hill that overlooked the terrain ahead, aghast to see what looked like an entire division of German troops assembling on the far side of the valley floor. The Lieutenant got on the radio and kicked it up to his Regiment, which then passed it on to Division. It would be another three hours, near the gloaming of sunset, before the reports would come to Bradley and Patton, where they had set up their HQ at the big airfield at Les Bains along the main road and rail line between Tebessa and Constantine.
“Hold on George,” said Bradley. “Have you read those recon reports from 33rd Fighter Group? This new information coming in from Anderson’s 3rd Infantry is singing the same tune. I don’t like it. We had reports of columns in the high country moving south three days ago. The Germans could be up to something here.”
“Souk Ahras,” said Patton. “That’s their big supply hub up there—that and Gulema. They’ve got forward airfields at both, and good rail connections all the way back to Tunis. If we get to Gulema, then their whole position on the coast is flanked.”
“Well, I ought to remind you that’s where you were supposed to be heading. Ike just found out how far south you’ve pushed, and he’s hopping mad.”
“Tell him something, Brad. Say it’s just a reconnaissance in force.”
“George, you and I both know that
just isn’t true, and once he gets a map update, Eisenhower will know it too. I think we’d better slow things down.”
“Look,” said Patton. “They’ve just screened the approaches to Souk Ahras, that’s all. I’ll keep 3rd and 9th pushing that direction. They can hold the line.”
“But what if that’s a Panzer division in the latest report from Anderson? These other reports of a division on the road from Sfax give me the willies. If you want my opinion, I’d say Rommel’s heading our way, and with bad intent.”
“Rommel….” Patton gave Bradley a narrow eyed smile. “The old Desert Fox himself, chased all the way into Tunisia by O’Connor’s 8th Army. Now you think he wants to pick a fight with me?”
“It sure looks that way, George.” Bradley’s eyes held a warning that he hoped Patton would heed.
“Alright, alright. Get on the phone to General Eddy and the 9th. Tell him that instead of sending the 60th RCT up towards Mesoula as I advised him this morning, he can hold that regiment in reserve and screen Ain Beida. Now I just moved Harmon’s 2nd Armored through Meskiana, but if it will make you feel better, I’ll hold them where they are for the moment until we get a better idea what the Germans are up to.”
“What about Ward’s division? You’ve got CCB way off north of 2nd Armored, while CCA is down here in the fight for Tebessa.”
“I was going to send Oliver and CCB on to Charpinville on the border. That flanks this whole defense at Tebessa. If they hang on there any longer, Oliver can swing down and kick them right in the ass. I plan on pushing hard for Tebessa—all night if we have to. Once the Huns find out Oliver has Charpinville, they’ll pull out lickety-split. Hell, Blade Force reported they had a platoon up near Le Kouf an hour ago. If the Germans don’t make a run for it, I’ll have them in the bag by morning.”
Stormtide Rising (Kirov Series Book 29) Page 4
