Able Sentry

by John Schettler

  “We don’t have to fight our way up along that canal. Instead we kill this army another way.” He placed his finger on the map. “Abu Kabir,” he said definitively. “Look at all the road and rail connection moving through that city. I propose that we swing north, cross this Sweetwater Canal near El Kasasin, and drive on Abu Kabir. That cuts their primary LOC for supply. We don’t have to kill this army, General, we just need to starve it.”

  General Meyr looked at the map, seeing the possibility was real. Yet he offered another caution.

  “We may count ourselves lucky that the British launched this amazing raid to their oil fields in southern Egypt. If they had not done so, then we would have the 2nd and 3rd Egyptian Mech Divisions here, and don’t forget that they still have their 2nd and 9th Armored Division in the south on the Nile near Aswan. They will certainly be given marching orders to come here as well. I might also remind you that your Coalition has other fish to fry. Are you going to Iraq? If so, then we need a political solution here, and as soon as possible.”

  General Rawlings nodded heavily. “In that event, then I believe we should labor to put as much pressure on Cairo as we can, but first cut their forces off at El Kebir. Then we may have just a few more cards in our hand when we approach their capital. It could force them to the negotiation table as you suggest. We have a decided military advantage south of Ismailia, and we should use it to that effect.”

  With this plan decided, the US 4th Infantry Division pushed towards the Sweetwater Canal. The Golani Brigade would watch its flank, deploying defensively south of the canal. With no plans to cross the bigger Suez Canal in the north, the US then brought 3rd BCT of 1st Cav south to reinforce this drive, and provide additional forces for the subsequent push towards Cairo.

  It would be called Operation Uppercut, a knockout blow to the unprotected belly of the Egyptian Army, eschewing its iron chin. The battle of El Kasasin was violent, but brief. The Egyptians had seen the US movement, and rushed their 91st Mech Battalion of the 18th Independent Brigade there. It would be hit by three US battalions on the afternoon of January 9th, and fighting would go on there until after sunset. At the same time, three other US battalions would swing west of that town, finding the recon battalion of that same Egyptian brigade, and shattering it.

  By sunset the US forces had taken El Kasasin, Al Manhar, and Abou Nour further north, just 8 kilometers from Abu Kabir. That set off the alarm bells in the Egyptian HQ at Heliopolis. The last major road and rail line crossing the web of watercourses in the Nile Delta and leading to the main army was now in jeopardy. Yet there was nothing in the delta to send there The entire 2nd Mech Division, and 510th Brigade of the Guard had gone west to Tobruk, and so the Mission to Sultan Apache had yet another knock on effect on the battle for Suez.

  Fighting all night and into the early morning, the 4th ID took Abou Nour at 03:00 on January 10th, now 5 kilometers from Abu Kabir. Anything the Egyptians tried to move there was being hammered by Allied air power, which now exerted a freezing effect on the Egyptian Army.

  Yet the Coalition forces west of Suez also had supply issues. Everything had to be trucked across Sinai, over roads that were often narrow and rugged. So the tempo of fighting could not be sustained for long. Columns had to pause and wait for the supply trucks to come up from the rear.

  “We’ll take El Kebir after sunrise,” came the report from General Rawlings. “But that still leaves the rail line from Al Mansura in the Delta open in the north. There’s no way I could get up there. It would have to be taken another way.”

  That other way was called the 101st Airborne Division, the Screaming Eagles, and they would get help from the United States Marines.

  Part IX

  Stormfront

  “If you will not fight when your victory will be sure and not too costly; you may come to the moment when you will have to fight with all the odds against you and only a precarious chance of survival.”

  ― Winston Churchill

  Chapter 25

  West of the Suez Canal, the Mediterranean coast of Port Sa’id was a quilt of stylish cafes, beach front cottages, riviera like resorts, restaurants, and lush gardens. Behind this soft outer layer, the city grew into a dense concrete warren of a little over 600,000 people. It housed the ornate green domed Suez Canal Authority, and the canal bisected the urban area, with Port Fouad on the east bank, and Port Sa’id on the western side.

  That city was shaped like a funnel with the wide end on the coast of the Med, and the habitable land narrowing some eight kilometers to the south to a point little more than a kilometer in width. There were only three ways to get into the city, the first through that funnel’s end in the south, the second by crossing the Suez Canal along the coast of the Med, and the third from a 40 kilometer long isthmus that stretched all the way to Damietta on the Nile to the west. Behind it was a morass of flooded marshland that could not be crossed by man, beast or tank.

  That made this densely populated urban triangle of a city a veritable fortress if properly defended, but Allied intelligence had learned that was not the case here. There was only a single battalion in the city, the 100th Mech of the 218th Mech Brigade. Beyond that, there were just military and civil police, and so the plan was to hit it with a lightning blitz attack, from both the air and sea.

  US Marines would land on that swank beachfront, in a classic amphibious assault operation. Special forces would sweep into the mouth of the harbor from the sea, and then the 101st Air Assault would come in helicopters, landing in a rare cleared area just west of the Omar ibn Hospital. It would put them just 750 meters from the Old Abbas Pier. If they pushed north towards the Med a little over a kilometer, they would meet the US Marines coming south from the coast, an equal distance. It was all watched over by a pair of US Navy Destroyers, ready with deck guns for any fire support needed. What was left of the Egyptian Navy was at Alexandria, and that was where it stayed.

  That was the plan, to put a steel clamp on the port, close the road to Damietta, and complete the supply isolation of the main Egyptian Army, and it worked. So by Midnight on the 11th, even as Brigadier Kinlan was negotiating with the Egyptians near Tobruk, an olive branch was offered to the Egyptian Government in Cairo. Make peace, or the Coalition will commit another full US Heavy Mech Division and annihilate the Egyptian Army where it sat. If necessary, two more US divisions, including a full armored division, stood ready to make that boast a reality.

  That, plus the ceaseless air strikes that all but paralyzed any movement on the ground, convinced the Egyptians that their war was a lost cause. The US Air Force had sent a hard message already, but it doubled down, saying that it would bomb Egypt back to the days of the Pyramids if they did not negotiate. Cairo realized that making peace now was better than making it after they had lost their army. In this crucial moment, a minister stood and asked the obvious question. They had done this at the behest of China, and where were the Chinese now?

  That question underscored the vast difference between the Chinese Military and that of the United States. China could do nothing to reinforce of defend Egypt once it pulled the bulk of its Indian Ocean Fleet into the Arabian Sea. By contrast, the divisions now staring down the Egyptians west of Suez had been in the US a month earlier. It was this ability to surge and move powerful ground forces anywhere in the world, that made the US military the preeminent power on earth, and all that was made possible by the United States Navy. China could move military forces overseas in small numbers during peacetime, but when war came, their powerful army would mostly remain inside the homeland.

  Three days later, the Egyptian delegation agreed to meet at the Hague, and an armistice was signed. Egypt agreed to reopen the Suez Canal, and accepted a combined European / US security force in the canal zone to make sure it stayed open. That in turn opened the Red Sea, and by that time, Admiral Wells had concluded Operation Talisman Sabre with the capture and occupation of Djibouti. British destroyers were sent in to patrol the Red Sea along with the
Saudi Navy, and the whole thing had taken little more than two weeks. Now all eyes turned towards the Middle East, Iraq, Iran and the Persian Gulf.

  * * *

  Brigadier Kinlan could not shake the haunting feelings that beset him all through his mission. Just Resolve was a complete success, but as he prepared to board the transport ship in the harbor he was again dogged by the feeling that he had come here before. He stared out at the southern shore of the bay that formed this protected harbor, much bigger now than it had been at the outset of WWII. No matter how he tried, he could not escape the feeling that his fate was bound up with this place, but not here, not now. And behind it all there was a harrowing fear. He found himself looking up at the grey sky, as if he expected some terror to come from the heavens above.

  Once, long ago, that had been exactly what happened here, and he knew that on some genetic level, even though the real shape and clarity of the memories he fought with could never really be grasped.

  “General, sir,” came a voice.

  He looked to see one of the civilians they had rescued from Sultan Apache, an older man, with thin, grey hair and a rumpled suit.

  “General, I wanted to thank you for not forgetting us. We knew you would come, and I knew it would be you in particular. Sultan Apache is still there, don’t worry about it. We’ll get back there one day.”

  “Just following orders, Mister…?”

  “Ah, Harkin, sir. James Harkin. Feels a bit strange to be here, yes? But it had to be, I suppose. Circles always close at the same place.” The man extended his hand.

  What in the world did he mean by that, thought Kinlan? Yet he was certainly right about it. Strange was just half a word for the way Kinlan felt at that moment. Sultan Apache… In his dream the Russian Naval Captain had urged him to go back to Sultan Apache, The memory was suddenly clear in his mind. He could see that Captain’s face, and listened, as another man translated what he was saying to him in Russian.

  “… will you send a reconnaissance to Sultan Apache?”

  “What for?” Kinlan folded his arms, head cocked sideways, his battle helmet shading his eyes.

  “Because I can tell you exactly what you will find there,” said Fedorov. “Nothing. There will be no perimeter wire. No guard towers, no roads, no buildings, facilities, oil drilling equipment—nothing. There will be nothing there but unblemished desert, and it will not be because anything was destroyed by another missile. You would have seen that, even through this storm. Do this, and you will have your hand on the beginning of an answer that will sort this whole mess out. Trust me, General, officer to officer, man to man, in spite of what has happened these last nine days. You’ll find nothing back there but blowing sand and desert scrub. Sultan Apache is gone, and once your people confirm this, I will tell you why.”

  In the dream the Russian officer kept at him, trying to convince him he had moved to another time. It was all barmy nonsense, bosh, rubbish, but one thing after another got laid on that pile, until he was standing there looking at it like an idiot, desperately unwilling to believe what he was seeing… or not seeing. Yes, they had just left Sultan Apache, heading north for Mersa Matruh. The tail of the column was still close enough to the facility, and when he sent men back at the urging of this crazy Russian Captain, they reported nothing was there. It all came at him now, a flood tide of memories, clear as pristine water.

  “General,” The Russian Captain tried again. “Sultan Apache is gone because you are gone… moved… to a time where Blenheim bombers still fly, and General O’Connor commands the Western Desert Force in 1941. Can stars and moon change in one hour? Think, General. Impossible? Yes. But still all true.”

  Kinlan did think… Popski, the Long Range Desert Group, old jeeps that should not even be able to run, a Blenheim bomber, General O’Connor, and the stars were all wrong. What happened to the bloody stars and moon? Was the whole earth off its kilter? And where the hell was Sultan Apache?

  In the dream he was not satisfied until he got into a command vehicle and drove back to Sultan Apache himself. There he stood, his eyes scanning the craggy features of the escarpment, places he had come to know in the months he was there. He was standing right in the place where he knew a tall metal guard tower was supposed to be positioned. His boots should be on the hard black asphalt of the internal camp road network here, cleared daily by the heavy street sweeper vehicles that should still be sitting there in the maintenance facility—the 30,000 square foot building that was completely gone.

  There was no wreckage, no sign of trauma or the fire of war at all. It was all gone, the barracks facilities, mess hall, vehicle parks, oil workers village, and all the equipment and rigs and drilling tube and pipeline equipment that should be stockpiled at the southern end of the zone—all gone.

  There was only the sand and stone of the heartless desert, sand blowing listlessly over the toes of his service boots as he stared down at his feet. He was standing on solid ground alright, though he felt as though he had wandered into some episode of Doctor Who, a Twilight Zone of madness where nothing he ever took for granted as real could be believed again. It was all impossible, and yet it was as real as the hiss of that biting desert wind.

  He took his helmet off for a moment, and let the last of the blowing sand sting his face, almost as if he needed to feel the pain to be certain he was still alive. He caught a last glimpse of the crescent moon above, cold and unforgiving, the moon that should not even be there! Then he slowly fixed his helmet in place, adjusted his eye goggles, and turned to his Staff Officer Simpson.

  “What do you make of this, Sims? Are we both crazy?”

  “I haven’t the foggiest, sir. What could have happened here? I don’t understand….”

  Yes, he didn’t understand why he could not dismiss these odd memories, the crawling dreams that disturbed his sleep, the visceral feeling that he had been there at Sultan Apache, and here at Tobruk—that he had lived and died here….

  “Are you alright sir?” The man, Harkins, was looking at him oddly, as if he might be ill.

  Kinlan composed himself. “Quite alright,” he said to the man. “But I think it best that we get you aboard the ship now. You’ll be back in England in no time.”

  “Lovely,” said the man. “And you’ll be in Baghdad soon. Be sure to have a good long look at the museum, will you? Good day, sir, and thank you again.”

  Kinlan scratched his head as the man turned and started up the gangway. Baghdad? He had heard snips and bits of the plan—that the Coalition was going to tackle the problem of Kuwait and Saudi Arabia by simply sneaking in through the back door. That was classified, and few knew the details, but word got around. The story was that it was all about the Suez Canal—getting it opened and secured again. What was this man saying? How could he be privy to these plans? Was it just a wild guess? Thankfully, his faithful adjutant Simpson came up at that moment, giving him a salute.

  “Scots are all aboard, sir, and the vehicles are all loaded as well. BP civilians all boarded Azura, and that ship left under escort an hour ago.”

  “What? Well I was just speaking with a man a moment ago, someone from the BP site. He came over to thank us and shook my hand, and I just shooed him up the gangway here.”

  “Probably a straggler, sir. He won’t be as comfortable here, but I’ll find him and get him sorted out once we reach Haifa. Any idea where we’re going next sir?”

  Kinlan hesitated a moment. “Your guess is as good as mine, Sims, but I wouldn’t be surprised at all if we ended up in Baghdad….”

  “Baghdad?”

  “Yes, and keep that under your Beret, will you? It’s hush, hush.”

  It certainly was, but what was this fellow doing wandering in late like a lost sheep and telling him he’ll be in Baghdad soon? He went up the gangway, took one last look at the harbor over his shoulder, and then went looking for some place where he could get some much needed sleep. He was almost afraid to lay down when he found a cot, but he was exhausted.
The dreams… Those damn persistent dreams….

  * * *

  “Gentlemen,” said the briefing officer, “think of this like a plumbing problem. We’ve just cleared one drain, but in doing so, we pushed the clog downstream. Suez had to be opened, most certainly, and gaining access to the Red Sea is a big strategic coup. But now the real crux of the matter sits before us. If you’re the ship’s master of an oil tanker, you pass through that canal to either visit the terminal at Yanbu for the Saudi East-West Pipeline, or the Petroline as it is commonly called. Otherwise, you’re heading for the Persian Gulf.

  “The Trans-Arabian Pipeline remains closed, and the Petroline to Yanbu maxes out at five million barrels per day. The European Union needs 18 million barrels per day, and they get about a third of that from Russia, which means they need to import another 12 million barrels per day from other sources. Even if everything that went through the Petroline came to the EU, and it doesn’t, then they would still be looking for another seven million barrels per day. That figure is more like ten million barrels, and that is the current daily shortfall throughout Europe. It’s the reason why gas stations are empty, and the price of petrol is through the roof. Stated simply, the wheels aren’t turning, gentlemen, and the longer that goes on, the worse things will get. The same goes for China, as Lieutenant Collins will now explain.”

  “Thank you, sir… Next slide please. As this map clearly illustrates, China is getting the lion’s share of its oil from the Middle East, most notably, Iraq, Iran, Saudi Arabia and the Gulf States. So it will be no mystery why their war effort is all aimed at controlling the states on that list, and why their navy is principally concerned with two great oil transit chokepoints, the Strait of Hormuz and the Strait of Malacca.”

  * * *