by Scott Palter
Von Manstein spent a few minutes studying the map before replying. “As general principle, yes. A small change. I suggest splitting off Hausser’s Schnell Regiment as a flank guard against raids by British light forces. Where will your Italians go?”
“This needs to be kept simple or the traffic control issues will produce chaos. XX Corps will be the pursuit force. It will be followed by XXIII Corps which will either support XX or occupy Cairo, depending on what the British do. XXI Corps will advance to Cairo and remain there until relieved by either XXIII Corps or fresh forces. I have cabled Rome for their intentions on a garrison force for Egypt. They could bring up 5th Army from Libya or fresh divisions from home, or make such a good deal with the Egyptian king that a large garrison is not needed. Absent instructions, my first duty is to secure and safeguard Lower Egypt. As is, I’ve ordered a parachute force into Cairo for daybreak tomorrow. The Libyans should arrive during the day to support them.”
Von Manstein looked over the map again. “I see the logic of doing your movement orders by Corps. Untangling our units is going to be a monumental traffic control problem. I request that your transportation officers keep mine up to date, so we will know when to move our units out without interfering with your movements; including administration and supply truck columns. As for Rommel … ” Von Manstein let his voice fade out while he considered how to phrase this. “I plan on flying to his advance headquarters myself. This is an order best delivered in person. General Rommel is a trifle high-strung.” Both generals got a bit of laughter out of that understatement. One of von Manstein’s junior staff officers left to order the Storch prepped. The other staff people of both nationalities gathered in knots to discuss how to implement the new plan. The bosses had done the big picture. Now fifty or so staff experts had to do the delicate brushstrokes. This would be a traffic control nightmare. Thank God for total air superiority.
1500 hours local; 1400 hours CET
2 November 1940
RN Naval Dock Headquarters / now Headquarters Steiner’s Falcons of Malta Battalion
The slow drive to the docks had been enlightening for Gunter. There were Arabs with armbands at every major intersection on the route. Some looked quite disreputable, but in all they certainly looked tough enough. They were armed with a motley array of shotguns, pistols, clubs, and the odd hunting rifle. They threw off sloppy salutes, but clearly seemed to know who the new rulers were. There were broken shop windows, but already shopkeepers were out sweeping away glass and boarding up windows. Parties of ‘Police’ were gathering up bodies … and finishing off the remaining wounded. Gunter looked over to his new Police Commissioner at the first such scene.
“Best to dispose of them, sir. We will need their flats for refugee housing.”
Gunter was a bit unsure he was following that. “What do dead people have to do with refugees?”
“Dead people do not need their flats. The refugees coming in from the countryside will need housing. So we start with the flats of those who died in rebellion. Evict the surviving family members, and house the newcomers. If we run out of room, we take the housing of those wounded in the street disturbances. These newly arrived people may have formerly been loyalists of the British, and before that of the Dynasty. If you house them, and give them work, they will quickly decide they are loyal to you. The various rebels only offer them rape, torture, and death. It is easy for you to make a better offer. Similarly, those you displace must either earn your trust or end up in prison camps. This whole country is overpopulated anyway.”
“How will this rebellion impact the city?”
“I’ve posted guards on the main roads to give warning via telephone or messenger. So major raids into the city are unlikely. However, a portion of the city’s food supply came in from these areas. Perishables especially.”
“Would you suggest we sent armed units out to gather up these foodstuffs?” This had been the pattern for Gunter’s units in the Baltic. You lived by plunder in the manner of bygone ages.
“If your command can supply motorized Companies, I can supply Alexandrine support elements in requisitioned autos and trucks to do the translating and conduct the searches.” Commissioner Gaafar again saw Gunter’s cynical look. “Yes sir, there will be a certain amount of score settling, and some low-level looting where country villas of the rich are involved. Both will happen either way. Better the fruits of these ‘salvage missions’ are returned to your city.”
Gunter spent the rest of the drive pondering. On reaching Klaus’s Battalion he gave the hero Major orders to do a sweep tomorrow. Battalion strength. Gunter had seen how fast a Company could be swarmed by partisans and irregulars. Commissioner Gaafar said his nephew would be at the base area gates at dawn with a thousand Arab ‘volunteers’. Gunter dismissed the Commissioner. The signals traffic from Berlin and von Manstein needed his attention. These were not messages for Klaus to answer on his own. Klaus might be the hero of the day, but he was not yet mature enough to deal with higher commands.
1400 hours CET
2 November 1940
Stato Maggiore Regia Marina, Palazzo Marina, Lungotevere delle Navi 4, Rome, Italy
(Navy General Staff – Royal Italian Navy Headquarters, embankments of the River Tiber)
Every gate guard across the world has the same sort of orders. Among these orders there is one, sometimes in the official orders book, or most definitely among the unofficial ones: if there is a surprise inspection or just a high ranking officer arriving, make sure the officer of the day gets a warning!
The guards in the main entrance of Palazzo Marina, in the shadow of the two huge Austrian battleship anchors taken as trophies in the last war, followed their orders – having a German army staff officer arriving, demanding immediate access to the maritime logistics planning offices, and carrying sufficient clearance documents, was unusual enough for them to let him pass, supplying a guide who would take the officer to his destination on a circuitous route of the huge building, while they would call ahead with the necessary warning.
The naval Leutnant greeting Oberst Otto Wöhler at the entrance of the RTSO Office (the Transports Office or "Ufficio rifornimenti, traffico e spedizioni Oltremare") rooms shunted the exalted visitor to a side office to be plied with – now increasingly scarce – good Italian coffee and snacks, while he was looking for his commanding officer.
It took only a few minutes before the newly-minted head of the Transports Office, Generale di Divisione (Navy Specialist and Technical Corps) Ubaldo Diciotti entered the room. Introductions were made and Oberst Wöhler found that Diciotti's English was as good as the intelligence files on him had said. After having sent the junior officers out of the room on some errand, the Italian naval officer turned towards Wöhler and asked: “Herr Oberst, what can I do for you?”
Wöhler had not been entirely happy with the instructions that had sent him here: “Herr Admiral, I am here on a somewhat delicate mission.”
“You have been sent here to light a fire under our lazy Italian butts for not having immediately given out a general order to all supply ships to change course to Alexandria some hours ago.”
Oberst Wöhler was a bit taken aback by receiving this succinct description of his orders, from the person to whom he was supposed to give them.
Generale di Divisione Diciotti smiled and continued calmly: “And we are not going to do that.”
Wöhler throttled his heated response in the last second. He had been expecting Mediterranean histrionics from the Tuscan-born flag officer; and hearing the refusal in such a final, calm, almost Hanseatic tone, was not in his mental plan of how this conversation should have run.
The one-star flag officer got up: “There are reasons, Herr Oberst. Come." Chuckling, he opened the door, leading the way. "And, by the way: I am not an admiral, my rank is that of a Generalmajor, same rank as in the German Army. Our navy uses a different rank system for navy officers of specialist corps who are not in the ship command track, to distinguish
us from naval line officers who use the traditional ranks. For them, the equivalent-rank would be Contrammiraglio – (Rear Admiral (l.h.) - RDML). Not a few of my equivalent-rank Vessel Officer colleagues, those correctly known as admirals, would snort or even take offense at such lack of fine professional distinction.”
A few doors further on they both entered a large hall – one wall held a large map of the Mediterranean Sea, with well-marked harbors and shipping lanes plus a good number of little flag markers. The other walls were, with the obvious exception of doors and windows, covered with blackboards carrying lots of notes.
The floor of the hall held, parallel to its long axis, in addition to a few writing desks three rows of tables, the center row being more sparsely laden than the tables to either side of the hall – they bore signs with names of harbors, both in Italy and on the African coast. The center row had signs with “6 hours, 12 hours, 18 hours” and so on.
On the tables were many clipboards, with ship names, origin, and destination prominent on the uppermost page, plus a stack of documents underneath the top page, and a number of wooden clothes pegs, painted in many bright colors, clamped to the sides of the clipboard.
The white-haired senior officer stopped in front of the situation map.
“First of all – yes, we received the so-called request to send all supply ships to Alexandria the first time it was sent, a bit after ten o'clock this morning. We did not ignore it as your colleagues seem to assume, but immediately asked them for some necessary information, which we have not yet received. But more about that in a moment. All the follow-up copies and amplifications of the first request have been filed properly, and Supermarina Operations Staff has been duly notified to be ready for a probable set of route change orders for ships at sea or still at docks.” The Italian paused.
“The first thing I need to explain is that there is no discernible difference in the arrival time in Alexandria between a reroute order given two or three hours ago, now, or in six hours. Even giving the order tomorrow would not change arrival times that much.”
General Diciotti reached up to the map and drew his hand from the south of Italy roughly south-east to the North African coast. “Making a slight turn to the left to Alexandria now or a bit later, does not change the overall distance very much.” He demonstrated that fact on the map using his outstretched fingers as a pair of compasses.
“We are not operating aircraft doing hundreds of kilometers per hour, where a short delay can make huge changes in position. We are not even operating railroad trains or trucks that move fifty or sixty kilometers per hour on average – we operate cargo ships, and these ships are slow. The average cargo ship I have has an effective speed of ten or eleven knots – twenty kilometers per hour. Remember Napoleon: “ordre et contre-ordre égale désordre”. So we can afford the time to do it right on the first attempt.”
Oberst Wöhler answered that by translating that into German: “Order plus counter order, equals disorder. An old proverb, but nevertheless true.”
While the older naval flag officer had delivered the first part of his quiet and polite diatribe, work had been silently going on the room behind them – junior officers had taken some of the clipboards from the tables to make entries in the documents on them, leaving chits as placeholders behind them or moving them from one table to another, marking the progress of individual ships this way.
“One of the most important things to know is that Alexandria is a good bit further away than the harbors we originally intended – at least 400 kilometers. This means that the ships will eat into the fuel they need to return to Italy, and unless I can get firm confirmation from the German troops occupying the harbor that all three fuel types are available in Alexandria in sufficient amounts, this in turn means I risk having ships marooned in Egypt, unable to return for their next load of supplies.”
“Three types of fuel?”
“Yes – coal for the older ships, bunker oil, and finally diesel oil for the most modern ones. We have been requesting updates on fuel state and projected range from all ships, so that we can decide which ones we can send to Alexandria if there is not sufficient fuel available for all.”
The Generalmajor intercepted one of the working officers and took the clipboard he was carrying – showing Oberst Wöhler the entries for current position, fuel type, and remaining range, and a notice saying: “Alex capable - yes” on the top sheet.
“So that is one of the information requests you made to our offices? What are the others?”
“We also asked about the general state of harbor facilities – although we gather from the propaganda broadcasts they are intact – and if the harbor-entrance mine-fields have been deactivated or the safe entrance lane is known and marked. Without all this information, we would just be poking around in a fog and risking valuable ships. ”
The German officer answered: “I see that you are making all necessary preparations for the change in orders, and I will try to get you all this information as quickly as possible the moment I return to headquarters.”
Chapter 11
1530 hours local; 1430 hours CET
2 November 1940
Rommel’s 7th Panzer Division field headquarters, 7 km southeast of the original break-through point
Erwin Rommel resented being told, not asked, to present himself at this headquarters. Told by a superior who carried in his pocket, as it were, a signed order relieving him. What truly galled him was that his little plot with Strauss had worked. The British front had collapsed, for which he had been punished! Seventh Panzer Division was left to move last. Precious hours were being lost. Now his superior had flown north to either chastise or relieve him. The Army was truly ruled by clowns.
Erich von Manstein knew that dealing with this General would be ‘interesting’. He had been warned on being given this assignment, that General Rommel was a headstrong individual, a pet of the late Führer. After the obligatory handshake, von Manstein asked that the space be cleared for a ‘command conference’. Rommel’s staff officers and lesser headquarters people quickly made a large space. It was not safe to be nearby when the great and mighty quarreled.
“So, General Rommel, shall we review what you did in error?”
Rommel was prepared to be relieved. He was not about to bend the knee. “It worked. The risk was minor. At worst Strauss would have lost a couple of Battalions; and his so-called Brigade is a joke cobbled together for propaganda purposes after Malta.”
“Yes, it did work. Pity the rest of our forces were not in proper position to fully exploit it. Something that perhaps could have been avoided had you bothered alerting my headquarters.” Left unsaid was that both von Manstein’s cousin von Kleist-Konitz, and his observer at Rommel’s headquarters von Stauffenberg, had passed the details along. Von Manstein had ignored it, treating the plan as something out of a Hollywood cowboy movie. No need for Rommel to be aware of this. “Start learning to think. You are now a General officer, not a field officer in the mountain Jägers.” Von Manstein paused to let that register. Had he been socially familiar with this Rommel, he would have added a Gallic shrug. “You were a good mountain Jäger. You wrote an adequate infantry tactics manual. You might have gotten divisional command only via the late Führer’s patronage. He’s dead. The new Führer takes no notice of Heer promotions and placements. That is the Reichsführer’s domain.” Von Manstein paused for this to register with Rommel. “That’s all in the past. We are both among the elite that was the Reichswehr’s officer corps. Those four thousand officers were not chosen by caste or service branch connections. General von Seeckt selected the best of the best, from an army of millions. We both made the grade. It is time for you to align yourself to being one of the senior members of this band of brothers.”
Rommel did not have a Junker’s iron sense of control. “Reichsführer Heydrich and not Generaloberst’s Beck and Halder?”
Now von Manstein had a decision to make. He had led Rommel here. But the conversation
had not yet crossed the Rubicon. For all this Swabian officer was difficult, he was also quite talented if properly harnessed. “Think. You are capable of it.” He paused to be sure he had the Divisional General’s total attention. “The Reichsführer has created a parallel army here in the South. We report to OKW, not OKH or the Defense Ministry. A parallel army that is winning victories while the real army sits as a garrison force in the East. Promotions come from combat commands. For the ground forces, the only combat commands are here in Egypt. And you are the ONLY Heer General commanding the army’s only contribution to this war. General Hausser was Reichswehr but is now Waffen SS. General Steiner was also Reichswehr but is now also Waffen SS. His division is a dog’s breakfast, but very little of it is army. His artillery is navy, of all things. General Ramcke has been many things but currently is Luftwaffe. That leaves Strauss, an SA officer now in the NL, whatever that service evolves into. So if the Heer is to institutionally profit from this campaign, it needs you and your Division. Would you like to be on track for Corps command? This is what the Heer as a service needs, for you to be the success you are capable of being, for your Division to be seen as best in theater.”
