by Scott Palter
“Why me?”
“The Reichsführer initially chose you. However, I could have relieved you in Berlin. I didn’t. For all your faults, you are an excellent commander of mobile troops. I look to take you to the next level, the one Guderian and von Kleist are on.” Manstein paused to be sure Rommel was following him, grasping the implied opportunities of accepting him as a patron. “The Afrika Korps will be the source of all victories for the next six to ten months. You have the only Heer Division. Another won’t be sent unless we run into major difficulties, which I don’t see myself as allowing to happen. We will defeat British 9th Army with minimal Italian support.”
“Ninth?”
“They have a separate headquarters for Palestine and Iraq. General O’Connor, the man you defeated in the desert battle. If Abwehr is to be believed, a Division each of New Zealanders and Poles, plus an Indian Corps. Three Divisions of professionals and one of their Dominion Sturm Divisions from the last war. Our edge will be air, tanks, and artillery. Plus we are Germans. War is a trade we have always excelled at.”
“So what must I do to merit this promotion instead of getting replaced?” Rommel was finding it hard to see von Manstein as a potential friend.
“Stop pretending you are commanding your own private force fighting its own private war. You must allow yourself to fit into a campaign plan. When you deviate, your staff must keep mine abreast of the evolving situation. After we win, I’ll be creating a new Panzerarmee as an OKW reserve force. You, Hausser, and Steiner will each get Corps commands. From an Army point of view I need to avoid the elite shock troops of the regime all being from these silly party Militias. The SS, SA, and NL must in time be reintegrated into the Army’s structure.”
“How so?”
“The same way the Bavarian and Wurttemberger armies were after the French War. When you went to war in 1914, you were both part of the Wurttemberg state army and XIII Corps of the national army. The Saxons were XII Corps. The Bavarians had an entire army, 6th. Yet officer careers saw postings between those and the rest of the army. Over time during the Kaiserwar, the differences between those state forces became largely notional. They all took replacements from elsewhere and sent cadres to form new national units. We can do the same with these Militias if … if we can establish that this campaign isn’t being won despite the Heer. So Strauss’s victory here and at Alexandria will have been done as though it were under your overall command. The reports must always stress that victory comes from our officer corps. Here in Africa, that’s you and myself.”
“Alexandria?” Rommel felt he was missing something here.
Von Manstein smiled and slowly shook his head. “So you haven’t heard? One of Brigadier Strauss’s Battalions took the entire port intact. Berlin is beside itself with joy. You and I are going to fly up there to congratulate Strauss, and to receive his report. After all, we are his commanders. His victory is our victory. We will send messages from there to Berlin making sure the Reichsführer associates our names with the success. We’ll probably spend the night. I’ll drop you off back here tomorrow on the way to corps headquarters. Meantime, have Oberst von Thoma send a reinforcement column to the city. A Company of motorized infantry plus detachments from your military police Company and signals Battalion. We will review your plan of campaign this evening, but in broad strokes you proceed north of Cairo to the Canal. Take a bridge or await bridging materials as the case may be. You will be the Corps spearhead into Sinai. In the meantime, Oberst von Stauffenberg will take your vanguard and help finish off the British rear guard. My Corps headquarters will have the coordinates of his objective for him. How long do you need to get ready?”
Offered such a career enhancement, Rommel sent his bursche to make him an overnight bag. His destiny beckoned him.
1600 hours local; 1500 hours CET
2 November 1940
Kampfgruppe Jodl gun positions in the rear of Steiner’s Division
Lothar Engels still had all his Jewish deserters, even the ones who were now supposed to be under Italian command. He had been serving with Kampfgruppe Jodl’s guns. His Palestinians, HJ, and the Pioneers had been unloading artillery ammunition while his Schnell troops provided a security element against British raiders. Engels hadn’t seen any such British, but signals traffic had small British raiding parties out and about. Now the tide of battle was turning, and he was trying to find out when to stop unloading shells and instead reload the trucks so the guns could redeploy. He had a group of reloaded trucks sitting there because of a prior change in orders. Of course he would need to find enough of the trucks to reload the rest of the munitions if or when requested. After unloading, they had mostly returned to the rear for more supplies. Making this traffic pattern work was done by staff people above Lothar’s rank.
Now, out of nowhere, the missing Italian commander, a Militia Tenente Colonello named Bruno Pieri, had appeared. The man supposedly spoke Yiddish. Lothar would take his word for it. He said words Lothar didn’t understand, and the Jews obeyed. This Pieri also spoke passable German. “Now that I have my ‘Battalion’, have you orders for them?”
Lothar was perplexed. “I’ve been minding them pending your arrival. I have not a clue where Italian higher command wants them.”
Pieri gave a shrug and said a bunch of words in Italian harshly. Lothar presumed he was cursing. Having vented, Pieri said, “Have you a problem if I stay with your people pending my command getting me proper orders?” Now it was Lothar’s turn to shrug. Pieri sent his driver off to find an Italian headquarters. “So we are servicing German heavy artillery?”
“No one exactly told us anything else to do. My Division seems to have forgotten us. The guns arrived in the vicinity. There was a queue of trucks they were struggling to unload. I went over and volunteered our services. One of General Jodl’s staff officers agreed that it made sense.” As Lothar finished explaining, a runner came from the artillery commanders. The orders had changed again. Now the guns were to stay put while two Italian corps were pulled out of the line and sent east behind them. Lothar and Bruno got the men to work unloading the reloaded trucks, and rearranging the already-unloaded shells to fit some new scheme. Just the typical chaos of a war zone.
1800 hours local; 1700 hours CET
2 November 1940
Mason’s positions at the west end of what had been 6th Australian Division’s lines
It was over. Mason had burned through his own rump force and the first Australian battalion. ‘Mr Chips’ had gifted him with a second Australian battalion, plus an emergency force made up of stray remnants of British and Palestinian troops that had fled into the Australian lines for protection. Sixth Australian Division had started pulling out two hours ago.
Now what Mason had left was two company-size battlegroups and a lone field gun, spread between two blockhouses and the connecting trench. He’d called his few officers and senior NCO’s together ten minutes ago during a lull between German attacks. Said it was over – so anyone who wanted to head east on his own, do so. Seventy or so had. The rest were too weary, often from wounds. Mason himself had taken a round through his shoulder, and shrapnel had clipped both his legs. At his order, everyone ceased firing. There were a dozen or so white flags he had them wave. Well, white or near-white cloth nailed onto sticks. In the gathering dark maybe the Germans would see this from their illumination rounds.
Two of his Palestinians were Viennese Jews. Using crudely made megaphones from different ends of the line, both started screaming out, “We surrender!” A German patrol came forward and started gathering them all in. The Nazis behaved as if they were civilized. Even sent medical personnel to aid in gathering in the wounded.
Mason realized as he was being processed that he’d been so exhausted that he had forgotten to order that the gun’s breechblock be destroyed, that the machine-guns be rendered unfit for use. He shook his head. He’d known better, once upon a time. As a Guards officer he should have been able to at least manage that. He
resolved to put himself on report when the war was over. Then laughed at himself.
He’d been escorted to see the German commander, a Brigadier named von Stauffenberg. As was often true for people of a certain class, they could both communicate in French. The German congratulated Mason on his day’s work. “Damned good defense you put up. As one professional to another I’m impressed. When the war’s over, perhaps we could compare notes. There might well be an article about this for our service journals.” The German got a sad expression. “I’m sorry for what is now about to happen. You are on a list. If you have personal items in your position, please advise us so we may retrieve them. The Reichsführer-SS has ordered you be sent to Berlin.”
Mason was in shock. What on Earth had he done? “This is against the rules of war.”
“My hands are tied. You are to be billeted with someone named Colonel Kevin Duffy and a Brigadier Edward Alistare-Smythe. My order alleges you should know Colonel Duffy.”
“Of course I know the man. What has this got to do with Berlin and the head of the SS?”
“I’m sure all will be explained in due course. For now I am to forward you to the Luftwaffe for transportation. So about those personal items … ”
1900 hours local; 1800 hours CET
2 November 1940
Cecil Hotel, Alexandria, Egypt
There was an SS Company from Peiper’s Battalion doing security for the entire block the hotel was on. The Alexandria Special Branch had rifle-armed agents on every floor and at key places throughout the building. Peiper also had an SS Platoon sealing off the corridor the two Generals were given rooms on. Rommel was in his room being served a fine meal by room service. Von Manstein was having dinner separately in his suite with his younger cousin, the former Hauptmann von Kleist-Konitz. The young man was in shock. These were the rewards he had dreamed of, but never fully expected. The General found this amusing.
“Yes, making Major roughly a month after being promoted to Hauptmann is unusual. So is being the only professional Heer officer with the formation that captured one of the great ports of the world intact. There will also be a Knight’s Cross for you and a definite mention in Wehrmachtbericht. The Reichsführer is in quite a good mood at the news. Medals and promotions will shower upon Brigade Strauss. Speaking of which, it has been decided that the Brigade should have a Panzer Battalion. It will be your command. It may not arrive in time for Palestine, but you will be a combat Battalion Commander for Iraq with a notation on your personnel file to fast-track you for Regimental Command on redeployment back to the Reich.”
Von Manstein let the young man bask in the joy for the next course, before adding the unwelcome part of the news. As the youngest Major in the family in decades, perhaps in over a century, he was now a MUCH hotter commodity on the marriage market. The new Major’s mother would undoubtedly be contacting Frau von Manstein to help screen the prospective mates. The general doubted it had taken an entire hour before someone at OKW who had seen the signals traffic on the promotion and other rewards, had alerted his family’s female relations that such a good prospective husband was available. Twenty-three-year-old Oberleutnants were common in the military aristocracy. Twenty-three-year-old Majors about to command their own Panzer Battalion and with a theater commander as a patron, were as rare as hen’s teeth. Von Manstein could visualize phone calls from Berlin to everywhere from Alsace to East Prussia to Tyrol. Within the month he expected the Major to receive a book of photos with blood lines in the manner of a horse farm offering brood mares. In the meantime, he himself had also risen in status. Time to do some family business of his own.
He had a relative Ernst von Manstein, a former Heer officer and convert to Judaism. The conversion had wrecked his Heer career, and since the coming to power of the Nazis it had put his life at risk. Time to cash some favor points with Schellenberg to get protection for the cousin, his wife, and if possible the community he was part of. NL rank wasn’t Heer rank, but still it was something of value. A suitable position could be found for the man and his people in Palestine or Iraq. People who would know who their patron was in Berlin, and act accordingly.
1930 hours local; 1830 hours CET
2 November 1940
Cecil Hotel, Alexandria, Egypt
Brigadier Gunter Strauss had sensibly taken a suite for himself on a different floor than the two visiting Generals. He would be staying in Alexandria for an extended period. He needed a home from which to conduct his affairs beyond the prying eyes of the officers of the German naval contingent. This was luxury beyond anything he had ever experienced, but being a General was something new to him.
His other need was to avoid excess attention from his nominal subordinates in the Alexandria police. He had given Lieutenant Colonel Di Salo his own suite on this floor, plus security duty for the floor. He doubted many prying eyes or ears spoke Catalan. Thus, it was two Platoons of these who were billeted on the floor to provide security.
How silly Greta had had the sense to find this wayward relative of hers, ‘Captain Morgan’, was beyond Gunter’s ken. Perhaps the girl actually paid attention to more of what happened around her than he had presumed. Until now he had had her pegged as an immature provincial whose function was keeping Klaus Steiner happy. He had written off her seizure of large quantities of luxury foods on Malta as probably being done at the suggestion of some of her Betar girl friends.
When Gunter had shown Morgan pictures of the falcons, the response was upsetting. “You are too late to fence them here.”
“Why?”
“The people with movable wealth have either already fled, or used all of it to buy up distressed assets. Everyone is cash-poor, and will be for some time. That’s the way it is when cities change hands. Had I been offered these for sale two or three months ago, you could have made a killing on them. Now? Not a chance.” Morgan saw Gunter’s crestfallen face. “Excellency, I want to be of assistance. I wish you for a patron, with myself as your client. I see you have made arrangements with the former Chief Inspector Special Branch Gaafar … ”
“How do you know that!”
“I saw which men were on duty downstairs when Leutnant Schwabe brought me here. A man in my profession … ” Morgan paused so both men could give a quiet laugh as to what the former Transylvanian Jew’s profession really was. “A man such as myself knows senior police on a first name basis, knows the factions within the force. You made a good choice with Gaafar. Perhaps not the best, but good.”
Gunter was getting interested in a hurry. This man knew things of value to him beyond the falcons and their sale, or so it seemed. “How so?”
“He’s smart, efficient, but greedy. Not a man to be fully trusted to keep a bargain – to not shop information to both sides of the street, as it were. May I make a few useful introductions to Your Excellency? The Alexandrine demimonde has many major players who would love to make the acquaintance of the new Commandant. Several might serve as useful counterweights to Gaafar. He’s going to interrogate me. My presence here will be reported. I would like to be able to say I have relatives in your headquarters family, that I am now your client. Gaafar’s police will be more useful to you if they are aware that there are independent eyes watching them. Checks and balances. It is how the illicit world works best. You balance me against him. You use several others I will introduce to you, to watch us both. That way your share of this commerce will be properly computed.”
My share?”
“We politely call such money ‘street taxes’. Your military needs order. It needs the vices of your servicemen catered to. It needs to minimize thefts from the port, from your warehouses. Complementarily, much of the commerce of this city is in foreign hands. French, Italians, Armenians, Maltese, Greeks, Jews … a hundred nationalities. Alexandria is neither Europe nor Egypt. It is something special and unique. Your Excellency has already acquired loot. There is so much more that can be done.”
“Until someone reports me to Berlin.”
“So arrange that the proper people in Berlin get their share. That is your affair. Now about these historic objects of art. I cannot do decent research on their provenance. I would need to communicate with London, Oxford, Cambridge, Paris, and scores of other places. Even if wartime did not limit such communications, the researches would be noticed. An owner might emerge. Transactions such as this are best done in the shadows.” Morgan paused to see that Gunter was working through what he said. “Better to create a backstory. I have quite discreet people I can use here. We create several such ‘histories’, each with ‘supporting documentation’. You use whichever serves best when you find a suitable market to place these for sale. For now I would suggest Jerusalem; or, if you have time, India.”
This was all happening too fast for Gunter. He wished he had Wanda present. This was far more her world than his. Gunter had been muscle for gangsters but had never really been one himself. Besides, bootleg beer was not the sort of massive high-end corruption he had stumbled into. “What would these services cost? Why Jerusalem?”
“Cost? For you I would do this gratis. You are my patron. The cost is making clear to Gaafar that I am yours. Myself, my people, my goods, my business affairs are not to be meddled with by him or his minions. Jerusalem? Because there are large foreign communities of religious people there with fixed assets such as real estate. As these Americans and others exit the region, they will need to dispose of their assets. Jeweled golden birds are easier to transport, even if the authentication papers may not survive close scrutiny. If you have the time this will be more true of India. The new Viceroy Churchill has confirmed independence. There are many rich people from various minorities or expatriate communities who will need mobile wealth to emigrate. Exactly what independent India will look like is still unknown. That the new rulers will be some mix of Hindus and Muslims is now certain. India is a mosaic of languages, nationalities, and religions. It was a geographic expression that the British seem to have made into a state, but not yet a nation. But Excellency, that’s all for the future. Have you more immediate needs? Perhaps a young lady to pass the night? Speak your needs and I will see to them. Nothing shocks or surprises me. I am at your command.”
