Somerville allowed himself a smile as the reports came in. Only a couple of hundred Germans had landed, pretty badly beaten up by the flight, and had been quickly rounded up or killed. The air battles were going well; the RAF was hammering the Luffwaffe, which was trying to cover the gliders. Seven ships had been hit, three quite badly, but the Mediterranean Fleet had survived.
“Admiral, I think they’re leaving,” Tom said.
Somerville checked his watch. The entire battle had lasted nearly thirty minutes, including the time it had taken for the Germans to reach the battlezone. Avenging RAF aircraft had swooped north over Italy, pounding German airfields and striking back at the Nazi oppressors. The Germans had attacked Algeria as well, using long-ranged bombers, but they’d failed to do much to the nation.
“It does seem that way, doesn’t it,” Somerville said. Part of him was recoiling; the Germans had been swept out of the sky with brutal efficiency. Another part of him was exulting at the victory – and it had been a victory.
“Admiral, the Germans have gone,” Captain Jameson said. “Permission to stand down?”
Somerville smiled. “Granted,” he said. He shook his head in awe. “I suppose I’d better make my report to London; this is the sort of news they like to have quickly.” He pointed a single finger at Tom. “Don’t tell me,” he said. “They already know.”
Chapter Nineteen: Good German, Bad German
Ten Downing Street
London, United Kingdom
11th May 1941
“The Germans attempted to take Malta,” Stirling said. Hanover nodded grimly, only half-listening. “It was a total defeat.”
Hanover smiled. “I dare say that the Contemporaries will be pleased,” he said. “What happened?”
“They tried to land a parachute assault like they would have done on Crete,” Stirling said. The Oversight Committee had warned of the danger almost from Day One. “The radars picked out the transports and they got wiped out of the sky. They must have lost almost the entire division.”
Hanover smiled. “How bad was it for us?”
Stirling glanced down at the report. “Malta got hammered pretty badly by the German bombers as our close-in defences were prioritising the transports. Several hundred people got killed; several thousand injured. Around two hundred Germans were captured.” He hesitated. “Some of them got lynched.”
Hanover shrugged, unconcerned. Malta had been spared the war until the Germans had tried an invasion. “They’re only human,” he said. Inwardly, he wondered if becoming desensitised was a cost of war. “What about the others?”
“They’re being flown to POW camps in Algeria,” Stirling said. “The Algerians are hopping mad; this might serve to unite them behind us. They got bombed a couple of times by the Germans during the struggle.”
Hanover nodded grimly. Even without the long and bloody war for independence, the Algerians were still arguing about their future government. The Provisional Government was having problems; not all the tribes, particularly the ones that had been French allies, were happy with the new situation.
“What is the situation now?” He asked finally. “Are they still trying to bomb Malta?”
Stirling shook his head. “We slapped them back pretty hard,” he said. “Some of the radio interceptions have been in clear.” He chuckled. “You should read some of the transcripts, sir; it reads like a Goon Show.”
“I keep meaning to go see Milligan,” Hanover said. “What happens?”
“Some German officer can’t believe the report, so he asks for clarification in clear, and then the poor bastard reporting tells him that we’ve destroyed over a million aircraft, and he has a fit in clear,” Stirling said. “I don’t think we took out more than four hundred at most, but that should really confuse the Germans.”
“I imagine they know how many they sent at us,” Hanover said. “How did Admiral Somerville do?”
Stirling looked uncomfortable. It was the closest that any of them had ever come to admitting that the 2015 personnel kept a close eye on the 1940 personnel. “He did pretty well,” he said finally. “He’s made remarkable progress.”
“Unlike Wavell,” Hanover said. The former desert commander had been packed off to India as Governor-General. “Speaking of which, what’s happening in the desert?”
“No real change,” Stirling said. “The Soviets are still piling into Basra and spreading down towards Kuwait. General Flynn was preparing a defence line down there, and we might have more tank battles. Incidentally, he wants you to know that the Soviets have placed a high priority on capturing our equipment; a damaged Firefly was towed away and destroyed from the air.”
“Smart of them,” Hanover growled. “John?”
“It’s clear that they want to exhaust us,” McLachlan said. The Foreign Secretary looked tired. “Hammer us, keep hammering us, until they get their nukes ready. Learn as much about our technology as they can, duplicate bits, devise countermeasures… keep fighting until we lose our will to fight.”
“It won’t happen that way,” Hanover said. “Public opinion is behind the war. Everyone knows about the Nazis; despite that wretched Stewart woman they know what they’re doing and our ‘ham-fisted’ attempt at censorship just made it seem more real. There can be no compromise with Germany.”
“They haven’t offered to discuss terms with us,” Stirling said. Hanover started; he’d almost forgotten that the officer was there. “If they did…”
“What sort of terms could they offer that we would accept?” Hanover asked. “Have they tried anything in the Middle East?”
“Not yet,” Stirling said. “The Free Germans put forward the Operation Redemption plan.”
Hanover smiled. “Rommel is certainly living up to his legend,” he said. “Can we pull it off?”
Stirling hesitated. “General Cunningham believes that we can, but the cost will be heavy, particularly for the Marines and Turks.”
“We’re going to have to abandon the ridiculous fiction that we’re only in a state of semi-belligerency with the Turks,” McLachlan commented. “Would that cost us anything in the military field?”
Stirling shook his head. “The Turks are pretty much part and parcel of the German force,” he said. “The only danger is that this will put public opinion in Turkey behind the war.”
Hanover chuckled bitterly. “It’s not as if it could get any worse,” he said. “What steps do we have to take before we’re committed?”
“We have to take Crete back,” Stirling said. “Now that we’ve kicked hell out of the Germans in the air, they won’t find it so easy to oppose us. Unfortunately, we won’t be able to launch the real part of the operation until after the first stage of Operation Arctic goes ahead.”
Hanover scowled. “It would have been nice to hit them with a coordinated offensive,” he said. “They go high, we go low. Why can’t we?”
He caught Stirling’s sigh and smiled to himself. “We have committed ourselves to deploying considerable assets to support the American landing,” Stirling said. “We would also need them for Redemption. We can’t do both for at least a year. However, we could hit Crete – and this time take it – at the same time.” He chuckled. “If the Germans have studied history, they might consider it like Operation Torch; the attack that prevented them from reinforcing Stalingrad.”
Hanover nodded. “Tell Cunningham to draw up the plans,” he said. “Thank you for your time.”
It was a dismissal and Stirling was smart enough to recognise it. He picked up his papers and left the room, leaving the other two alone.