The main German attack would fall on the 169th “Queens Brigade” under Brigadier Lyne, on the extreme right, and the 168th Brigade under Davidson to its left. Against each of these two brigades, Rommel was sending a full reinforced panzer division, with the 16th hitting Davidson, and the Wikings hitting Lyne. The results of that attack would not be hard to predict, and the field phones were soon ringing loudly at Major-General Eric Miles’ HQ in the small village of Al Ulayaniyah.
Like most men who had risen to command at his level, Miles had won his DSO and Military Cross in the First War, and was “Mentioned in Dispatches” five times, so he was no slouch. He was a Brigadier in France and Belgium, and suffered through the evacuation at Dunkirk. After a brief stint with the 42nd Division, they gave him the 56th, and sent him to Sir Edward Quinan’s 10th Army forming up in Persia. It was there that his 56th Division was moved from Iraq to Syria, where its acquaintance with German panzer divisions had left it bruised and needing rest.
By now it had time to refit and receive replacements for the two battalions that had been largely destroyed in the previous action at Palmyra. But the hammer was falling again, double loaded this time, and Miles sent an immediate message to Quinan: My Division heavily engaged east and south of Jebel Lebtar. Situation doubtful.
Doubtful indeed. It was Rommel, doing what he had demonstrated time and again in Libya. He would find a flank and turn it as the first action of any major offensive, and if Richard O’Connor had been there, he would have seen what was happening immediately. Unfortunately, O’Connor was over a thousand miles away, his troops assaulting the Italians at Mareth after the Germans pulled out their infantry there. The good news had come in earlier that day—the Italians were retreating! By Mid-day, so was Miles and his 56th Infantry Division.
Now Alexander and Quinan had to decide how best to react. “We’ve been hoodwinked,” said Quinan. “Rommel hit Miles on our flank.”
“So it seems,” said Alexander. “And here it looked as though he was about to come head and shoulders against General Freeman and the 46th.”
“He’s hit Freeman too,” said Quinan, “again, right on his easternmost flank.”
“Well that looks to be a spoiling attack,” said Alexander.
“No, I think he wants to cut off the Basiri Gap. Then we won’t be able to send anything through to help out Miles, and he’ll be stuck over there on the other side of this ridge all on his own. What’s it called?”
Alexander squinted at the map. “Jabal Ghanim. Sits there like a damn brick wall, and yes, the gap is our only way to get Miles any help, but should we? All we might send is the 25th Armored Brigade, but even then, I don’t like that fight. Miles said he’s been hit by at least two good German Divisions. One more brigade won’t help all that much. To my mind, he’s on the wrong side of the fence, and we ought to pull him out of there.”
“Well he can’t move south,” said Quinan. “There’s nothing there but the bloody Syrian Desert.”
“Yes, but if he can fall back towards the southern end of Basiri Gap, then he can use this road on the far side of Jabal Ghanim. In fact, we’ll need him there in any case. That’s the road to Damascus.”
That fell like too much lemon in the tea, and both men could feel the tension rising. “You think he might be after Damascus?” asked Quinan.
“Possibly, but more likely a turning maneuver,” said Alexander. “If he tries to turn our flank, we’ve got that nice brick wall there.”
“Why would he do that?” said Quinan. “Damascus would be a real prize, and this is Rommel….”
Yes, this was Rommel. When you could take something of value, he would, and he was a master of the indirect approach in battle, and right in his element here. That Syrian desert that Quinan assumed to be so impassible for Miles to use in any retreat, was as good as a four-lane highway to Rommel. He had seen all that and worse in Libya, though he did not yet have the time to really brief his troops on how they must fight in the desert.
“Damascus,” said Quinan.
“That’s a far throw,” said Alexander. “Larminat’s Free French Division is posted there if he tries it.
“That won’t be enough,” said Quinan. “50th Northumbrian just passed through Rayak on the way here. We could stop that column and turn it about for Damascus.”
Alexander thought about that. He had summoned the 50th when it arrived, because he wanted to use it to open his own big offensive, something that had taken long hours of meticulous planning. Now here was Rommel, stealing his thunder and spoiling the show. They were all set to kick off in 48 hours. He was going to bring up the 50th, and all of 1st Armored, and then push right for Palmyra again, only this time heavily reinforced.
A stickler for details and fine-tuned arrangements on the field, Alexander did not like being upstaged like this. His enemy wasn’t doing what he wished, and there was a part of his mind that wanted to see this whole affair as nothing more than a spoiling attack on Rommel’s part. This is what he voiced next to Quinan.
“By Jove, they must have gotten wind of our operation. Just when we’re getting ready to tee up, Rommel picks on Miles and threatens to turn our flank. Why, its 140 miles to Damascus from the German positions now, over 220 kilometers.”
“Well sir,” said Quinan. “The Brandenburgers ran all the way from Aleppo to Baghdad, so I wouldn’t put it past Rommel to make a run for Damascus.”
“But what if he’s simply trying to foil our plans? This could be nothing more than a demonstration.”
“Then I’d say he’s doing a bang up job of that.” Quinan folded his arms, and a runner came in at that moment, saluting with a message in his other hand.
“Sir, General Wordsworth reports he’s getting some heavy artillery fire, and the Germans have been reoccupying some of the high ground they gave up last week.”
“Thank you, Corporal.” Alexander took the message, somewhat perturbed. “Oh, and in the future, there’s no need to announce your message. Simply deliver it.”
“Sir!” The chastened Corporal saluted, and wisely withdrew.
Wordsworth had the 31st Indian Armored Division, though it was mostly infantry, with two brigades on the line, and its small tank brigade in reserve.
“There’s your spoiling attack,” said Quinan. “This bit on the flank against Miles is the main push. I’ll stake my first born on that.”
“Even so,” said Alexander, “we still have the option of going forward with our own offensive. I could throw five armored brigades at T4 in 24 hours, and the Northumbrian Division was my follow up force. I hate to see all those plans go into the ash can.”
“Yes sir,” said Quinan, “But we ought to be flexible here.”
“I understand, but if we carry on, we can set Rommel back on his right foot. He dances to the center of the ring, and wants me to chase him. But if I bore in, get inside and start body punching, there’s no way he can dally about with any idea about going south to Damascus. I say we just go forward with Operation Gladiator. Let’s make him dance to our tune—not the other way around.”
“So do we bring up the 50th as planned?”