“I should think so. No sense getting unnerved by this attack.”
“Well he’ll be all of two days getting up here. In that time, Rommel could be well on his way to Damascus.” Quinan seemed a bit edgy.
“Nonsense,” said Alexander. “But do get word to General Miles. Have him fall back on Basiri Gap, and screen that road, just in case.”
“Very good, sir.”
As commanding Generals often get their way, the British would decide to call Rommel’s bluff. Alexander immediately felt buoyed up by the decision. He was attacking, and all on schedule with his well-planned operation, and not forced instead to start moving divisions all about the desert in response to what his enemy was doing. He took a deep breath, and smiled, hands on his hips and ready for the fight ahead.
And he had just made his first big mistake.
Rommel was the first to see it.
He was in his command vehicle when the latest recon report came in. There was a long column of British infantry in the central valley coming up through Baalbek to Al Qusayr. British Armor was also spotted moving up towards the front beyond T4 the previous evening. The British were planning to answer his offensive with one of their own.
In anticipation of that possibility, he had set up a strong Pakfront forward of his infantry, and collected the PzJag battalions from various divisions at the one place he thought they might strike—the T4 Pumping station, just as they were reported to have done so before. Time was now of the essence. Fortunately, the 31st Infantry Division was just off the trains at Homs, and this would be more than enough to stop this attack. In the interest of caution, he would also send orders to the 101st Panzer Brigade to halt south of Palmyra, just in case. But Wiking and 16th Panzer would still continue with their planned drive south. That attack had broken through the British flank guard, and was ready to roll.
Alexander had been on the road from Baalbek, where he had seen off the tail end of the Northumbrian Division. He was eager to get to Al Qusayr, where his forward HQ had been established, wanting news of the offensive that launched that morning, right on schedule. He did not have to wait to reach his headquarters. A jeep was coming south, sirens wailing, command flags flapping in the wind, with a staff Lieutenant Hill looking for the General. He pulled up in a cloud of dust, leaping from his vehicle and rushing over the Alexander’s staff car with a stiff salute and more news than Alexander wanted.
“Sir,” he said. “Word from Miles and the 56th on the right. He’s been overrun.”
“Overrun?” Alexander waited.
“Yes sir. Only one brigade made it back to the ridge road as ordered, and the Germans are through Basiri Gap.”
“I see… And Gladiator?”
“Heavy fighting along the main front sir. No definitive news there yet. You’ll likely learn more at HQ. I was sent to inform you concerning General Miles situation.”
Alexander now had good reason for concern. Miles was on the wrong side of Jabal Ghanim, the ‘Brick Wall,’ and the news that he had only managed to get a single brigade back to the road was deeply disturbing. It spoke of power on that flank. Quinan had been correct.
“Lieutenant. Has 1st Armored been committed?”
“Yes sir, all but 2nd Armored Brigade. It moved cross country to reach the front last night and got a bit jumbled. They’re sorting it out.”
“And the 50th?”
“They moved up right behind the main attack sir, as ordered—one brigade forward; two back.”
“You’ve a radio in that jeep?”
“Yes sir.”
“Well they damn well ought to put one on my staff car. Go and get a message off to General Briggs. Tell him to hold 2nd Armored Brigade in place pending further developments. That goes for the whole of 50th Division as well. And where is General Quinan?”
“He’s at HQ, sir.”
“Very well. I’ll be there directly.”
Alexander wanted a map. The next gap in that Brick Wall was 50 kilometers south, on the road to Mihassah. My God, he thought. What’s happened to the Black Cats? If General Miles had the presence of mind to get there, he could at least use that last Brigade to cover that pass. It seemed that in spite of his determination not to dance to the enemy’s tune, this was something more—a full orchestra! Whatever Rommel was sending round his flank was on a rampage, and it went right through Miles as if he wasn’t even there. Two brigades lost…
God help us, he thought. That man is going for Damascus after all. Unless Quinan has already broken through, I may have no recourse other than a major change of plans now. I’ve gone and thrown everything up north…. But there’s still that Provisional Brigade that came in from Crete, and Boy Browning. Something might be done yet.
Damn! This is maddening.
“Driver!” he said sharply. “Get us to the bloody HQ, and be quick about it!”
Chapter 15
From long years of experience, Rommel knew that he needed three good panzer divisions and infantry support in any major offensive. Advances could proceed at breakneck speed, but with every mile gained, there was an open flank somewhere that would be exposed to enemy counterattack.
In this case, he had been forced to commit his last infantry division to backstop the front at T4, but he was not concerned. That ‘Brick Wall’ Alexander referred to in his planning was going to be his infantry. If it protected the British right flank, it would also serve to guard his own left. The last of the British 56th Division had retreated hastily down the road he wanted, undoubtedly towards the small pass near Mihassah.
Once I get there, he thought, I’ll be half way to Damascus. The terrain is not good on that second leg. There’s a lot of stony ground ahead, broken by wadis coming off that long bony ridge that points the way to the city. I’ll just have that one good road. Wiking Division went cross country, south of this lava field that screens the Mihassah Pass, but there’s a much bigger one up ahead, truly massive, so there will be no way to swing south around Damascus on any wide envelopment. General Gille will have to turn west soon, and then pick up the same road I have 2nd Panzer on now.
The next break in the terrain south of Mihassah is this town here—Ad Dumayr, another 70 kilometers southwest. There’s an air strip there that could be useful, and the rail line from Damascus passes through that town. I must get there before the British can reinforce that area strongly.
He smiled.
I am doing what I have heard the American General boast about—Patton. I am holding them by the nose at T4, and kicking them in the ass with my Panzer divisions. But I’ve been doing this all along. I would have done it all the way to Cairo in Libya and Egypt, if not for that damnable heavy British armor. Strange that there has been no sign of it here. They sent it to Syria before, when the Wiking division was deployed here earlier, but not a whisper of it this time….
Brigadier Lewis Owen Lyne was a tall, heavy set man, quick to smile, a bully boy for the Army since he joined in 1921. Yet he looked like half a man when he came stumbling in to the HQ hut at Mihassah, looking for General Miles. His Brigade was gone, the 169th, all men who had the special distinction of being designated “The Queen’s Brigade” back home. They took that moniker with them to Syria, but that is where it died. It was Lyne’s troops who took the brunt of the casualties when Lübbe’s 2nd Panzer attacked south of Palmyra, and now it was his Brigade to go down to a man in the wild stampede of the shattered right flank of the 56th. When Rommel did the kicking, Lyne was in his way.
The morale of the Brigade had been low to begin with, now it was nonexistent, and it showed on Lyne’s face when he found Miles and made his report. There was a bloodied bandage on his right arm, but it did not stop him from saluting. “Sir,” he said, his voice catching in his throat until he mastered himself and went on. “I regret to report that my Brigade has been overrun. The HQ staff and a few men from the artillery were the only ones to get out, and now that I’m here, I wish I’d gone down with my men.”