Beckermann was privy to plans Guderian had laid out before the battle. He knew that the main drive south was going to see a panzer division directed at Palmyra from the west, a force that would then come east to the river along that pipeline route. 4th Panzer had been in the lead, but Guderian had stopped it to rest and refuel. Right behind it, he had a very fresh 3rd Panzer Division, for they had come most of the way by rail. Detrained and ready to move on the morning of the 14th, he sent the division through the ground taken earlier by the 4th, now prepared to execute the plan he had devised.
As he predicted, the British used their rail lines to rapidly move forces north from Beirut, Palestine and Damascus. He had no intention of fighting for any of those cities, or allowing himself to get bogged down in costly and time consuming street fighting. Instead, he wanted to quickly extricate his mobile divisions, and then send the rest of Hube’s 14th Panzer Korps east in the wake of 3rd Panzer Division. The ground he now occupied would be held by the 49th Giebergs Korps, and to that end, Kruger was finally arriving on the main rail line with his 1st Mountain Division. He would now command three divisions of those tough mountain troops, and with no other aim but to hold the line, keep the British in check, and prevent them from any move north that could threaten the main supply base at Aleppo.
Thus far, everything was going according to plan. He was still one step ahead of the British in the footrace, and he hoped to stay there. Speed, he thought. One can never be too tidy if you really want to move. Speed in war is a dirty and chaotic business, but one horse given free reins will always get farther than three pulling a wagon. I already sent my thoroughbred east, and they have delivered Ar Raqqah right on schedule. But I cannot send just that single division into Iraq, strong as it may be. Now I must move to phase II of my plan, and speed is of the essence here—breakneck speed.
Even resting 4th Panzer for a day saw the General ill at ease and hankering to get moving again. For war was war, a wayward bride and one given to rash fits on a whim. Things would happen that would test the mettle of every unit involved, for the stakes were higher and most truly realized, in this world and all those that came after.
Part VII
Unforgiving Minutes
Chapter 19
Private Kaling Kapoor was very busy. He had gotten his hands on a British Bren gun, and he had spent the last hour figuring out how it worked. Now he was elated, rushing towards the forward lines where the platoon had been digging in and building fortified strong points. The Sergeant caught a blur of movement out of his right eye, and turned his head, seeing the Moonbird trying to squeeze past an ammo cart.
“Private Kapoor!” he shouted. “Stand where you are!” He strode quickly over, giving the young man a stern look. “Now where in the world did you get that?”
“From the British,” said the Private, beaming. “I’m going to use it to attack the Germans.”
“The British? They just gave that to you?”
“No Sergeant. I traded them for it—but I drove a very hard bargain, just one silly 2-inch mortar tube, and I didn’t even have to give them any ammunition!” His eyes were wide as he spoke, but he could see that Sergeant was in no way pleased.
“Just one 2-inch mortar….”
“They wanted a 3-inch tube, but I bargained very hard. Look Sergeant, it’s a Bren machine gun!”
“I can see that, you miserable goat! Where is the ammunition?”
“Right here. I insisted on three magazines.” The Private opened his pack to show off three of the classic curved top loading magazines that were characteristic of the Bren. It was a light weight, fast firing gun, using .303 ammo and very effective out to a range of 600 yards.
“Do you realize that gun is operated by a two man team? You are a trained sapper, not a machine gunner. What’s gotten into you?”
“But Sergeant, we already mined the bridges and set up wire. There was nothing else to do, but with this, I can attack them!”
“You will do no such thing. Take that gun to the Corporal over there immediately, and ask him which bunker he wants it in. Then come back here.”
“But Sergeant!”
“But nothing. Do as I have ordered. Right now!”
Frustrated, the Private saluted, and went trudging off to find his Corporal. The Sergeant shook his head. I will have to keep a much closer eye on that one, he thought. Wait until he gets back here and I ask him where he got that 2-inch mortar he traded. This is going to cost him a month’s salary. Maybe that will knock some sense into his silly head.
That afternoon the Germans did attack, dark uniformed men of the Prinz Eugen Mountain Division. They had come up the main road to Hamah and were trying to take the bridge over a small river, held by the men of the British 17th Brigade. The 32nd Indian Engineer battalion was right on the line, sandwiched in between the Northamptons on their left and the 2nd Seaforth Highlanders on their right. The Germans began with a good artillery prep against the Northampton Battalion, and then rolled it right over the Engineers.
With a full day’s hard labor, the Engineers had built some very sturdy strongpoints, and they weathered the shelling easily enough. But that was the first time Private Kapoor had been under direct fire, and he found it much more difficult than he imagined it would be. The Sergeant found him in a covered trench, standing boldly over the lad as he spoke to him.
“It’s lifting,” he said stoically. “Now the infantry comes. You just stay right there Packshee.”
The Moonbird stuck his head out of the trench, his face already stained with the dry earth. “If I had kept that 2-inch mortar, I could have fired it back at them, but that machine gun won’t do at all. You were right, Sergeant. I missed my chance.”
The Sergeant knew his Private was aching to strike a blow at the enemy, so he could say he fought hard here and earn his keep. As it was, all Packshee could do now was lay low, and he didn’t want the lad to feel like a coward, not during his first engagement.
The attack came in, and he unshouldered his rifle to fix his bayonet, waiting and watching behind a low sandbagged wall. The Northamptons took the worst of it, hit by two battalions of the 13th Mountain Regiment. Along the lines of the 32nd, they could hear the fighting loudly, but it wasn’t directed at their front. Then Private Kapoor pointed. They could soon see the British falling back, away from the bridge towards the outskirts of the town. He waited tensely, watching and listening, a well of fear building in the place that had once been filled with all his excitement and anticipation.
The British had been driven back! In all his years in India, whenever the British troops were near at hand, the Moonbird would run to watch them, the tall, broad shouldered men that had made such a presence in his homeland for many long decades. His admiration for those soldiers had been the reason he wanted to join the army, and now, seeing them rushing to the rear was a shaking experience.
“Sergeant!” he said with an exasperated expression. “We spent half the morning laying charges on that bridge. Why didn’t they fire them off? They let the Germans take just it!”