Now, in mid-February, the weather was still much of a factor in those operations. The heavy rains were turning the silty dust and sand to slurry, and the mud was always a problem. After a good long fight against the German Operation Sturmflut, the Americans also had to consolidate, lick their wounds, and replenish. The weather was imposing this on Patton and Montgomery as much as anything else, though they resolved to push as far forward as practical, gaining the most favorable positions they could.
Montgomery continued to press his 3rd and 43rd Divisions along the coast, and was approaching the port of Bone. In the center, flanking that city, he pressed his 6th and 10th Armored Divisions towards Souk Ahras as planned. This move displaced the US 3rd infantry further south, and now Patton was looking over the map to plot his next move. His only problem was the sad fact that he had run out of “good roads.”
“Damnit Brad, you invite someone to dinner and they stay all night. Now Monty is pushing for Souk Ahras, and he’s already astride the road I was going to use. Anderson’s 3rd Infantry is out of a job. If they can’t go north up that road, there’s nothing but mountain country north and east of their position.”
“George, the same can be said of the entire 1st Armored Division. Looks like you’ve talked yourself into playing second fiddle.”
“Not on your life,” said Patton. “I’ve already pushed Eddy’s 9th Infantry through Charpinville and on up to Sidi Amour. That opens onto a valley heading due east. Hell, I could press on to Thala, and all the way to Bou Aziz. Look, we can pick up Highway 4 there, and it goes all the way to Tunis. Either that or we could swing north for Le Kef and Souk al Arba, right around Monty’s flank. There’s a damn good airfield there that I would love to get my hands on.”
“True, but don’t forget Rommel. We stopped him, but he’s still down near Kasserine. Air recon shows the Germans are still holding the passes screening both Thelepte and Kasserine. They’re still dangerous down there, and I wouldn’t go sticking my nose out until we know more about Rommel’s intentions.”
“Well enough, Brad, but just the same, I’m going to do a little recon here and there to see what might develop. We’ve been sitting on this ridge for too long. I want Terry Allen’s 26th RCT and Blade Force to push out to the next ridge. We’ll occupy that and see if Rommel still wants to pick a fight. In the meantime, Allen can swing the other two regiments up to Thala and have a look around. We can flank Kasserine Pass on that road.”
“Well if you know that, then Rommel knows it too.”
“Of course,” said Patton. “Now let’s see what he wants to do about it. That’s how you play the game, Brad. You don’t win by sitting on the scrimmage line and pounding out two or three yards at a time like Montgomery. You’ve got to throw the damn football sometimes, and have a good receiver out there to catch it. I’m ordering both armored divisions to get moving. Don’t worry, I can push out one combat command and hold CCB from each division in reserve. Fair enough?”
“Well don’t you think we ought to discuss this with Eisenhower. After all, he’s the boss out here.”
“Sure, sure. You go ahead and arrange a meeting. But by the time you do, I’ll have Thala, and a halfway decent road to Bou Aziz and Highway 4.” Patton smiled, cocksure and confident, as always. That was going to move the Americans in a direction that would soon set up a most remarkable plan, but it would not dawn in the mind of George Patton. In the meantime, the Germans had a lot on their minds that night as well.
What was Rommel going to do? That was the question of the hour. Von Arnim had pulled both his divisions into a tight defense of the passes leading to Souk Ahras. Montgomery would not get through easily, and the mountainous country he was in would not permit him to flank the positions the Germans had staked out. For him, it was going to be the running game, that grueling battle of attrition, both there, and on the coast. Yet Souk Ahras was an important objective, as it was right astride the rail, which first ran south from Bone before turning east to Bizerte and Tunis. If it were taken, the troops defending Bone would have to rely on the coastal road for further supplies.
Patton seemed to be probing his way forward into a void. The Germans had given up a good deal of ground, with the 334th Infantry screening the far end of that long central valley the American General was so keen to explore. Further south, Von Bismarck’s 21st Panzer Division still held the pass closed at Kasserine, but also had to send a number of smaller KG’s north to watch roads from Thala that lead into Sibiba and Rohia. 7th Panzer held at Thelepte, covering the two good airfields in that area for the Luftwaffe. Randow’s 15th Panzer was still holding a wide front in the far south, with one KG facing off the French Constantine Division southwest of Ghafsa, and another watching the American 34th Infantry Division.
The rain continued, dampening Rommel’s spirits as much as anything else. He realized that his command was now well dissipated, static, and waiting on defense. Gone were the three factors he had lived by through most of his successful campaigns: speed, concentration of force, and shock. It was as if his Yang had suddenly flipped to Yin, and his mind was equally beset with the dark side, his thoughts sullen and bitter.
How long can I sit here this way, he asked himself? O’Connor has already taken Medinine, and now he is attacking the Mareth line. I am told he hits my infantry with armor, then pulls out. He switches out one division for another, hammering at the gate.
That was a very apt description of what O’Connor had been forced to do by those orders from Whitehall. At this point, Rommel was not aware of how grave the British viewed the situation in Iraq, willing to pull forces from Burma, Australia, and now O’Connor’s 8th Army to build up strength in Iraq—willing to sacrifice Crete and withdraw there instead of the strongly contested battle that Churchill would have preferred. As far as Rommel was concerned, his last chance for glory was now slowly slipping from his grasp. In a fit of despair, the weary German General drove to Thelepte to board a plane bound for Tunis to see Kesselring, and when he arrived, he told him he wanted to fly home to Germany.
Kesselring was surprised at first, but he inwardly thought this would be best, and he said as much. “Your health has been in decline for some time now. It has been two long years here in some of the most forbidding terrain on the planet. Even a Field Marshal must take rest. Do not worry about your situation here. Nehring will take temporary command, and I will make sure the Italians don’t get their hands on anything.”
After the loss of Tripoli, the Italians had been pressing Kesselring to remove Rommel and replace him with an Italian General. Kesselring paid them lip service, but never seriously contemplated such a move. General Nehring had recovered from a wound he had received in a bombing attack, and was still ready for service. In the real history, he had openly voiced opposition to holding Tunisia at all, which saw him quickly branded as a defeatist and denounced by Goebbels. That had not happened here, as Nehring had time to recover from his wounds in Germany, and when he got word that Kesselring had asked for him, he was more than happy to go back to North Africa.
Rommel had worked with him, knew he was a stubborn and skillful defender, but questioned his dash on offense. “You will have a pair of cagey defenders on your hands,” he told Kesselring. “You may have to use the lash if you are to get them to pull your wagon on offense.”