“I tend to agree,” said Wavell. “We did what Churchill demanded. The Rock of the East, that’s what he called Singapore. Unfortunately, that rock became nothing more than a millstone around our necks. There were a million hungry mouths to feed in Singapore, and we could only supply them by sea. It was all we could do to fend off Japanese air power long enough to stop them from storming the city, so the prospects for that were very dim. I know it was a very difficult decision for Churchill, but he’s finally seen the cold reality of the situation. We were damn lucky to get the 18th Division out, but who could have foreseen this business with Krakatoa? It gave no indication it was about to erupt until the lid came off.”
“That put the Japanese in the stew,” said O’Connor. I heard they lost most of their 2nd Division off the Sunda Strait.”
“Hell of a way to go,” said Wavell. “Yet the fact remains that they retained command of the Java Sea. This means they could land troops anywhere they pleased along that northern coast, and Monty’s plan to try and hold Eastern Java was fatally compromised. We’ve pulled him out, and the 18th Division is being sent to Burma, where it should have gone all along.”
“Very strange,” said Kinlan. “That was never supposed to happen—that damn volcano.”
“Well you were never supposed to happen either, General,” said O’Connor, but we’re grateful you are here. So does Monty go to Burma with the 18th?”
“No, I’ve made the request to have him transferred back,” said Wavell. “He’ll be here by the time we’re ready to go, his feathers ruffled a bit, but undoubtedly glad to be out of the wet heat of Java and back in the good old dry heat here.”
“Out of the frying pan and into the fire,” said Kinlan.
“And most likely keen to get on with the war,” said Wavell. As for Somerville, he’s building a fast carrier task force to buck up any land based fighters we can send, but quite frankly, I don’t think he contemplates any offensive actions with the Eastern Fleet. We’re still completely on the defense in the Pacific. Now that we’re giving up Java, we’ll have Australia to worry about, and that would be very serious if the Japanese push on to Darwin.”
“Have they hit Darwin yet?” asked Kinlan. “The setback at Singapore may have affected their timetable, but it’s on their list, General Wavell.”
“Oh, they’ve hit it once or twice, but there’s been no sign of an impending invasion. That volcano certainly stirred up the pot over there. That said, Australia is a prize we cannot lose. Singapore was just a useless medal we can pin to our chests. The Yanks won’t counterattack along that axis, and we certainly can’t do so this year, if at all. We’ve spit in Tojo’s eye, and given him a good stiff punch in the nose, but now it may be time to bow and make a graceful withdrawal to Australia. Churchill will have the final say on where Monty goes, and I think Brooke is of the same mind as I am on the matter. The Prime Minister has been gnawing on my leg to attack here, and I’m glad you gentlemen believe we can easily get this done. Churchill will want his hero of Singapore to return to Tobruk. That’s the way I’ll paint the picture, and I’m sure he’ll like it even better if we paint Rommel right out, and with a very heavy brush.”
“Good enough,” said O’Connor. “Perhaps there will be room for another hero or two when we push on through to Agedabia.”
“Here, here,” said Wavell. “Now then, we’ll want to mask the presence of Kinlan’s brigade as long as possible. I think that will be work for our Mister Dudley Clarke.”
Clark was a master of deception, and a man with a love of special operations that led him to assist in the founding of the British Commandos who had been fighting so stalwartly on the Canary Islands. He had set up a special command known as “Force A” that was tasked with the planning and execution of deception tactics. It had covered everything with his sleight of hand and magician’s cape, including the creation of a phony new order of battle that was leaked to deceive the enemy as to real British strength.
“I wish I had half the troops he’s dreamt up,” said O’Connor. “That bogus 10th Armored Division would come in handy.”
“We’ll just have to make do with the real divisions we have in hand,” said Wavell. “But Colonel Clarke says he already has the makings of a good plan. First off, there will be false radio traffic under a fabricated code name that we’ll intend the Germans to intercept. We’ve already planted a bad seed or two, taking unfortunate casualties of those recent German Stuka strikes and setting them out in the desert with a bag of false information on a wrecked motorbike. We’re relatively sure the Germans took the bait.”
“Good enough,” said Kinlan, but my Challenger IIs will be difficult to hide.”
“That is Dudley Clark’s specialty. He’s proposed holding your units back from the front as always, in what looks to be a reserve position. Then he’ll set up a phony forward position that appears to be a motorized infantry unit. We’ll use real trucks there, quite openly, but the night before the attack your boys will switch places with them, and he’ll work up dummy tanks to leave in your old position so the enemy won’t pick up that move at dawn.”
“Splendid,” said Kinlan.
“He’ll do a lot more—double bluff games with the artillery, a phony water pipeline leading to a bogus assembly area, complete with fake water towers, pump houses, and straw men in attendance. We’ll also have units assigned to simulate the movement of a massed armor formation, on the coast road coming up from Mersa Matruh. They’ll think we mean to heavily reinforce that portion of the attack.”
“All well and good,” said Kinlan. “Gentlemen, when do we kick off this attack?
“15 March,” said Wavell. “We’re just waiting for 2nd South African to come up from Alexandria, and for Monty. He has a long way to fly.”
“And what might we call this operation?”
Wavell thought for a moment. “I believe General O’Connor had something there a minute ago. Supercharge. That will do quite nicely.”
Chapter 33
Rommel couldn’t see it just yet, or even hear it, but he could feel it in his bones. A warrior’s senses keened up at the edge of a battle, and strange unconscious things stacked up in his mind, quietly whispering a warning to him while he dealt with the humdrum business of the day. At night, asleep in a tent, set well away from his command vehicle as a precaution against air attack, he thought he could almost sense the faint rumbling of heavy vehicles on the move, the vibrations carried through the sand and shale to find his well schooled ear in the quiet of the desert evening.
Something was afoot. There had been three instances where his daily recon patrols had turned up what looked to be a bounty of new information, which was very rare. They had come by a fallen soldier and his motorbike, right at the edge of a crater in the dry earth, the apparent victim of a bomb or artillery round strike. A nearby brief contained papers and even a map showing what looked like a major plan to strike up the coast at Timimi towards Derna. The name “Montgomery” was boldly written into that sector, which raised an eyebrow, for that General was still thought to be in the Pacific.
Another instance of a slipped radio transmission that went out in the clear seemed to approve petrol and ammunition delivery in a special flying column that was scheduled to be on the road leading up to the front in that sector—a most tempting target for the Luftwaffe. Lastly, there was a good deal of talk in the bars and brothels of Cairo, but the message was too harmonious. That many slips of the tongue could not form such a sweet chorus, he thought, and all these little windfalls also point to the same thing, a big attack on the coast, supported by the Royal Navy. The British were going to try to kick in the front door and storm into Cyrenaica.