Three Kings (Kirov Series) (16 page)

“And once you join us in the
Eastern Med, you will hold the Bosporus closed,” said Volsky with a smile. “Two
fat fingers in the dike, and let us hope we can stem the onrushing tide. Come,
let us join Director Kamenski for a good meal. Then we toast and I have one
more request to make of you before we part.”

That request was for more
missiles, which Kazan still had in abundance. Kirov had fired four of the of
the P-900s Kazan had given them earlier, and Volsky was hoping he could have
those replaced to bring them up to 27 SSMs.

“We had a full complement of
missiles,” said Gromyko. “I’ll send you another group of P-900s and bump you up
to 32! That will still leave us the entire Onyx system, and all our torpedoes.
Consider it done, Admiral.”

“Good enough,” said Volsky.
“Because we may have to use them sooner than we think.”

Part V

Rommel

“Have a bias toward action - let's see something happen
now. You can break that big plan into small steps and take the first step right
away.”

―
Indira
Gandhi

Chapter 13

Rommel
waited in the outer
room, his mind set on the meeting he would soon have with the Führer at the
Chancellery, his thoughts on what he might receive—his oak leaves cluster for
the Iron Cross! It was long overdue, he thought. I should have had it months
ago. What do I have to do, lobby the general staff to get about the appropriate
delivery of well earned laurels, just as I did in the last war?

He was a rare holder of the
famous Pour le
Merite
, the blue cross on gold that
came to be called the “Blue Max” in the last war. It was a coveted and rare
honor, but one he had to ungraciously request of his superiors, believing it
was his by entitlement. In spite of the blatant effrontery of his request, he
got his medal, joining notable historical figures like Blucher and
Moltke
who received it for their past glory, and men the
great ships of the navy were all now named after: Otto von Bismarck, Paul
Hindenburg, Gneisenau, Scharnhorst, Tirpitz and Admiral Scheer. He also joined
contemporaries like Hermann Goring,
Richtofen
, Von
Bock,
Mackensen
and Schörner.

Erwin Johannes Eugen Rommel was a
driven man, highly decorated from his exploits in the First World War, and
flush with his recent mad dash across France, all the way to the Channel Coast.
The enemy never knew what hit them. Rommel’s 7th Panzer Division moved like the
lightning in the cloud of the German blitzkrieg, appearing with sudden violence
on the enemy flank, smashing in to attack, and then vanishing in a column of
smoke and dust only to appear somewhere else six hours later. The French came
to call it the “Ghost Division,” an apparition of fire and steel that devoured
one retreating column after another, leapt over every obstacle, crossing rivers
as if magically transported to the other side, and always pressing forward with
a steady, relentless attack.

History seldom recorded the means
by which he achieved that victory, by pushing his men and tanks to the
uttermost extreme, and using every means necessary to sustain his advance, even
stealing the bridging equipment of other adjacent divisions to get over the
river obstacles first—and then complaining that his confederate divisions were
too slow, and always falling behind. That also took a lot of gall and nerve,
but it was not beneath a man so driven to achievement, and the recognition that
came with it, that Erwin Rommel seemed to thrive on and crave. So today he
would get his oak leaves, he thought, eager to take his meeting with the Führer.

After the capitulation of France
that he had so ably helped to engineer, he was delighted to be selected to help
create a nice memorial film of those exploits, entitled “Victory in the West,” where
he was to re-enact the battles he had fought so brilliantly for the propaganda
cameras. After that he had put together a meticulously prepared memoir of his
campaign, complete with maps to accompany the narrative, which he sent to
Hitler for his review—and the obvious reminder that he was a commander that
should not be overlooked.

Well they’ve taken notice now,
haven’t they? Rommel smiled, his sapphire eyes alight. My oak leaves are well
in order, he thought, but he was soon to learn that he had not been summoned
here to receive another medal, but to fight another battle. In spite of his
disappointment in not getting his oak leaves that day, he would get something
much more than he expected, his first independent command.

“You may come in,” said the staff
attendant as he opened the door, and Rommel raised his chin, adjusted the fit
of his hat and officer’s coat, and stepped forward. He was a proud man, and
every feature spoke to that pride, the high forehead, penetrating blue eyes,
prominent nose. And yet, there were lines at the corners of his mouth that
betrayed the long work of many smiles. Rommel’s temperament also knew the
delight of life, the fruits of love in his marriage to his dear Lucie, and his
willful nature accomplished much to keep that smile there, and soften the hard
features that reflected his commanding will so artfully.

“Ah, General Rommel,” said the
Führer as Rommel saluted. “Look here! Someone else is competing for the
headlines and movie picture shows for a change.” Hitler was across the room
standing at a thick wooden table, where he set down a magazine, sliding it
ignominiously in Rommel’s direction as he came up. There the general saw the
image of a white haired British officer, leather straps across his chest,
riding crop in hand. Rommel had seen photos of this man before, and he knew he
was looking at a cover of the commander of the Western Desert Force, General
Richard O’Connor.

“That man is raising hell with
the Italians,” said Hitler darkly, “just as Volkov said he would. He will have
to be dealt with. In the last weeks he has thrown them out of Egypt, taken
Sidi
Barani
,
Sollum
,
Bardia and now even Tobruk! This incompetent Italian General—what is his name
again?”

“Graziani, my Führer.” It was
Keitel who spoke now, standing beside Hitler on the other side of the table,
eyeing the magazines with a deplorable look on his face, and giving Rommel an
occasional glance, as if sizing the man up.

“Yes, well first they tell us
they had no need of German troops in support of their invasion—can we call it
that? Invasion? All they did was to cross the Egyptian frontier and set up
defensive encampments. Now this man here, this General O’Connor, has raced in
behind them and set them running for Tripoli. If he persists he will take
Benghazi in short order, and after that, the way to Tripoli will be open, and
the British would be fools not to take that prize.”

Hitler shook his head, obviously
quite upset about these developments. “The Italians!” he fumed. “They are more
trouble than they are worth. Volkov was correct! They sit with their navy in
Taranto and La Spezia and do little with all those good ships they have. They
have botched this offensive into Egypt, and instead of settling affairs there,
they invade Greece! Now they want me to bail them out of the ditch they have
dug in the desert, and I am inclined to let them sit there and stew for another
month for their incompetent insolence. In fact, I would do so if not for this
O’Connor. He moves too fast, moves with determination, and he has just beaten
an Italian force three times his size, or so Keitel here tells me.”

“By our best estimates he was
outnumbered nine divisions to three,” said Keitel, “if the British even had
that many troops in the attack. Yet, as the Führer states, the results cannot
be argued with. We have learned he is pushing on from Tobruk, and may cut the
Italians off here.” Now Keitel produced a map, placing it on the table and
pointing a heavy finger at a spot on the African coast south of Benghazi. “Beda
Fomm
,” he said. If he gets there first, Graziani’s
troops will be trapped in Cyrenaica and invested.”

“So as much as I would like them
to stew in their own mess,” said Hitler, “I must do something about this. The
British must be kept out of Tripoli at all cost, and all of Tripolitania must
be held. This is imperative if we are ever to make use of this desert to get at
the British in Egypt. You are the man I have selected for the job.”

At this Rommel raised his chin,
eyes bright with the glitter of anticipation. “I am honored, my Führer.”

“Yes? Well I looked over that
battle memoir you sent me on France, and I was quite impressed. Your division
has been training for the invasion of England, and you have been making movies,
eh? Well I have other work for you now—real work. We’ll make another show of
things in the desert soon enough.”

“My Führer, I will show this
British General how 7th Panzer Division fights, if that is what you order.”

“I have no doubt that you will,”
said Hitler. “But it will not be the 7th Panzer Division. We need them on the
continent at the moment. Instead I am giving you another division. Keitel?”

“The 5th Light Division. Hans
Funck
had it and then
Generalmajor
Streich
, but we do not think either man is well
suited to the task.”

“
Funck
is an aristocrat,” said Hitler, giving Keitel a sidelong glance. “
Streich
is no more than a regimental commander, his
Knight’s Cross aside. I need a man like you, Rommel, someone who knows how to
inspire the men under him. Everything I have seen and heard about you tells me
that you are just the right man for this assignment, and so our new Afrika
Korps will be yours.”

“A single division to start
with,” said Keitel. “The 5th Light was just created, a bit of a patchwork quilt
at the moment. We took 5th Panzer Regiment from the 3rd Panzer Division, and
stitched in a motorized Panzerjager battalion, a little artillery, and some
infantry, the 200th Schutzen Rifle Regiment with a pair of machinegun
battalions. I have no doubt that you will know how to put them to good use.”

Rommel glowed under the praise,
the smile coming easily now, and one of many more he would share with his wife
Lucie in his letters home from North Africa in the months ahead. Now Keitel
gave him a briefing, and outlined the plan the General Staff had in mind.

“This business in Gibraltar is
all but concluded, we have moved an infantry division to Morocco to give the
French a little backbone there. Now we need to stiffen up the Italians. With
Gibraltar in hand and the French as active belligerents, we have thrown the
British out of the Western Mediterranean. Yes, they beat us to the Atlantic
Islands, but that is of little concern to us for the moment. They can have the
Canary they have caught, but they may soon find that bird in hand is not worth
the two in the bush we now see in Egypt. That is the real prize, Rommel. Egypt
and the Suez Canal.”

“Precisely,” said Hitler. “The
Italians thought they would have it by now, but this O’Connor has given them a
sound beating. Here we are at war with Britain, and yet German troops haven’t
seen a Tommy since we showed them how to fight at Dunkirk. Now it is time we
teach them another lesson.”

“We have dispatched the 5th Light
to Tripoli,” said Keitel. “It will be enough at the outset to form a blocking
force here.” He pointed to a spot on the map at the base of the Gulf of Sirte.
“
Funck
does not think it will be enough to stop the
British, and OKW will be sending you more but, for now, that is your
assignment—stop this General O’Connor and get his picture out of the
headlines.”

Rommel’s eyes betrayed the energy
of his mind, as he was already writing new headlines of his own. He had every
confidence that he could do the job, even with this single division that was
not yet completely formed. Hitler set his dark eyes on him, and reinforced his
own thinking on the matter. Volkov’s warning was in his mind now, and his
admonition to send strong forces to North Africa.

“The British will be at the end
of their tether, with both personnel and equipment exhausted by now. They won’t
get much farther with those old tanks of theirs. The Italians are one thing,
but if they come up against some well equipped German troops it will be another
kettle of fish. First—stop them and cover the approached to Sirte and Tripoli,
but don’t get pulled in to a pointless battle until you have adequate force in
hand. Benghazi is a useful port, which should be taken at your earliest
opportunity. From Taranto we can use it to steer clear of British planes on
Malta until I determine what to do about that annoyance.”

“Yet, if I turn north to
Benghazi,” said Rommel, “then I will expose my right to a potential British
counterattack. Two divisions would solve that problem.” He was already angling
for more men and material.

“In time,” said Keitel. “If you
can pull the Italians already there together, all the better. Mussolini has
promised to send two armored divisions, if they can be called as much. We will
send you another Panzer Division soon enough.”

“In the meantime,” said Hitler,
“stop this man.” The Führer placed his finger heavily upon O’Connor’s cover
photo, like the hand of fate and doom itself meting out his judgment.

Rommel smiled, knowing he would
be that doom, and that his fate was now to be in his own hands there in North
Africa. Stop him I will, he thought. But I will do a good deal more than that
if I get the troops and supplies I need. He was aware that there were many, in
all three services, that now believed the war was destined to head to the
Middle East. Hitler insisted on maintaining and building a large standing army
on the Russian frontier, but the fall of Gibraltar had opened exciting new
possibilities. With the right force in hand, and adequate supplies, he thought
he could go all the way to the Suez Canal in 90 days. That thought was now
uppermost in his mind.