Three Kings (Kirov Series) (23 page)

"
Trid
toqtol
il-brimba
biex
tnehhi
l-
ghanqbuta
.”

“You must kill the spider
to get rid of the web.”

―
Maltese Proverb

Chapter 19

The
Germans were pounding
Malta from the air. In the weeks while Rommel was gathering up his 5th Light
Division and making the long journey south from Tripoli, smiling Albert
Kesselring was quietly setting up Luftwaffe liaison officer groups on key bases
in Italy and Sicily. Squadrons of Bf-109s, Ju-87
Stukas
, Ju-88s and
He-111s were being moved by night from airfields in Germany and France to these
new fields, and setting up for action under Fliegerkorps XI. Meanwhile, the
trains had quietly transported companies of tough, hardened men in grey
camo
fatigues, the battalions and regiments that Kurt
Student had been assembling under his 7th Flieger Division. They would soon be
joined by flocks of Ju-52 transports, the three engine workhorse of the
Luftwaffe that was affectionately called “
Tante
Ju
” or “Aunt
Ju
.”

Aerial reconnaissance and
photography had been ongoing for the last two weeks, always using Italian
planes. The Germans were closely watching the airfields for any sign of fighter
buildup there, and also waiting to pounce on any Royal Navy convoy that
appeared to be bound for Malta from the east.

None came.

British air power was still
rather lean in the Middle East, and now Greece was calling on her for
additional support. The political necessity of supporting an ally had already
forced Wavell to make some very hard decisions. He had already taken half the
wind out of O’Connor’s sails when he withdrew the 4th Indian Division weeks ago
and sent it to Sudan. Now divisions that had been earmarked as reinforcements
for O’Connor were being rescheduled for movement to Greece.

O’Connor had gladly accepted the
6th Australian when he lost the Indian division, and he had put it to good use,
fighting all the way across Cyrenaica to the Gulf of Sirte. He was all set to continue
his drive when Wavell again intimated that the now veteran 6th Australian
Division may have to go to Greece, along with the newly arriving 2nd New
Zealand Division, and a brigade of armor taken from the 2nd Armor Division. In
return he would get the 9th Australian Division, but O’Connor had argued that
to move that division from Cairo all the way out west while the 6th was making
the same journey east would be a terrible waste of time and petrol. Eventually
Wavell agreed and decided to send the Greeks the 9th Australian, and the
necessary shipping was being gathered at Alexandria just when Rommel started
his counteroffensive.

Cyrenaica had been relegated to
the status of a buffer zone in Wavell’s mind, though he continued to encourage
O’Connor’s plans. That said, he did not believe that he could possibly reach
Tripoli with German troops landing there, and told O’Connor to wait until they
could sort out the Greek mess before planning any real move. Until then, he was
free to probe along the southern coast of the Gulf of Sirte to determine enemy
intentions, and seek the best defensive ground in that sector.
Mersa
Brega
and El Agheila were
desirable for the water available there, and an airfield. O’Connor had taken
the former, and was preparing to drive on the latter when Rommel struck with
his own Operation
Sonnenblume
.

The instant O’Connor reported on
what was happening, Wavell knew there would be no further offensive to the west
for some time. “We are in no position to reinforce you,” he had said. “All you
can do now is fall back. Preserve your force as much as possible, particularly
the armor. Even Benghazi is to be considered expendable and held only insofar
as it seems practical to cover the retreat of the garrison there.”

O’Connor had agreed, even though
it meant he would now be handing back all the hard won ground he had taken from
the Italian 10th Army in his lighting dash west. And so he pulled back, moving
the 6th Australian Division north through Benghazi, while he gathered up what
was left of his armor and back-tracked east. Rommel ended up striking nothing,
reporting to Keitel that he had been sent there to stop O’Connor, but there was
nothing to stop! His counteroffensive had turned into little more than a brisk
reoccupation of the ground lost by Graziani, with surprisingly little fighting.

It was what came next that was
the real bolt from the blue. The grim faced
Falschirmtruppen
were lining up on the airstrips near Taranto, Naples, and at
Comiso
and
Gerbini
on Sicily
after a week of intense air duels and bombing over Malta.

Squadron
Leader A.C. ‘Jock’ Martin, the Commanding Officer of R.A.F.
Luqa
,
had limped out to his plane for the twenty-fifth time that week, but there were
all too few left. He had lost some very good men, including Flight Lieutenant
Peter
Keeble
and his Flag Officer William Woods, old
‘Timber’ as he was called by the men. The German 109s had cut down his
Gladiator
,
which was no match for the faster, more modern fighter. Now he wondered how
long they would have to wait for help from Alexandria, and he feared it would
be a very long time indeed.

Now he
was patrolling in a
Hurricane
when tower control radioed the heading of
yet another incoming formation of enemy planes. There was no one else up on
CAP, and so he decided he would have to go in alone. What he found was a
formation of twenty S-79s of the 34
^o
Stormo
intending to strike the airfield at
Luqa
. Martin knew
he could not possibly stop a formation of that size, but he could raise hell
and try to break them up as they approached the field. He got in one good pass,
like a hawk falling on a formation of geese flying south, and managed to down
one plane, wheel about and take a second from beneath, starting an engine fire.
Then he had company with the arrival of Italian
Sergente
Abramo
Lanzarini
of the
72nd
Squadriglia
in an MC-200 fighter.

The two
pilots maneuvered for advantage, each one skilled enough to send hot tracers
zipping perilously close to the other. Then Martin hit his flaps, radically
altering his speed to allow the Italian fighter to sweep by. He kicked the
plane over to follow, poured on power with his guns blazing and ended the duel
as the MC-200 went into an dive, smoke trailing from the tail.

Martin
saw the Italian pilot had managed to leap from the plane, a loose strap from
his seat harness sheared off as he did so, but to his horror, he saw no
parachute open. The equipment had failed in the one task it was made for, and
Sergente
Abramo
Lanzarini
plummeted to his death.

It was
difficult to witness such an event, but Martin tried to remind himself that he
was shooting at planes, not the men inside them. It was a thin emotional
barrier he surrounded himself with, knowing inherently that
Lanzarini’s
death could have been his own fate, as every pilot had an inbred kinship with
the men he faced in the sky.

Lanzarini’s
death
had not been in vain, for his brave intervention had at least drawn Martin from
his attack on the bombers. Now they were over the airfield at
Luqa
, and trying to hit the hangers where the work crews
were fitfully struggling to get another
Hurricane
engine operational to
give the hard pressed Squadron Leader some help.

The
other main airfield at Hal Far had been hit very hard the previous day, and
several
Hurricanes
had been lost on the ground. Lieutenants John Waters
and Peter Hartley had been out from that station in their
Swordfish
when
they got word that a naval flotilla was heading for the island. What they saw
was more than they could deal with given the few planes they had. The Italian
Navy was coming out to fight. All the battleships that had been at Taranto had
sortied days before the long planned carrier raid by Admiral Cunningham’s
fleet. Now they were gathering ominously in the Central Mediterranean, and the
increased air activity over Malta began to take on the darker prospect of
imminent invasion.

Then
word came that the French Navy was at sea, getting up steam from their major
base at Toulon. There were no details as to what had sailed, but the movement
of “several large capital ships” was deemed most disturbing.

* * *

Now
the meeting was being
held to determine what to do about the impending crisis on Malta. Yet the
allies did not yet know the full scope of the plans their enemy had for the
island, or that even as they spoke, the engines were turning over on the German
Ju-52s at four airfields to the north.

Wavell and Cunningham entered,
all the men standing to greet them, and then Wavell came right up to Admiral
Volsky and extended a hand in a hearty greeting.

“That was quite a display just
now, Admiral,” he said in perfect Russian, for Wavell had mastered the language
when he served as a military observer with the Russian Army in 1911, and was
eager to have a chance to use that tool. “We have seen the smoke, and I have no
doubt that there is more fire behind it than meets the eye.”

Volsky smiled, glancing at
Fedorov to make the introductions. “You speak Russian—a very pleasant surprise.
Our Mister Nikolin here is adept in English, but now he will not have to carry
so much water from the well.”

“Indeed,” said Wavell, shaking
Fedorov’s hand as he was introduced. Then to Admiral Tovey he said: “General
O’Connor was supposed to be joining us, flying in from Tobruk this morning. It
appears he’s running late, so we may as well begin. Gentlemen, we have a good
deal to sort out here. The wolves are on the move in the desert again, and they
will soon be on our doorstep. I also regret to inform you that Malta is again
under heavy air attack. Things are heating up. I must admit I did not expect
the Germans to reinforce the Italians here in North Africa this quickly.”

Fedorov was not surprised to hear
this news for he knew the Germans would intensify their air attacks against
Malta. He also knew they had developed a plan to invade the island, though it
was not until 1942 that this came anywhere close to fruition, and the operation
had been cancelled.

Wavell continued his briefing. “I
have ordered General O’Connor to withdraw to Tobruk, as there is no way we can
hope to hold on to Cyrenaica with so many troops earmarked for Greece.”

Fedorov gave Admiral Volsky a
sidelong glance, but Tovey spoke next.

“If I may, general, I have some
information to convey from Bletchley Park.”

This was the plan that Fedorov
had arranged. He had prepared intelligence on Rommel’s true intentions to try
and demonstrate the real threat to Egypt. Now Tovey handed Wavell a thin report
showing the planned German buildup in North Africa. It listed every unit that
had been sent in the history Fedorov knew, 5th Light Division, later reinforced
to become the 21st Panzer Division, the 15th Panzers, 90th Light, 164th Light
and eventually 10th Panzer Division.

“My goodness,” said Wavell. “We
knew about the plans to move their new 15th Panzer Division, but not these
others. Five divisions?”

“BP isn’t sure of the timetable,
but they believe these units will eventually form for service in North Africa
given present intelligence. Some are new formations, others don’t exist yet.
And as for this present action now underway, your intelligence characterizing
Rommel’s move as being merely defensive in nature is mistaken. Bletchley Park
now believes he intends to drive all the way to Alexandria, and may bloody well
do so if we let him.”

Tovey was stretching the matter
here, but he knew he could rely on the ingenuity of Alan Turing at BP to
generate any intelligence required to make his assertions ring true. This had
been the plan they agreed upon at their crucial Faeroes conference, that
Fedorov would feed intelligence to BP through Turing as they all struggled to
steer the unwieldy ship of war.

“I see…” Wavell folded his arms,
obviously concerned, yet taking the news with calm professionalism. “And how
certain is Bletchley Park on this? Haven’t they informed Mister Eden and the
Prime Minister?”

“At the moment it seems Mister
Churchill has politics in mind concerning any movement to support Greece, and
not military matters,” said Tovey, “which brings us to the heart of this
business. Our Russian friends here also have an intelligence arm, and good men
on the ground throughout the Balkans. Here is the German plan to take
Yugoslavia and Greece—Operation
Marita
—and they
believe this information is quite sound.”

Now Cunningham’s face truly
darkened. “My God,” he said. “This is certainly not a force we can hope to hold
for very long.”

“Thirty six divisions in all,
including reserves,” said Tovey, “and note the heavy concentration in armor, a
full ten Panzer Divisions will be committed. In this light, you may wish to
reconsider your present plans to reinforce Greece.”

Wavell scratched his head,
clearly surprised by the intelligence, yet experienced enough to realize that
was all it was, the best guess of a web like network of men, with information
gleaned from brothels, bars, and hotels as much as through signals intelligence
or any real reading of enemy plans and orders. Intelligence was a shadowy cloak
and dagger world of whispers, rumors, and elaborate deceptions, so he took the
information with a grain of salt, while giving it thoughtful consideration at
the same time.