Solomon had no idea how many men were trapped in that pocket. He
did know that there were a lot, and that they had only the supplies they carried with them. Most particularly, that meant water. Every drop drunk by both armies had to be brought up from a rear base. For the Australians, that was Alexandria; but they had the Misheifa railway to bring it. The Italians had to use the ports at Bardia and Tobruk, and there was only the road now blocked for them to use. Thirsty might be a good word for the Italians to get to like.
The tea was ready. Solomon had his cuppa; thick with condensed milk and sweet with added sugar. The Commonwealth, as it was, had gone; who knew what would replace it. But, as long as there was plenty of tea, everything would be all right in the end.
“Of course, tea is a pretty good word too. Right, boys?”
There was a stir of appreciation at that while the men slurped down the precious nectar. Idly, Solomon wondered what their Italian opposite numbers were doing and whether the full extent of the disaster had dawned on them yet. Surely it has, he thought. If a sergeant sitting in the arse-end of nowhere can see it, they must be able to. Three days, I reckon, four at most and the poor Eye-ties will have their tongues hanging out. If what’s left of their army can’t break through to relieve them, they’re done for.
“Where do you think we’ll be going next, Sarge?”
Private Dobson had learned from his mistake and phrased the question much more carefully this time. A lesson learned, Solomon thought to himself. Confusion and vagueness gets people killed.
“West.” Solomon had been in the militia for years before transferring to the expeditionary force; he could see how the situation had to develop. “We’ve got half the Eye-tie army bottled up behind us. The only hope they’ve got is for the rest to break through and relieve them. The brass will want the encirclement ring as thick as possible to make sure they don’t pull it off. The last thing they’ll want is a single battalion holding off an assault all by itself. So, we’ll go west. In fact, I reckon the pommy tanks are already heading that way.”
“The Tillies ain’t.” Another private had finished his tea and was sanding out his mug.
“Tilly ain’t going anywhere fast.” Dobson spoke with certainty. “We can walk faster than them.”
“Yeah, but see them go at Nibbi? Waddled forward with wop shells just bouncing off them. All we had to do was follow them in. Reckon they deserves their rest.”
Solomon nodded to himself as he finished his tea. The stunning victories at Nibeiwa and Tummar had him slightly worried. The boys were enthusiastic enough, but he knew how green they were. They could do a simple ‘two-up, one-back and follow the tanks in,’ but that was all. They didn’t know how much they had to learn. Solomon knew he was slightly better off due to the service with the militia; he knew how much he had to learn. At least some of them also realized how green they were now. The rout of the Italians at Nibeiwa could easily have made them overconfident. It still could; when the memory of the Matildas grinding through the Italian defenses, shrugging off the shots from the Italian antitank guns, had faded.
“Sergeant, get the men mounted up. We’ve been ordered to follow the road west. Fourth Armored Brigade has reached the second ‘B’ in Buq Buq and we’re needed to hold the ground they’ve taken. Solomon, a word please.”
Solomon had the men breaking their bivouac and getting the gear stowed while he turned to his officer. “Sir?”
“Joe, load your wagon up with as much in the way of supplies as you can scrounge. Buq Buq is just the start. I think we’ll be going on to Bardia and possibly all the way to Tobruk. God knows when we’ll get a chance to resupply next.”
“Will do, sir.” Solomon watched his officer move across to the next bivvy and repeat the orders.
I just hope the brass don’t get overconfident as well.
“I hope we’re not biting off more than we can chew here.”
Wavell looked at the situation map with something close to disbelief. The huge Italian Army that had been threatening Egypt was split in two, with the largest portion trapped inside Egypt. Its vast supply dumps were already in Allied hands. The spearhead of the attack was broadening by the hour as the cruiser tanks of the Fourth Armored Brigade chewed westwards, forcing the two parts of the Italian Army further and further apart. Looking at the two sausages that indicated the Italian positions, Wavell was reminded of a worm that had been chopped in half.
“Oh, we are.” Maitland Wilson spoke with what Wavell could only describe as unholy relish. “The situation on the ground is ridiculous, bordering on the absurd. I’d guess our opposite numbers in Tripoli and Rome are in a state of denial right now. What they’re seeing can’t be happening; at least, not to a conventional way of thinking. On the other hand, if they realize that leg infantry just don’t matter in this kind of war, then it all makes sense.”
“What’s the score so far?” Wavell was still fascinated by the situation on the map.
Maitland Wilson shuffled his reports. “So far, we have reports of 73 Italian tanks and 37 artillery pieces being destroyed or captured and approximately 8,300 Italian soldiers killed or captured. Our losses to date are 18 Matilda tanks disabled, but all have been recovered and are repairable. The Australians lost 21 officers and 194 men killed and wounded. The real problem is going to be when the Sidi Barrani pocket collapses, which it will do in a few days time. That will throw some 80,000 Italian prisoners into our lap. We’re already capturing huge supply dumps and there are more to come. Bernie Freyberg’s New Zealanders are in heaven. They’ve motorized themselves on Italian-made trucks and they’ve now got a tank battalion with thirty-odd Italian M11/39 tanks.”
“I see a problem there.”
“So do I, Archie; two, in fact. One is the one you’re thinking of: they’ll get shot up by mistake. So far, they’re being kept well back from the front line as GHQ reserve to avoid just that happening. The other is that all that Italian kit is diesel-engined and we don’t have much diesel fuel available. I suggest we send them to Palestine; guard our back door, as it were. The French in Syria don’t look kindly on us at all. The Kiwis are as green as the proverbial grass, so the more time they get to shake down, the better.”
Wavell nodded thoughtfully. With considerable effort, he tore his eyes away from the situation on the North African coast to take in what was happening elsewhere in his region. Italian resistance in Ethiopia was collapsing as the Indian and South African troops moved in to support the tribes that had risen in revolt. Another Indian division was hammering on the gates of Asmara in Eritrea. Palestine and Syria were the only unguarded sections of the region and they offered scope for his New Zealand troops to settle down. “Good idea, Jumbo; make it so. You know what will happen next, don’t you?”
“The Italians will try to break through to relieve the troops we’ve cut off? Archie, they’ve got 50,000 or 60,000 men left in Cyrenaica, mostly around Bardia and Tobruk. They’re just more leg infantry; they can’t go anywhere. In fact, I’m getting a mobile group ready to put them in the bag. I’m using the 11th Hussars with their armored cars as the core, with a battalion of lorried infantry and some artillery. I’m planning to send the Australians along the coast road to keep pressure on the Italians in Bardia and Tobruk, while the mobile group goes across the neck of Cyrenaica, south of the Green Mountains. There’s some desert tracks that can be used; they’ll take the column by way of Bir el Gubi and Bir Hacheim to end up on the coast just north of El Agheila. Place called Beda Fomm. We’ll block there and the whole Italian North African Army will be gone. There’ll be nothing between us and Tripoli.”