“Don’t worry about them, I’ll take care of that personally. Just get the other battalions back to the airfield bund—on the double!”
The retreat was now rippling down the line, passing from Barker’s 27th, to Selby’s 28th, and now Ardene’s 25th, which was one of Blaxland’s 10th Indian Division brigades. The acting division commander was still in the Royal Palace having his tea, with all quiet on his front. He was admiring the thick tapestry on the walls, and looking at the portraits of sheiks in their ornate Arab headdress.
Lieutenant Fitch, his Adjutant, was standing by the lace curtained window, listening to the rumble of battle to the north, the lines on his forehead deepening with what he perceived as a growing sound of chaos. He looked over his shoulder, seeing that Blaxland had set down his teacup and was slowly pulling out a cigar, for he always enjoyed an early smoke.
“Sir,” Fitch said tentatively. “It sounds like there’s a good deal of commotion up north—at the airfield.”
“The airfield? That’s Arderne’s watch. Has he reported anything?”
“No sir. Just that business about the airfield settlement. Might there be a row underway there?”
“Well man, has he said anything about it?”
“No sir, we’ve had no reports for the last hour. Should I ring him up at the hotel?”
“If you wish.”
Fitch rang up the hotel, learning that Brigadier Arderne had gone forward to see about that fighting near the settlement. “I’m sure he’s got it all sorted out,” said the staffer at the hotel.
“Well, have you heard from him directly?”
“In point of fact, we haven’t, but we expect him back shortly.”
“Very well…. Have him call Division HQ and report. And use the land lines. We don’t want Jerry listening in on the radio.”
As Lieutenant Fitch walked slowly back through the long marbled hall of the palace, and into the stateroom where Blaxland held forth, wave after wave of British Indian Infantry was falling back to his north. He couldn’t see it, nor had he any clear report about it, but he could feel it, a slowly rising tension that hung on the late morning air, thickening with each passing minute to something that was almost palpable.
Blaxland was lost in his coils of grey white smoke, plopped on a soft easy chair, his feet up, looking over the quartermaster’s report. “Seems like a little too much ammunition expenditure yesterday,” he said. “There’s only so much bunkered here at the palace. See that the quartermaster is a bit more stingy today, will you Fitch?”
“Of course, sir.” Fitch was standing, hands clasped behind his back, a nervousness pursing his lips, and a sheen of sweat on his brow.
“A good deal of smoke and dust up near Arderne, sir,” he prodded. “Care to have a look?”
“Whatever for?” Blaxland seemed uninterested.
The telephone rang, and Fitch visibly jerked with the alarm. He walked quickly to the table near the long well cushioned chairs, and picked up the receiver. “Division, Lieutenant Fitch here.” There was an edge of expectancy in his tone.
It was Eddie Arderne. After ordering his men back to the airfield bund, he sped off across the field to the nearest hangar, where he could use a land line to telephone division HQ. Fitch handed the phone to Blaxland.
“Sir!” he said, his voice still laden with the emotion of the hour. “We’ve had to pull back from the Airfield Settlement. There’s been a general withdrawal to the north. 6th Indian is on our right, and there’s a good deal of fighting up that way.”
“Well are your lines well set?”
“Yes sir. We got back in good order.”
“Good,” said Blaxland. “That Airfield Settlement wasn’t worth anything. You’re better off on the bund. Dig in there and protect that airfield. Call me if there’s anything more pressing. And Arderne…. Settle down, will you? You’ve been running about all morning. There’s a good gentlemen.”
Blaxland hung up the telephone, looking at Lieutenant Fitch. “Arderne’s on the Airfield Bund. Mark it up on the morning map, will you?”
“Yes sir. Anything more? Shall I inform General Wilson?”
“No, don’t bother. 25th Brigade hasn’t moved but half a kilometer. You can include it in the mid-day update.”
Hans Hube came down from the forward depot to Adhamiya to see what was happening. There he met with both Schneider and Westhoven to assess the situation.
“They were quick to withdraw,” said Schneider. “They knew trouble when they saw it. Now they’ve pulled back through the southern fringes of Al Zamiyah, and across this ground here, Najib Basha.” He pointed a finger to the spot on the map, a lightly wooded area north of yet another palace, home to some privileged Sheik or royal heir. The institute of Fine Arts was in that same complex, and 400 meters to the right was an open field known as the Scout Yard, where the British would put the young scouts through their paces.
“That narrows the front to no more than two kilometers because of that line of marshes to the east,” said Westhoven. “Everything they had here is compressed into that zone. It will be very thick, and slow going.”
Hube rubbed his chin. “Do we have enough infantry to hold that and screen it off?”
“We’ve got the first Brandenburg Regiment over here close to the Tigris. Then the rest of the front would have to be covered by the 78th Sturm Division. Half of their men are on the other side of this marshy zone. They’ve been trying to turn the enemy right flank for the last two days, and they’ve made some progress.”
“Perhaps we should move that direction,” said Hube. “I don’t like the idea of grinding our way through that narrow two kilometer front.”
“If we can take that palace, we might get the bridge,” said Schneider. “That would give us a good link to the rest of the Brandenburg Division on the other side of the river. They took the rail yard this morning.”
“Well can you take it? The day is wearing thin. The sun will be down soon, and if we move, then we do so tonight.”
“Move where, sir?”
“Along this road that passes near that Arab settlement.”
“What about the canals,” asked Westhoven. “They aren’t more than ten feet wide, but they do slow us down.”
“My KG Kufner is over there already,” said Schneider. “He’s got the pioneers, and they must have laid pontoons to get as far as they have.”
“That looks like the better move to me,” said Hube. “I see only two problems. The first is this long outer canal line here. They have to have that guarded, so swinging through the Arab Settlement gives us good ground, but we’d eventually have to breach that canal line when we turn for the city. If we follow KG Kufner, then we’re inside that area bounded by the canal, and somewhat bottled up.”
“They can’t hurt us,” said Westhoven, “not with infantry.”
“This city is better defended by the marshland and canals than anything else,” said Hube. “Alright—a compromise. Schneider, see if you can take that palace tonight. We’ll screen the front with the 78th. Westhoven, you take your division around that inner marsh line and join KG Kufner. I want you in position to attack tomorrow morning. Get down here and cut the rail line. What is that building there astride the tracks?”
Westhoven leaned in, squinting at the map.
“The slaughterhouse,” he said.
“Take it,” said Hube.
Chapter 23
What happened next on the southwest front where Blaxland was sitting down to dinner in the Royal Palace was a combination of many factors. Darkness had fallen, the lazy sun well set, the amber sky tinged with grey as a few low clouds formed on the horizon. Brigadier Arderne had ‘settled down’ on that airfield bund, an embankment that protected the field on its western front from any possible flooding of the Khir river. The 3rd Brandenburg Regiment had cleared the Airfield Settlement, getting over the elevated rail sour that passed through to face off against Arderne’s troops on that bund. Arderne’s line extended south over a kilometer, but he had left his AT battery on a bridge over the Khir, right at the northern end of MacGregor’s 20th Indian Brigade.