MacGregor had 3/11 Sikh Rifles close by, though as far as they were concerned, the AT guns belonged to Arderne. Now, with the evening deepening to velvet and grey, it would come down to battlefield sense and initiative.
General Schmidt of the 10th Motorized could see that the 3rd Brandenburgers had the situation in the Airfield Settlement well in hand. There was no point in committing his division there as he had planned. The British withdrawal to the bund line had changed all that. So acting on his own initiative again, he pulled his men out and swung them south to move over the northern end of that elevated railway embankment that Blaxland was so pleased he had seen fit to occupy. MacGregor had put no men on it, preferring to hold behind the River Khir on the grounds of the Palace of the Crown Prince. So when the Germans approached the bridge, they found it largely unguarded.
“There’s just a few small caliber AT guns,” said a Corporal after scouting the position.
When Arderne had given the order to fall back to the bund, he made it a point to personally radio 1/5 Maharatta, the troops that had been on that railway embankment, and he ordered them to move back across the Khir over that little road bridge, and then take up new positions at the southernmost segment of the bund. “Leave the AT Battery at the bridge,” he finished, thinking it would do better there than anywhere else. He assumed that MacGregor’s men would look after them, but they weren’t his guns, so he left them alone—nor did he back them up with any of his own infantry. These were the sort of mishaps that happened all too often along the boundaries between formations, and the Germans sensed this, knowing they had found a border zone, one of those grey areas on the battlefield that might be easily exploited.
As darkness fell, Schmidt ordered his men to quietly form up behind the elevated railway embankment west of the river. They now had orders to push on over that embankment and take the bridge. He was planning to see if he could throw his whole division in there, and getting that bridge intact would save time, as he would not need the engineers to build a pontoon further upstream.
The soldiers of Oberst Bayer’s 20th Motorized Regiment soon had that bridge, making a surprise attack that quickly stormed that little AT battery. Then he ran his entire regiment over the river Khir, assisted by his pioneer battalion. He could see opportunity in the darkness, and he seized the moment with typical German initiative. It was risky, because with the bulk of his troops east of the Khir, there was nothing to stop Blaxland from swinging up his 20th and 21st Brigades and cutting Schmidt off—nothing but two Brandenburg Kommando companies, Schmidt’s PzJager battalion, and Blaxland’s own lethargy. This attack was the first crack in the dam that would unhinge the entire British defense west of the Tigris.
At the same time, Konrad’s Lehr Regiment continued to push right up the west bank of the Tigris as ordered, and Alan Barker’s shattered 27th Indian Brigade could not stop them. The disruption of his battalions, the heavy casualties he had sustained, the darkness and exhaustion all played their part, and the Germans were overrunning what remained of his troops by midnight.
The big objectives along that river bank were the three main bridges over the Tigris. In the north was the Ghazi Bridge, which would cross and take you right into the Government Ministry building complex on the east bank. About one kilometer down river was the Faisal Bridge, which would lead into the financial district and a series of big hotels on the east bank. Between those two bridges, the British Embassy sat on the west bank, where Wilson’s had his HQ for the whole British operation. While he could hear the fighting that had taken place in the rail yard and aerodrome that day, he was not yet aware of the gravity of that situation, and did not know how serious Konrad’s breakthrough had been. When Barker’s 27th collapsed, there had been no time to find a telephone and ring up Wilson.
Working late that night as always, the General was in his British Embassy building office when he heard a dull rumble and what sounded like vehicles in the distance. Wondering what it was, he sent a runner out to have a look, and the man came back in white faced shock.
“General sir! It’s the Germans—motorcycle troops, lorried infantry and armored cars coming right down the river road! They’re already crossing the Ghazi Bridge!”
“Good god,” Wilson breathed. Barker had been so enmeshed in trying to hold his brigade together that he had not reported the danger to Wilson. “Wake the entire staff. Grab everything, papers, maps, code books and boxes. Yank out the phone lines and let’s get moving! We’ll cross at the Faisal Bridge.”
The Embassy also had a boat launch for an emergency like this, but Wilson preferred to take his chances in a fast moving truck. Things were slipping everywhere. In the north, the Germans under KG Rosenfeld had fought their way to the outskirts of the palace Hube wanted, and now the two breakthroughs by Konrad and Schmidt were going to cause a real problem. The only man with the authority to correct it was beating a hasty retreat from the embassy.
The dual breakthroughs west of the river were now threatening to completely encircle all the British forces still deployed in defense of the al Muthana Aerodrome. The loss of the Ghazi Bridge meant that the Germans could put forces on the east bank of the Tigris, right into the heart of the main city, and several kilometers behind all the British and Indian troops fighting on that side of the river. To make matters worse, no one knew what was happening. Even Wilson was only reacting to his own private disaster, though he certainly knew the danger the army was in now. He needed a steady and ready reserve, and the first man he tried to contact with a radio in the back of his staff lorry, was General Grover of the 2nd British Infantry Division.
John Malcom Lawrence Grover was a steady man indeed, veteran of the first war where he was wounded three times. Promoted to command 2nd Division, he had made his fortune, in military terms, in Burma, particularly at the Battle for Kohima in 1944. But that hour had not yet come. Now these circumstances saw him leading his men up the road into Baghdad.
“For God sakes, John, where are you? The Germans have run me right out of the embassy, and they’ve got the Ghazi Bridge!”
“The head of my column has just passed the US Embassy. We’re only about five klick south of you. Hold on, Jumbo.”
“Well come up the road on the east bank of the Tigris. All I’ve got on the Faisal Bridge is a company of S.A.S. boys and some Ack Ack guns. I’m making for map grid 44.3. You can reach me there.”
That was the Sinbad Hotel on the east bank of the river, about 600 meters from the Faisal Bridge. Wilson was at his wits end when he got there, desperately trying to get his HQ reset, and establish communications with his division commanders. Then he got a small break when Brigadier Anstice of 7th Armored telephoned the hotel.
“General, I was just motoring up to my brigade when I heard you on the radio. My men pushed on north, but I can get them back here if need be.”
“Where are they now?” asked Wilson.
“Up on one of the gaps in that inner marsh line. Just above the slaughterhouse. There some ruckus north of there near Grid 93.”