That was 3rd Panzer Division, now pushing into a small hamlet called Kharistan against Langran’s 9th Indian Brigade. The ‘rukkus’ had been reported, but the officer charged with that duty found the lines dead to the British Embassy, so no one knew what was really happening there. Now Wilson was going to make a most important choice. Should he leave the 7th Armored Brigade where it was, or did the urgency of his own situation trump what he might imagine in Grid 93? It did, and he told Anstice to get his tanks to the river as fast as he could, and to head for the Ghazi Bridge. They got there just as 1st and 2nd companies of I Battalion, Lehr Regiment, had completed their crossing to secure the east end of the bridge.
The tanks rolled up, along with a company of infantry, and they were soon firing hotly at the German troops, forcing them to get into any building they could reach for cover. That timely arrival would stop the southern pincer threatening to penetrate into the city center, but it would improve Westhoven’s prospects in his envelopment near Kharistan. Wilson had a good deal more to do, and dawn, with Grover’s 2nd Infantry Division, could not come soon enough.
When Guderian heard the news, he was elated.
“Excellent!” he exclaimed. “Schmidt used his head tonight, and that will make a good difference. The 901st Lehr has arrived, has it not?”
“Yes sir, it is pulling into the rail yard now.”
“Then send orders to Scholze. He’s to follow Konrad with all speed.”
Feed a fire, Guderian knew. Now he would double his bet on the west bank thrust with both his elite Lehr Regiments. The news that Konrad had already taken the Ghazi bridge by storm was particularly encouraging. Guderian moved through the rail yard that night, assessing the damage to the tracks and inspecting the small fuel bunker. There was still good fuel there. The retreat of the previous day had been so abrupt that the British had no time to blow it all up. Then he learned what Hube had ordered, discovering that his 3rd Panzer Division had made that enveloping movement around the inner marsh line.
We have a real chance here, he thought. If Hube gets around that flank, he’s in a perfect position to link up with a thrust over the Ghazi Bridge, assuming we can hold that bridgehead. I must urge him to push hard.
Joe Kingstone would soon have more to do than he expected.
In the early pre-dawn hours, the telephone rang at the King’s Royal Palace in the south. Lieutenant Fitch had heard the rumble of battle to the north, and sure enough, it was MacGregor of the 20th Indian Brigade.
“Jerry’s got the bridge over the Khir!” he reported with some urgency.
“What?” said Fitch. “You mean he’s gone right through Arderne?”
“He’s not even there,” said MacGregor. “His men pulled out yesterday; probably to see about that business at the Airfield settlement. Then Fritz hit the damn bridge an hour later.”
“Well why in bloody hell did you wait this long to report? It’s nearly 04:00.”
“I only just got word from the Sikhs! The thing is this. The Germans have pushed a lot of companies over that bridge. I think they moved on east to the Cotton Ginnery.”
That was a heavily built up industrial sector, just south of an elevated road that separated it from the aerodrome. It was bounded on the left by the town of Al Hartiyah, and on the right by impassable marshy ground, a perfect strongpoint for a defense. If the Germans could get there first, Blaxland’s two southernmost brigades would be cut off from Arderne on the Airfield bund, and there would be nothing to stop the Germans from going further east.
“This doesn’t sound good,” said Lieutenant Fitch. “We need that Cotton Ginnery. Can you fold back your lines. No—on second thought, you’d better get the rest of your brigade off that railway embankment and up to the Ginnery. I’ll wake Colonel Blaxland and tell him what’s happened at once.”
Blaxland wasn’t happy to be wakened, sitting up, bleary eyed and running a hand through his thinning hair. “What is it, Fitch? The sun isn’t even up.”
“Sir, I’ve just heard from MacGregor. He says the Germans are over the bridge on the Khir and heading for the Cotton Ginnery. I’ve told him he’d better see about it.”
“What? Over the bridge? Has Arderne called?”
“Not yet.”
“Well, see what he’s up to.”
“I rang the Airport Hotel twice, but the staffer says he’s not there—they sent a man out in a car to look for him.”
There came the distant boom of artillery, 25-Pounders, firing with increasing fervor. “What’s that artillery,” asked Blaxland. “Is that Arderne, or MacGregor?”
“I think it must be MacGregor’s guns sir. He must be firing at the Germans near the Khir River Bridge.”
“Well, I can’t imagine how they got over the railway embankment like that. I’ll certainly have to speak with Arderne about it. He was running about like a chicken with his head cut off yesterday. I won’t tolerate that sort.”
“Sir, shouldn’t we notify General Wilson about this? What if the Germans get to the Ginnery before MacGregor can stop them?”
“Yes, put in that call as well. But the thing is this: I’ve orders to keep these palaces safe and sound, and watch the River Khir. Arderne is behind this nonsense.”
“But there’s no one to our left now,” said Fitch. “The Germans pulled out yesterday, and now we bloody well know where they went, don’t we, sir. Shouldn’t we send a battalion or two up north? We’ve enough here to watch this flank. We could send them by the bridge behind the palace and along the Hamawi Road. They could get to the Washash Camp by that route, a good blocking position if the Germans do get to the Ginnery first.”
“Compose yourself, Fitch. You mustn’t let your imagination run wild. You’re starting to sound like Arderne. All we know at this point is that MacGregor says the Germans have taken the bridge over the Khir. Go make those calls and report back. I suppose I’d better get dressed and see about some tea. It may be a busy day.”
That was to be an understatement of the highest order. Blaxland was not a lazy man by nature. He worked very hard when he set his mind to something, but lacked the initiative to do what Fitch was suggesting here. His division had been posted to Baghdad, then they went out on that long sortie to the Euphrates that ended quite badly. He was only too glad to get back to the city, and Brigadier Kingstone had ruffled his feathers on that little adventure, upbraiding him for scattering his brigades about. He still simmered with some resentment over that, but in keeping with what Kingstone had said, he had placed his brigades on the objectives he was to hold, and there he sat. The choice of the luxurious Palace of Zuhur for his headquarters was not one that would easily see him want to move, unless directly ordered by Wilson to do so.
Nearly four kilometers to the north, at the airfield hangars, Arderne was pleased that he now had his full brigade in position on the bund. But he looked out to the southwest, seeing rising dust there with the dawn, and also hearing MacGregor’s guns. He rang up Division HQ just as Fitch was about to make his first call.
“Where are you?” asked Fitch.
“At the airfield hangars. My brigade is in good order on the bund.”
“Well you left that railway embankment and the Khir Bridge uncovered yesterday. Blaxland is working up to a fit about it.”
“What? I left a battery of 2-Pounder Portees and nine 37’s covering that bridge. And it was not but a hundred meters from MacGregor’s infantry. What’s the problem?”
“Jerry’s taken it! That’s the bloody problem. They ran right by MacGregor, and Blaxland won’t budge an inch. I’m calling Wilson next to see if I can get the General to order him to move.”