Crüwell would escape his fate as a captive this time around, and now it remained to be seen whether or not von Thoma would become a reliable replacement.
“Useless mouths to feed,” he said to Rommel. “The Italians are good hard workers, but they do not like to fight. It’s simply too noisy on the battlefield to suit them.”
“Well it has been entirely too quiet of late,” said Rommel. “Finally they start with the morning artillery barrages again, which could be a sign that something is in the offing. I got a most unusual message the other day, delivered to me in that secure diplomatic pouch you brought me. Did you know about it?”
“Me? No, I do not read the mail I deliver, Herr General. What was it, if you don’t mind my asking—a message from the Führer? It must be nice to have such a cozy relationship like that.”
“Don’t think it is easy,” said Rommel. “Yes, I am fortunate to have the trust and confidence of the Führer, but the man can be… trying. As to this message, it was not from Hitler. It was a note from Himmler.”
“Himmler? What would the SS Chief want to convey to you? Is he sending one of his precious divisions?”
“Not exactly,” said Rommel. “Yet he mentioned a brigade he has formed, and stated he was holding it in readiness for deployment to Spain.”
“Spain? Why there?”
“He believes an invasion is imminent.”
“The British?”
“And their new friends, the Americans.”
“Invade Spain? That will not be as easy as it might sound. Cadiz is the only place they could look at, and even that is so close to Gibraltar that our Stukas would pound them to dust.”
“Oh?” Rommel smiled. “General, you are new here, but you will soon learn that our Stukas pound very little these days. Unless we can give them air superiority with our fighters, they are useless. That wasn’t so difficult last year, but now, the Americans are delivering scores of new aircraft to this theater, and the balance has tipped in favor of the enemy. If the Allies do launch such an attack, you can believe that they will be sure to bring along a few hundred fighters. Things look different on a battlefield when you are under constant attack from above. Goering clucks and boasts a good deal, and he has deigned to deliver his personal armored brigade into my hands, but if he would deliver a few more Bf-109s, I would be happier.”
“An invasion of Spain….” Von Thoma had a thoughtful look on his face. “You know I fought with the Condor Legion there—hard fighting. That’s where we first got our hands on those Bf-109s, and worked out all the problems until they were the finest fighter in the world. And we had the 88s there as well. I suggested several improvements.”
“I am glad for that,” said Rommel. “I was putting them to very good use, until the British rolled up a tank that even that gun cannot handle.”
“I have heard the rumors. Haven’t you captured one by now?”
Rommel flashed him a dark look. “Almost… In this instance, it was indeed a Stuka that got our first kill on one of them. It was disabled on the battlefield, and one of our recon platoons was approaching it when a monster appeared that froze their blood—some kind of massive engineering tank that looked like a demon from hell. It hauled off the enemy tank before we could get our hands on it.”
“But surely there were other kills.”
“No General, only one. This tank is completely invulnerable to any weapon we have—yes, even the new upgraded 88s. In fact, it is the reason I am sitting here instead of Alexandria. From what we have seen, there are not many of them, perhaps only a single brigade, but they move with incredible speed, and have a main gun that can outrange any weapon we have except the 88. Our tanks are hit before we can even see the enemy coming. I’ve tried everything, and all it resulted in was one wrecked panzer division after another. Crüwell was largely responsible. He would rush in, thinking he was up against those old British cruiser tanks. Then these monsters appeared.”
“Only a brigade you say? Where is it now? Surely you have intelligence.”
“We believe it is at Jalo, well south. If we dare make a move east, then it will be right on our flank as before.”
Why not simply block it with infantry, then swarm it with anti-tank teams carrying the new Panzerfausts?”
“A good idea, if I could get enough Panzerfausts to matter. The only vulnerable spot on that tank might be the tracks or wheels, but they move so damn fast that hitting one on the run is very difficult. And these tanks do not fight without infantry support—armored troops in a very fast vehicle with a 20 or 30mm gun, or so we believe. This brigade is a perfect combined arms kampfgruppe—infantry, armor, excellent heavy artillery support. I’ve tried everything, and when you get out to the front you will see the only solution I have come to—WWI.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Wire, trenches, mines, saturation kill zones for our artillery, and every 88 we have is dug in deep at hard points along the line. The infantry dug in as well, just like the first war. If we attempt to fight with our new tactics using the panzers, that brigade will trump any maneuver we make, and smash our Schwerpunkt. Then the rest of the British armored force comes in and it becomes a matter of simple attrition. We start a battle with 350 tanks, and end up with 70 or 80 when it is over. I got as far east as Mersa Matruh last year, but no farther. That was when we first encountered this new enemy formation. It came out of the south, and hit us on the flank at Bir el Khamsa. Believe me, that was quite a shock. Looking back on it now, I can see it was the beginning of the end for us here.”
“I see….” Von Thoma seemed concerned now, hearing a vacant, empty tone in Rommel’s voice. “If the British have such tanks, then why do they not attack?”
“Oh, they did attack. That’s what pushed us off our Gazala line. It was the same old story, Montgomery with the infantry pushing up the coast; O’Connor with the armor trying to swing south around our flank. I had all three of my panzer divisions lined up to smash him at his turning point. Then Crüwell ran off halfcocked and started a premature engagement. He got into trouble, called for Bayerlein, and by the time I got there it was a complete mess. I sent in my last division to try and win the day—then these monster tanks appeared again, and that was that. Well, Herr General, rest assured, the British are not done with us yet. That was what Himmler was whispering in that message you delivered—another big offensive. He believes the Allies are planning to open a second front.”
“In Spain?”
“There, and possibly in French North Africa. If it happens, then you can bet that it will put an end to my supplies and replacements. Himmler even suggested that I stand ready to detach units west if the need arises. Perhaps I will join them. The flies here are very bad in the summer. I’ve had my fill of Mersa Brega and El Agheila.”
Rommel’s Afrika Korps had reached the Mersa Brega line months ago, settling in behind well-established positions protected by wire, anti-tank ditches and minefields. The defeat at Gazala and the long retreat across Cyrenaica had taken some toll, but the enemy seemed in no better shape, and the pursuit was not pressed with any fervor. He had come over 250 miles in short order, but his major supply port at Tripoli was still another 450 miles to the west. Something was in the air, as Himmler’s message warned, and he would soon learn that the intelligence was very sound—the Allied landings at Lisbon and Casablanca were already underway as he spoke with von Thoma.