Chapter 319: The Crisis in Tobruk
Rommel wasted no time exploiting the collapse of the Anglo French offensive.
The North African Army surged eastward at full speed, armored columns rolling along the Mediterranean coast before Britain and France could rebuild their shattered lines.
Their remaining forces were in no condition to resist.
Benghazi fell first.
Then Green Mountain.
Derna followed soon after.
One defensive position after another collapsed beneath the pressure of German armor, artillery, and air power. The front retreated steadily eastward until the flames of war finally reached Tobruk.
Yet the man most troubled by this crisis was neither British nor French.
He was thousands of kilometers away in Moscow.
Stalin.
Finland's resistance had exceeded even his most pessimistic expectations.
Before the Mannerheim Line, corpses had accumulated in horrifying numbers. Soviet blood had soaked into the forests, villages, roads, and muddy fields, yet the offensive continued to crawl forward at an agonizing pace.
Ground taken during the day was often lost again by nightfall.
Units advanced several kilometers, only to discover that their supply routes had been cut or that Finnish troops had slipped back into the forests behind them.
Nearly two hundred thousand casualties had already been suffered.
And still, the Red Army remained largely outside the core defenses of the Mannerheim Line.
The number of meaningful breakthroughs could almost be counted on one hand.
At last, Stalin was forced to acknowledge a political reality he had previously preferred to ignore.
Free Britain and Free France were no longer merely distant partners of convenience.
Their survival had become strategically linked to that of the Soviet Union.
If Germany destroyed them in Egypt, then the last substantial military distraction to Germany's south would disappear.
After that, the European war machine could turn east.
"Comrade Stalin!"
Inside the Kremlin, Lieutenant General Gordov stood rigidly before the desk.
"All aviation units assigned from the Stalingrad Military District have completed deployment. They are currently operating near Iranian airspace."
He continued.
"Two infantry divisions have also crossed the Iranian frontier and are advancing toward the three forward settlements."
With Timoshenko transferred to the Finnish theater, command of the Stalingrad Military District had fallen to Gordov.
Stalin's brow tightened.
"Remember your mission."
His voice was calm, but the warning beneath it was unmistakable.
"You are there to attract German attention, not to begin a war with Germany."
Gordov listened carefully.
"Limited clashes are acceptable. Border incidents are acceptable. Pressure is acceptable."
Stalin leaned forward.
"But nothing you do is to alter the present international balance. You are not authorized to turn this operation into a direct Soviet German war."
Gordov raised his hand in salute.
"Understood, Comrade Stalin."
On May 2nd, Soviet forces from the Stalingrad Front officially began advancing into Iran.
Gordov adopted a method similar to that previously used during the Soviet occupation of Moldova, now incorporated into the western Ukrainian region.
Rather than concentrating his forces into a narrow spearhead, he spread them across a broad front.
Infantry columns occupied settlements one after another, establishing dense control over villages, roads, and communication points as they advanced.
Iran's frontier troops were completely unprepared for the sudden incursion.
Several desperate diplomatic telegrams followed.
Eventually, the matter landed on Jörg's desk.
Berlin.
Underground Command Center.
Beneath the massive red brick government complex, senior German officers gathered around a long table covered in maps of the Middle East, Eastern Europe, and the Soviet frontier.
Jörg sat at the head of the table, quietly examining the Iranian diplomatic reports.
The Soviet move did not surprise him.
A rabbit would bite when cornered.
The Soviet Union was no rabbit.
It was a wounded bear that understood perfectly well what would happen if Germany succeeded in Egypt.
Once the Suez Canal and the remaining Anglo French positions collapsed, Berlin would have far greater freedom to redirect forces eastward.
A staff officer broke the silence.
"Commander-in-Chief, I recommend withdrawing part of the Middle East Army Group and reinforcing Iran."
He pointed toward the Soviet advance.
"If Moscow increases the scale of the operation, our current assessment is that Iran could fall within two months."
It was a cautious proposal.
Jörg rejected it.
"The Soviet Union will not escalate the operation to that level."
Several officers looked toward him.
Jörg continued calmly.
"I know what concerns you. Saudi oil."
His finger tapped the map.
"But Stalin understands the same thing we do. Any serious attack against our petroleum infrastructure would be indistinguishable from a declaration of war against Germany."
He leaned back slightly.
"The Soviet Union is already buried waist deep in Finland. They do not want another full scale front against us."
"This operation is intended to force us to look east."
Nothing more.
Jörg took a slow sip of black tea.
"And I have sufficient confidence in Rommel and Bock."
His eyes moved toward Egypt.
"They will finish the Egyptian campaign within two months."
One officer raised his eyebrows slightly.
Jörg almost smiled.
"Since Moscow wishes to make demonstrations along our frontier, we can demonstrate as well."
He set down the cup.
"Notify Romania and the Eastern Front command."
His tone sharpened.
"Whatever form of attack the Soviets prepare against Iran, we will prepare the same form of attack against them."
The meaning was obvious.
If Soviet divisions moved toward Iran, German divisions would begin conspicuous preparations along the Soviet frontier.
If Soviet aircraft concentrated southward, Luftwaffe formations would gather in the east.
Every Soviet move would receive an answer.
Jörg stirred his tea once.
"Also, send Rommel a message."
Several officers glanced at him.
"Tell him to move faster."
A trace of amusement entered his voice.
"If Egypt is still standing after two months, I will personally order every military newspaper in Germany to remove his face from the front page."
A few officers struggled not to smile.
Thousands of kilometers away, Rommel had more immediate problems.
A temporary headquarters had been established in the small town of Mika, several dozen kilometers from Tobruk. A local school building had been requisitioned, and its classrooms were now filled with communications equipment, field maps, ammunition reports, and officers moving in and out at all hours.
One classroom in particular had gained an unusual new student.
Erwin Rommel.
He stood over a long table covered with reconnaissance photographs.
His expression was unusually serious.
Tobruk was formidable.
Even from the aerial photographs, the scale of its defenses was obvious.
Although the Italian Army had performed poorly in battle, Italian military engineers had not neglected Tobruk.
The fortress was protected by interconnected anti-tank ditches, minefields, concrete strongpoints, bunkers, artillery positions, and prepared infantry trenches.
Layer after layer.
Tobruk was more than a city.
It was a fortified system.
Rommel had two choices.
He could slow down, surround the fortress, bring forward heavy artillery, secure his logistics, and reduce Tobruk methodically through siege warfare.
Or he could attack immediately.
He chose the second.
Of course he did.
Britain and France were staggering from the blow they had just suffered.
Their formations had been shattered.
Their reserves had been consumed.
Their commanders were still trying to reorganize Egypt's defenses.
If Rommel stopped now and prepared for a prolonged siege, he would give his enemy the one resource more valuable than ammunition.
Time.
His finger tapped the reconnaissance photograph.
"Order the 16th Armored Division forward."
The staff officers straightened.
"Attach three artillery battalions for concentrated fire support."
He moved his hand across the bunker belt.
"The Luftwaffe is to conduct continuous strikes against the defensive positions. I want those fortifications softened before the tanks reach them."
Rommel looked around the room.
"We are not settling in for a siege."
"We break Tobruk quickly."
Before dawn the next morning, the German assault began.
The first sound came from above.
Aircraft engines.
Then came artillery.
The sky and earth seemed to roar together.
German bombers crossed the coast in waves, descending toward Tobruk's outer defenses.
For years, that sound had become almost synonymous with German warfare.
But this time, the Luftwaffe did not have the sky entirely to itself.
Britain and France had concentrated much of their surviving anti-aircraft strength around Tobruk.
The moment the first German formations approached, anti-aircraft batteries opened fire.
Boom!
Boom!
Boom!
Black bursts blossomed across the morning sky.
Tracer rounds climbed upward in long glowing chains.
German bombers answered with falling bombs.
The fortress erupted.
One aircraft was struck and rolled away trailing smoke before exploding against the desert in a ball of flame.
Another disappeared behind a curtain of anti-aircraft fire.
Then a German bomb struck an anti-aircraft position.
Boom!
The battery vanished beneath dust and fire.
Crates of ammunition detonated moments later, producing secondary explosions that ripped through the emplacement and left nearby soldiers clutching their ears.
The bombardment became a duel between heaven and earth.
Yet for the commander of the 6th Tank Battalion of the 16th Armored Division, the battle in the sky was secondary.
His concern was directly ahead.
He raised his binoculars.
An enormous anti-tank ditch stretched across the slope in front of the advancing panzers.
Wide.
Deep.
Long enough to force the armored column to halt.
Several tanks were already stationary behind it.
Combat engineers rushed forward under fire, carrying explosives intended to collapse part of the ditch and create a crossing.
The terrain favored the defenders.
The German troops were advancing uphill.
British and French positions sat above them, with clear fields of fire.
Concrete bunkers opened up.
Machine guns hammered the slope.
Rat-tat-tat-tat!
The first group of combat engineers went down almost immediately.
Another team rushed forward.
Then another.
Bullets tore through them before the charges could be properly placed.
The explosives remained useless at the edge of the trench.
Watching another group prepare to run forward, the battalion commander snapped.
"Stop!"
The engineers froze.
"Don't send more men into that fire!"
He turned toward the rear.
"Bring up the Land Stukas!"
A few moments later, two tracked vehicles crawled into firing position.
They carried self-propelled rocket launchers, one of the newest expressions of Germany's increasingly aggressive development of battlefield rocket artillery.
In this field, Germany had no serious equal.
Crews swung the launch assemblies upward.
Rockets were loaded.
Coordinates were called.
The battalion commander raised his hand.
"Fire!"
Swish!
Swish!
Swish!
The rockets screamed across the battlefield.
They struck around the two concrete bunkers in rapid succession.
Boom!
Sand, stone, and fragments of concrete exploded upward.
A thick curtain of dust swallowed the positions.
One heavy machine gun continued firing blindly through the haze.
Then another rocket came in.
This one carried an incendiary warhead.
It struck directly in front of the firing slit.
Boom!
Flame washed across the bunker.
The surrounding sand seemed to glow beneath the heat.
Burning fragments and sparks sprayed through the embrasure.
Inside, wooden ammunition crates caught fire.
Cartridges began popping from the heat.
Crack!
Crack!
Crack!
"Fire!"
One British gunner turned around in horror.
"The ammunition!"
"Put it out!"
Two men abandoned the machine gun and scrambled toward the burning crates.
They began throwing sand over the flames with their bare hands.
The bunker fell into chaos.
That was all the German engineers needed.
The charges at the anti-tank ditch finally detonated.
Boom!
A section of the obstacle collapsed inward.
Earth and debris filled part of the trench, creating a rough passage.
The first Panzer IV revved its engine.
Tracks bit into the freshly broken ground.
The tank climbed over the breach.
Its turret rotated.
For several minutes, the German armor had been forced to endure enemy fire without being able to answer effectively.
Now the restraint ended.
Bang!
The tank gun fired.
A shell slammed directly into an infantry trench on the slope.
The position erupted.
Men, sandbags, timber, and weapons were thrown into the air.
British soldiers who had survived the blast struggled to raise their heads.
Then they heard tracks.
The Panzer IV was already upon them.
Its hull rose above the edge of the trench.
The bow machine gun turned.
For a single frozen second, the soldiers below stared upward at the black muzzle.
Then the gunner pulled the trigger.
And death arrived with the burst.
…..
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