Stormtide Rising (Kirov Series Book 29) Read online

  “Getting nervous, Joe?” asked Wilson.

  “Not on your life, sir. But it just seems a waste to let my men sit here like this. We’ve had a decent interval to fatten up. I want to do something—get back in this fight.”

  “You are doing something,” said Wilson. “You’re watching my right flank.”

  “Well, they’ve pushed their way down the bund as far as my Warwickshires. Why don’t I kick them back?”

  “Go right ahead, but do keep an eye on that canal line. You never know when the Germans might move your way. You told me this yourself, and I’m taking it as good advice.”

  “Well sir, it’s just this… Why don’t we move? This flank is wide open. They’ve nothing out beyond the bund at all. I could peel my boys off this fly infested canal, swing up north and turn the tables on them.”

  “But you’d have the canal on your left the whole way up,” said Wilson. “It took them a full day to get over that, and with three engineer companies assisting. They could just fold that infantry division back, cover the most likely crossing points, and there you’d be, out in your desert, but with Jerry behind the canal this time, and on that nice elevated bund. I shouldn’t have to remind you that there are two full panzer divisions up there. Spook them, and they could send something your way you might not like. No. I don’t want to tickle their flank over there. It could only provoke what I’ve just described. I’d much rather you sit on that embankment and watch my flank. 2nd Infantry will be up tomorrow. Then we’ll talk again. Until then, stand where you are. That’s an order.”

  “Alright then,” said Kingstone. “I’ll get back to swatting the flies off my teacup. Tomorrow then. I’ll let you know when General Grover’s lads show up.” He hung up the phone, unhappy, a little red in the face, and then muttered his way out to the nearest scout car. He was going up to the Warwickshire Battalion to order them to attack.

  * * *

  The 24th of February was de Großerschub , the ‘big push’ by Guderian. He had met with his division officers the previous night, assembling them in the burned out Grain Factory to show them what was in store for them if they did not make a dramatic breakthrough soon.

  “This place changed hands three times in two hours,” he said somberly. Their Royal Engineers lost half a battalion here, and they held off our Brandenburgers for six hours. That city out there may have fifty more places like this, and I don’t want to fight those battles. We must concentrate, hit key spots on their line, and then give them de Großerschub . Konrad, your regiment leads the way again in the morning. I want you to hit them very close to the river. See how this road follows the west bank. That is your road to victory. Break through, and then move like quicksilver!”

  The Lehr Regiment did not disappoint. They went right through a company of 3/5 Punjab, and drove it against the river. Then one company after another, many on fast moving motorcycles, raced through the narrow gap, barely a hundred meters wide, the machineguns on their side cars blazing away as they went. A company of Gurkhas had been sent up to shore that area up, and they held like a rock, the Subedars shouting orders at the men over the din of battle until they were hoarse. But the Lehr Regiment flowed around them like water. They were racing down that river road towards the large built up Sulaymaniyah District. On their right they passed another of those potential Grain Factories Guderian had warned them about, a series of heavy brick kilns that were used to fabricate building materials. On their left was the river. Ahead of them, there was nothing but the road and the looming edge of that city.

  Brigadier Alan Barker had seen his 27th Indian Brigade decimated in these three days of heavy fighting. By his count, he now had no more than seven of 14 companies still reasonably intact and fighting on the line. His actual casualties were not that high, but those other seven companies had been shattered, some overrun and captured, others broken and straggling back through the rail yard in groups of two or three men, many wounded, all disheartened and dead tired.

  He could still see Lt. Colonel Selby’s 28th Brigade deployed in a wide arc to his left, largely intact, and he knew it could no longer stay where it was. So he got on the radio at once.

  “Selby, this is Barker. We’re being overrun. We just can’t hold any longer. Your people are about to be cut off. You’ve got to move, and get back towards the aerodrome at once! Understand? You’ve got to move right now.”

  “Alright,” said Selby. “I’ll give the order, but where are my guns?”

  “I took the liberty of commandeering them, and I’ll get them back for you. Now move!”

  The Colonel could hear the edge of panic in Barker’s voice, a man he knew to be a steady hand. So he moved with purpose, collaring a nearby Sergeant and telling him to find the bugler. It wasn’t often that he would resort to this method of command, but it was a signal and sound that would be heard by all at one time, and the message would travel much faster than radio calls to all his separate battalions.

  The sound of that call resonated over the chatter of guns and boom of artillery, and when they heard it, the men of 2/9 Gurkhas knew exactly what to do. The Subedar shouted an order, and the entire battalion leveled their rifles at the enemy line. At the next command, they volley fired three times, then, in precise movements, the companies began peeling off the line and retiring in perfect order.

  Brigadier Barker told his men to set fire to the rail yard storehouse, then he rushed out and told the artillery gunners to cease fire, limber up their guns, and get south to the airfield as fast as they could. Barker had precipitated a general retreat that would yield the whole of the railyard, store houses, engineering bay, workshops and brick kilns, all unfought…. But it would save an even worse disaster if those men had tried to stand their ground. The Lehr Regiment would have certainly gotten behind them, and even though Barker managed to get his two remaining companies of 2/1 Punjab over near the edge of the river to try and block the enemy advance, the outcome there was still very doubtful.

  That retreat would put an end to all the fighting in the Airfield Settlement, and it was fortunate that Brigadier Arderne had forsaken his breakfast and driven out to the edge of the airfield. He could hear that same bugle call, and then soon saw and heard what was happening, the three sharp volleys of rifle fire, the rising dust, vehicles looming in the haze, the sound of officers shouting orders.

  “Bloody hell,” he said aloud. “The whole line is breaking. We’ve got to get back to the airfield bund. Lieutenant!”

  “Sir!”

  “Order the men to fall back—fifty paces, turn and volley, then quick foot it back to the bund!”

  “Very good, sir. But we’ve only got the Jats and Sikh Battalions here. The Maharatta is still on the other side of the Khir holding that railway embankment.”

  “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

  (Map 5)

  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.

  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, th
e 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.