The Triumph Page 19

  ‘I’d rather see, and hear, him at close quarters before I make a judgement,’ Fergus said. Tut he has certainly made the men happy. If he does nothing else, he’s worked a bloody miracle there.’

  *

  He had his opportunity within twelve hours, as the new General summoned a meeting of all his senior officers, from colonel up, for that same evening. They were assembled from all over the command, in the army headquarters; chairs were provided, but no ashtrays. ‘The General cannot abide smoking,’ they were told by Guingand, who was organizing things.

  This caused a grumble, but a few minutes later they were on their feet and standing to attention as Montgomery entered. He walked through their midst, and was introduced to each man in turn. ‘Mackinder,’ he remarked, as he shook Fergus’s hand. ‘I know your father. Good man.’ Then he passed on, and took his place on a hastily constructed platform at the far end of the room, where a large blackboard had a huge map of the area pinned to it. Montgomery gave the map only the briefest of glances, before turning to face them, and inviting them to sit.

  ‘I do not propose to start this meeting for two minutes,’ he announced. ‘In that time, will everyone who has a throat to clear, a nose to blow, a chair to scrape or a shoe to shuffle, kindly do so. There will be no movement and noise, once I commence speaking.’

  He paused, and the officers looked at each other in consternation. Then an outbreak of coughing swept the room, while they tried to conceal their grins. The man certainly had a novel approach, Fergus reflected. But there was something irresistible about it.

  ‘Now,’ Montgomery said, when he was satisfied that the room was, and would remain, quiet. ‘I intend to enlarge upon what I told the men this morning. I have been given a mandate by the Prime Minister: it is to destroy the Axis forces in North Africa. This I intend to do just as quickly as possible. If there is anyone in this room who doubts my intention, or has the slightest reservations that it will be accomplished, he has my permission to withdraw. Now.’

  He looked over their faces; no one moved. ‘It follows from what I have just said,’ he went on, ‘that I have given instructions that any and all plans concerning the possibility of a withdrawal to the Delta are to be burned. There will be no withdrawal. I did not come here to defend Alexandria, or Cairo. I came here to defeat Rommel. Nor did I come here to enjoy myself.’ He looked around with obvious distaste at the solidly constructed wooden building. ‘Officers will as of this moment live in their Armoured Command Vehicles. This is not a seaside holiday camp; it is an army. A British army!

  ‘Now, I have no intention of assuming the offensive until I have got this army up to the strength and morale I require...’

  There was a faint stirring. They had heard such words before.

  Montgomery waited for the noise to subside. ‘I have therefore requested two more armoured divisions to be attached to this command, and these, the Forty Fourth and the Tenth, will soon be here. We will also await the arrival of the Sherman tanks, and it will be necessary to train the crews in their use. How will they be used? It is my purpose to create an elite armoured striking force, rather on the lines of the Afrika Korps itself.’ He gave a brief smile. ‘It does no harm to learn from the enemy, from time to time. But we also have a lot to do. It is my impression that a good part of this army is only half trained. I know there are a consider-able number of you who have been in North Africa for some time, and who have fought the enemy more than once. I envy you your experience. But there are even more of you, and of your men, who are replacements and who need to be brought up to the high standards that this army now requires. This training will commence immediately. Incidentally, there is nothing like severe training for restoring morale.

  ‘Now, it will be said that if we delay too long we risk Rommel attacking first. Gentlemen, it is my earnest wish that he will do so, if he will allow me a fortnight to settle in. When he attacks, we will not merely check him, we will defeat him. For this purpose I propose in the main to continue the arrangements made by General Auchinleck, which are admirable. There will be this difference, however: instead of merely luring him on to the Alam al Halfa Ridge, in order to attack him in the flank, I will station the two new armoured divisions there, so he will be met with armour from the front. Now there is a point here I wish to make perfectly clear. I have studied the reports of every battle we have fought against Rommel over the past eighteen months, particularly with regard to his so-called superiority in tanks. It is apparent to me that this superiority has been nothing more than superior tactics, not weapons. He has got a very good anti-tank gun, I will agree. But we have been committing suicide upon it. What have our tactics always been? To launch our tanks against his. What have his been? To demonstrate in order to bring our tanks on to the attack, and then to retire behind a screen of those highly mobile eighty-eights and blow our machines to pieces. Where our armour has been refused, he has simply proceeded to the rear of our positions and blown our administrative units to pieces, thus forcing our retreat.’

  He paused to let his analysis sink in, and Fergus scratched his head. Montgomery had never fought a desert battle — yet he had put his finger on a glaring, and repeated, mistake.

  ‘There will therefore be no counter-attacks, and no armoured battles in the future...except on our terms. When the panzers attack us, whether they turn for Ruweisat, held by the Seventh Armoured Division, or for Alam al Halfa, which will be held by the Tenth and Forty-Fourth, they will certainly be met by our armour — but by our armour entrenched and acting as concentrated artillery: we will be able to hit him and he will not be able to hit us. Our armour will not be launched until I am satisfied that he is in full and genuine retreat.

  ‘Now as to his strategy. Will he attack the desert flank? I believe that he will, because that is the only course open to him. As to whether that is the only course open to us, when we launch our own assault, remains to be seen. Thank you, gentlemen. I will inspect each of your brigades and regiments individually, over the next few days. Good evening.’

  *

  ‘I think he means business,’ Fergus told his officers. ‘He simply can’t shoot a line as arrogant as that unless he means to fight.’

  He felt more confident than for many a long month. Much as he liked Auchinleck personally — and could tell that it would be very easy to dislike Montgomery in equal proportion — and admired his immense qualities as a fighting soldier, the Auk had never had the gift of projecting quite such a massive personality, or such massive confidence. And Fergus’s confidence grew when the regiment was visited by the GOC a few days later, and after the inspection, in which Montgomery as usual found the time to give the troopers every possible encouragement, he was informed that the dragoons were to form part of the elite striking force. ‘It cannot be formed until the Shermans arrive, of course,’ the General said. ‘And before then we shall have some fighting to do. But that’s what we’re here for.’ Then he studied Fergus for a moment. ‘I am an infantryman, not a cavalryman,’ he said. ‘But I know that the coming battle will be won by our armour. I would like one of those berets, Colonel. Would that be possible?’

  ‘Of course, sir.’ Fergus signalled Bentley, and a brand-new beret was quickly produced.

  ‘Hm,’ the General said, trying it on. ‘Very comfortable. Thank you, gentlemen. I will wear this into battle.’

  *

  Rommel launched the onslaught they had been expecting on the night of 30-31 August. This was, however, just on the fortnight Montgomery had wanted, and in that time he had made the necessary preparations to receive the enemy. Although he continued to hold the area south of Ruweisat lightly, he had doubled the number of mines sown there, with the result that when the German and Italian infantry moved forward to clear a path, they found the going very much tougher than they had expected. Thus the entire attack was delayed.

  It continued, nevertheless, but so heavily were the panzers and the Italian armour strafed by the RAF that the planned encircling movem
ent soon became merely an assault upon the Alam al Halfa Ridge — which indeed gave the battle its name.

  This raged for three days, while the rest of the armour stood on the defensive and the Seventh Armoured Division chafed at their inactivity — despite the General’s homily on their future tactics — sitting behind the Raqil Depression, within a few miles of the German line of communication. And being ordered to remain there. Montgomery did not deliver his counter-attack until the morning of 3 September, when he reckoned the enemy were withdrawing and had dispatched their anti-tank artillery to the rear; then the Tenth Armoured Division and the Second New Zealand Division were sent south-west against the enemy, and the Seventh Armoured Division was hurled against his communications. For another three days a fierce battle raged, with hardly time to eat and no time to wash or sleep. There were tanks all over the place, guns cracking, caterpillar tracks flying off, men dying, but now the Germans were dying in at least equal numbers: it slowly began to dawn on Fergus that the enemy were short of petrol, as he observed several panzers simply stopped, and able to be hit until they exploded.

  The regiment suffered heavy casualties too. To maintain themselves over this hectic period they needed the support group in close attendance, and a marauding German panzer got in amongst the trucks at one stage. The result was chaos, and a good deal of destruction. Fergus’s ACV was blown to smithereens, and Major Bentley with it. RSM Butler died as well. But B Squadron, hastily summoned by radio, got back in time to dispose of the intruder, and by 7 September the battle was over, and the Axis forces had withdrawn beyond the minefield.

  It had been fierce while it lasted. Axis losses were put at three thousand human casualties, fifty tanks, thirty-five anti-tank guns, and four hundred lorries: the lorries were the most vital. The British had lost less than two thousand men, but sixty-eight tanks. However, even the fact that yet again the German armour had proved its superiority could not dampen the feeling of victory that spread through the Eighth Army. Twice in succession now Rommel had hurled his famous Afrika Korps against them, and twice in succession he had failed to dislodge them; this time he had been driven back in disorder.

  In fact, as they learned later, the German Field Marshal — he had been given his baton for taking Tobruk — had actually been too ill to fight the battle, and this may have influenced the result; soon he returned to Germany for treatment. That did not dispel the feeling on the part of the British that they were at last turning the corner. And this feeling was increased with the arrival, at the end of the month, of the Shermans. Huge armoured monsters, yet capable of great speed and endurance, and armed with a seventy-five millimetre gun — the same bore and hitting power as the famous French field artillery in the Great War — it was difficult to see how they could be stopped.

  There had, of course, been the usual casualty lists to deal with. By now Fergus had secured the promotion of Allack to Major as his second in command. He also had to replace Butler as RSM, and he had great pleasure in promoting Bert Manly-Smith to that august rank. Bert was not yet twenty-one, but he had seen more service than any other member of the regiment except Fergus himself. ‘I reckon I could make general, sir, at this rate,’ he said proudly. ‘If only my old mum could see me now.’

  Or my old dad, he thought; the bastard.

  The regiment was given a month in which to familiarize themselves with the new machines, for not only were Montgomery’s preparations nearly ready, but he did not have as much time to prepare as he might have liked. Only he and Alexander and their closest staff associates were aware that Torch, the Anglo-American invasion of the other end of North Africa, was scheduled for 8 November. These landings would of course take place in French-held territory, nominally at least under the control of the Vichy Government. Thus a great deal would depend upon the attitudes of the French commanders in Algiers and Morocco: would they welcome the Americans as old allies with whom they could work to defeat the common foe? Or would they, out of loyalty to Petain and, more likely, fear of German reprisals, join hands with the Axis forces in Africa and make the invaders fight for every inch of ground? Clearly the difference in estimated casualties between the first and second eventualities would be enormous.

  It was felt that the best way to encourage the French not to oppose the Allied armies would be for the Afrika Korps to have been resoundingly defeated before the landings took place. This meant that the battle for which everyone was waiting had to be fought very shortly. It was, in fact, scheduled for the night of 23-24 October, on which there was a full moon.

  Montgomery’s plan was essentially simple, as are all good plans. ‘Hitherto,’ he told his assembled officers, ‘every desert battle has been fought the same way, on either side. As the enemy’s seaward flank cannot be turned, his desert flank has been attacked. Thus, for example, in both of Rommel’s last thrusts, we knew exactly where he would begin, and could make our dispositions accordingly. Our previous successful operations have also begun with a turning of the desert flank. But these have led essentially to a disorganized series of encounters, in which the enemy has been able to use his armour as he chose, and in which our tanks have been drawn on to those massed eighty-eights. What is more, not one of these battles has been decisive, however much territory has been gained as a result of the action. Indeed, as you know to your cost, that extra territory has always turned out to be a liability. The newspapers at home may have loved to scream that we rushed through Tobruk and Benghazi. But we are not here to please the newspapers or to gain showy, but irrelevant, and temporary, successes. We are here to destroy the Afrika Korps and its Italian subsidiaries. That is our only duty. That is the duty we are going to carry out.

  ‘I therefore intend to fight a battle in the oldest of tactical fashions, to destroy the enemy. The main thrust will be here in the north. It will be a crumbling attack of infantry, preceded by bombardment from the air and from our heavy artillery. This attack will be carried out by Thirtieth Corps, General Sir Oliver Leese.’ He looked at that officer as he spoke. ‘Once the infantry have forced their way through the minefields, and “fixed” the enemy, then Tenth Corps, Lieutenant-General Sir Herbert Lumsden, comprising our two new armoured divisions, will pass through the gap opened by the infantry, and engage and destroy the enemy armour.’ Once again he looked at the General involved.

  ‘Operations in the south will be in the care of Thirteenth Corps, Lieutenant-General Sir Brian Horrocks.’ He nodded at that officer. ‘He will have with him the Forty-Fourth Division, the Thirtieth Division, the Free French, and the Greek brigade. As well,’ he added with great deliberation, ‘as the Seventh Armoured Division. Now this is the flank on which Rommel will expect our main attack, and he will be even more certain of it because his old enemies the Seventh Armoured Division, the Desert Rats, will be stationed there. So Thirteenth Corps will certainly attack. But this will be our feint.’ He watched the disappointment in the faces of the officers of the Seventh Armoured Division. ‘Never fear, gentlemen. You will get your chance — when the enemy is in full retreat. Now I want everyone to be clear about one thing. As I say, this is going to be an old-fashioned battle, a slogging match. It may last a week, perhaps ten days. We are going to suffer considerable casualties. Our aim must be to inflict even more casualties on the enemy. We are here to kill Germans. I want every man in this room, and I want every man in this room to make sure that every man in his command, has only one idea when we advance — to kill Germans.’ He grinned at them. ‘I want even the padres to be keen on killing Germans. They can kill one every day of the week, and two every Sunday.’

  There was a roar of delighted applause. Suddenly Fergus knew that they were going to win, that, as Montgomery had said on his first day, Rommel was doomed.

  *

  ‘First time we’ve ever been in reserve,’ Brigadier Campbell grumbled. ‘Still...we really will be the cavalry this time, out to harry the defeated enemy.’

  No one doubted that Montgomery would do as he had said he would
, and destroy the Afrika Korps. The preparations for the attack were on a scale Fergus had never seen before, although his father had told him about similar operations in the First War, before, for example, the decisive Battle of Amiens in 1918. All movement of troops and supplies was made at night, and the dumps of petrol and ammunition were carefully concealed by morning, while to convince the enemy that the main attack, as usual, would be coming on the desert flank, elaborate dummy dumps and army headquarters, as well as assemblies of wooden tanks and guns, were established behind the southern front. This was largely the work of Lieutenant Colonel Geoffrey Barkas, who revealed a genius for camouflage.

  The actual forces being used in the battle were also on a scale Fergus had not known before. Montgomery commanded an army of very nearly two hundred thousand men, compared with O’Connor’s thirty thousand of two years before. He had at his disposal over a thousand tanks, of which two hundred and fifty were the new Shermans, and well over two thousand pieces of artillery, of which more than half were anti-tank weapons. As near as could be determined by reconnaissance, the Axis forces amounted to approximately half of these totals, in all three areas. Only in the air was there anything like equality: seven hundred and fifty RAF planes, of which a third were bombers, were opposed to just under seven hundred of the Luftwaffe.

  The Seventh Armoured Division was returned to its old stamping ground just north of the Raqil Depression, behind the mass of the Forty-Fourth Division, and there they waited. For the next fortnight after the General had issued his briefing, the RAF flew nightly sorties, blasting at the enemy’s lines of communication: everyone knew that the Afrika Korps was desperately short of petrol, and that of the remaining five-hundred-odd Axis tanks, half were inferior Italian machines. It had also been learned that Rommel had returned to Germany on sick leave.