through with fuel. On top of all that, Montgomery still insists on full back-up and a feint raid near Fuka as the barrage starts. Every damn’ thing we’ve got’s earmarked and you can’t produce ships like rabbits out of a hat.’
Nobody said anything and he seemed to feel he had overdone his indignation. ‘Anyway,’ he went on gruffly, ‘why another raid, for God’s sake? Didn’t the one on Tobruk prove this sort of thing can’t be done?’ He glared at de Berry. ‘How about the RAF? Can’t they help?’
De Berry sucked at his cigarette for a moment. ‘African air space doesn’t belong to the Germans,’ he pointed out. ‘But, for the same reasons the navy gives, we can’t offer much.’
‘An air raid’s out of the question,’ Hockold said, aware of a sinking feeling of despair. ‘Because of the prisoner of war compound.’
Bryant sucked at his pipe for a moment. ‘Does this raid have to go in?’ he asked bluntly.
‘It does,’ Murray said.
Bryant stared at his files. De Berry’s offer of help seemed to stir him. ‘We have one or two launches,’ he said.
‘Launches aren’t very big,’ de Berry observed.
‘Are you talking as an airman or a sailor?’
‘I’m talking as a man who was a lieutenant in the Rifles and, before he transferred to the RFC in 1916, went over the top more times than he likes to remember. The RAF knows the job of both the army and the navy because that’s where most of us served before we became airmen.’
Bryant glared, and Hockold listened with a sad feeling that they were getting nowhere. When the meeting broke up all he had was a promise to see what could be done.
‘For God’s sake, sir,’ he said to Murray when they climbed into the car, ‘who are we fighting - the Germans or each other?’
Murray smiled. ‘Military plans demanding navy support always did give rise to a lot of tooth-sucking,’ he said. ‘And so far, the RAF’s always considered one bit of air like any other bit of air, and supporting a landing no different from dropping a few bombs.’
‘Combined Operations isn’t a black art, sir.’
Murray smiled again. ‘No. But there’s also a saying that Combined Ops HQ’s the only lunatic asylum in the world run by its own inmates. Leave it to me. I’m sure it won’t end here. They’re both intelligent men, despite what you might think. They’ll come up with something. They’ve got to. Everything’s got to go into winning this damn battle of Montgomery’s and they know it.’
The problem of men and equipment which was worrying Colonel Hockold was also beginning to worry his opposite number, Colonel Hochstatter, in Qaba. He was occupied with unloading Andolfo when Stumme’s signal arrived and, calling a conference of all the officers concerned with the port, he put to them what he’d been instructed to do.
‘Strengthen the defences?’ Major Nietzsche looked up with a frown from the lists he held. ‘What with? Where do we get the men?’ He stared at Hochstatter and, watching the cautious way he lowered himself into his chair because of his wounds, remembered his own stiff leg and Hrabak’s half-blind eye. With the Reich suddenly in trouble in Russia and now awaiting the biggest attack yet in Africa, there were no able-bodied men to spare for the lines of communication. ‘It’s all very well telling us to set the defences in order,’ he continued. ‘Every damned soldier who appears in this town gets snatched up and sent to the front.’
Hochstatter sighed. ‘Get in touch with Major Zohler, Tarnow,’ he suggested. ‘Tell him we need help.’
The signals officer nodded but he didn’t expect much success. Major Zohler, the Panzerarmee representative, who lived at the airfield at Ibrahimiya, was a man who’d twice been wounded in the desert and for six months had served on Rommel’s staff before being hit yet again by a bomb splinter in the gallop from Gazala after the British. He was by no means the man to
Nobody said anything and he seemed to feel he had overdone his indignation. ‘Anyway,’ he went on gruffly, ‘why another raid, for God’s sake? Didn’t the one on Tobruk prove this sort of thing can’t be done?’ He glared at de Berry. ‘How about the RAF? Can’t they help?’
De Berry sucked at his cigarette for a moment. ‘African air space doesn’t belong to the Germans,’ he pointed out. ‘But, for the same reasons the navy gives, we can’t offer much.’
‘An air raid’s out of the question,’ Hockold said, aware of a sinking feeling of despair. ‘Because of the prisoner of war compound.’
Bryant sucked at his pipe for a moment. ‘Does this raid have to go in?’ he asked bluntly.
‘It does,’ Murray said.
Bryant stared at his files. De Berry’s offer of help seemed to stir him. ‘We have one or two launches,’ he said.
‘Launches aren’t very big,’ de Berry observed.
‘Are you talking as an airman or a sailor?’
‘I’m talking as a man who was a lieutenant in the Rifles and, before he transferred to the RFC in 1916, went over the top more times than he likes to remember. The RAF knows the job of both the army and the navy because that’s where most of us served before we became airmen.’
Bryant glared, and Hockold listened with a sad feeling that they were getting nowhere. When the meeting broke up all he had was a promise to see what could be done.
‘For God’s sake, sir,’ he said to Murray when they climbed into the car, ‘who are we fighting - the Germans or each other?’
Murray smiled. ‘Military plans demanding navy support always did give rise to a lot of tooth-sucking,’ he said. ‘And so far, the RAF’s always considered one bit of air like any other bit of air, and supporting a landing no different from dropping a few bombs.’
‘Combined Operations isn’t a black art, sir.’
Murray smiled again. ‘No. But there’s also a saying that Combined Ops HQ’s the only lunatic asylum in the world run by its own inmates. Leave it to me. I’m sure it won’t end here. They’re both intelligent men, despite what you might think. They’ll come up with something. They’ve got to. Everything’s got to go into winning this damn battle of Montgomery’s and they know it.’
The problem of men and equipment which was worrying Colonel Hockold was also beginning to worry his opposite number, Colonel Hochstatter, in Qaba. He was occupied with unloading Andolfo when Stumme’s signal arrived and, calling a conference of all the officers concerned with the port, he put to them what he’d been instructed to do.
‘Strengthen the defences?’ Major Nietzsche looked up with a frown from the lists he held. ‘What with? Where do we get the men?’ He stared at Hochstatter and, watching the cautious way he lowered himself into his chair because of his wounds, remembered his own stiff leg and Hrabak’s half-blind eye. With the Reich suddenly in trouble in Russia and now awaiting the biggest attack yet in Africa, there were no able-bodied men to spare for the lines of communication. ‘It’s all very well telling us to set the defences in order,’ he continued. ‘Every damned soldier who appears in this town gets snatched up and sent to the front.’
Hochstatter sighed. ‘Get in touch with Major Zohler, Tarnow,’ he suggested. ‘Tell him we need help.’
The signals officer nodded but he didn’t expect much success. Major Zohler, the Panzerarmee representative, who lived at the airfield at Ibrahimiya, was a man who’d twice been wounded in the desert and for six months had served on Rommel’s staff before being hit yet again by a bomb splinter in the gallop from Gazala after the British. He was by no means the man to
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