They were out over the desert, and heading southwest. Fedorov was worried Kinlan would get talked into a corner by O’Connor, so he tried to keep the man distracted with the reconnaissance, and it was not long before O’Connor spotted something, his eyes keen enough to recognize movement on the desert, as he had spent many hours airborne over a battle zone himself.
“There,” he pointed.
The thin streams of dust were telltale evidence on the desert floor below. Something was moving there, the first probing outriders of an advance heading east.
“That has to be out from the Italian Garrison at Giarabub,” said O’Connor. “Just one little fish I couldn’t net when I moved west earlier.”
When he made his sweeping attack to smash the Italian position in Cyrenaica, a small garrison under Major Salvatore Castagna had been marooned at Giarabub, well over 200 miles south at the edge of the Great Sand Sea. It was one of the most isolated outposts the Italians had established, and was largely held to keep watch on the British controlled oasis at Siwa, some miles to the southeast. It was also a holy place, where a mosque and tomb of the founder of the Senussi sect attracted small groups of pilgrims from time to time, but now they were all gone. The Italian Army had come in their place.
“Look there, General,” Fedorov pointed as he handed Kinlan a pair of field glasses. “What does that look like to your eye, Berbers?”
Kinlan had a look and could see more than he wanted there. Those were obviously small patrols of armored cars, though he had never seen anything like them out here before. O’Connor seemed to know what they were, however, and shook his head.
“Damn little Autoblinda 41s. They’ve a nasty 20mm autocannon and a pair of good Breda 8mm machineguns. But those scout vehicles that rounded us up looked to be enough to handle them. What were they, something new?”
“Just out of the oven,” Kinlan smiled.
“The Captain says he can get you photography of those buggers to look over later,” said Popski. “But I’m more concerned with what’s behind those patrols. See that dust column there?” He had a keen eye for movement on the desert as well, having spent many days with his small patrols in this desolation.
“That has to be a larger force.” Popski did not know it at the time, but he was pointing at an unusual new arrival, the 136th Giovanni Fascisti Regiment, the fanatical Blackshirts that had been sent by Mussolini to try and put some backbone into the Italian infantry. They were here early, not having arrived in Libya until July of 1941 in the old history, and now they were out to begin writing the stubborn chapters they had etched into that history, by holding out in the face of overwhelming odds at places like Bir el Gobi. The British would come to call them “Mussolini’s Boys,” and they would soon reach Major Castagna’s garrison, adding three more battalions of tough infantry to the two already there.
“If that is what I think it is, then that Colonel Fergusson down there at Siwa is going to have more on his hands than he realizes soon.”
“Fergusson?” O’Connor remembered now. “Yes, 6th Australian Cavalry was out here keeping watch on Giarabub, but this looks like a strong reinforcement. I hope your boys are ready for a good fight,” said O’Connor. “If they get up some real strength here they just might get a notion to pay a visit to Siwa. It’s got much better water sources, and a couple decent airfields.”
Kinlan smiled inwardly, realizing that Fergusson was the name the Russian Captain told him to ask for at Siwa. Dobie’s section of the 12th Lancers had scouted down and found the man there, along with a company of Australian motorized cavalry and a battery of 25 pounders freshly arrived, and commanded by Jock Campbell, the man who had given his name to the famous ad hoc “Jock Columns” the British had used so successfully in these early desert forays. He gave Fedorov a knowing look, realizing the Russian had been straight with him all along, though it was still hard for him to believe what was happening to him, and to all the men of his brigade.
“That’s a large force,” Kinlan agreed. “At least a regiment. Can we swing over for a better look?”
They maneuvered discretely, and Kinlan was treated to a good look at the troops on the march, shaking his head in disbelief.
“Looks to be an infantry unit,” said Kinlan. “Not much transport, but that’s a good support column behind them.”
“Agreed,” said O’Connor. “Most likely supplies to relieve the garrison at Giarabub.”
When Popski translated Fedorov passed another moment of anxiety. This was not supposed to happen, but the facts on the ground were now making the strongest possible argument to the contrary. The history had changed again, another small eddy in the stream here.
