O’Connor was the next problem, arriving in twenty minutes for his tour. Kinlan had one last moment with the Russian Captain, about how the command structure would be worked out here.
“I know you will think to be independent,” said Fedorov in English when Popski left them, “but in the end we must realize we are here to advise and support British war efforts.” He left out some articles, but he got his message across. “Their senior officers are well known… much respected. We cannot replace them.”
“Yet we know every twist and turn this war will take,” said Kinlan slowly, realizing tanks and ammunition were not the only assets he had in hand.
“We know what happens once,” said Fedorov, knowing he got the verb tense wrong. “Yet things are different. Things have changed this time, and we will cause even more to change. Yet we will not plan everything-control this whole war. They must do that. We can only help them.”
“I understand,” said Kinlan. “I will do my best to support these men here, and their officers. I swore to serve the British Army, the men under me, and the crown and government that put them here. I guess that still holds true, no matter where I find myself. Now, I’ll want to make a brief announcement on the brigade comm-system.”
He put out an all units message to expect a tour from a Lieutenant General. “And in case any of you limeys haven’t heard,” he finished, “a Lieutenant General ranks a Brigadier, so stand smart and step lively! Kinlan out.”
“Good of you to show me the brigade,” said O’Connor. “I like to get acquainted with the men I send into this desert. The job’s not easy but they do their best. You say you’re 7th Armored? I drove that division fairly hard a while back, but with good results. We kicked the Italians right out of Egypt when they had the cheek to cross the border, and then chased them half way across Libya for good measure. The only problem is it seems we’ve hit another rough patch with the Germans showing up uninvited like this. I’m afraid I’ve taken a bit of an early bath.”
“We’ll see what we can do about that, sir,” said Kinlan, a head taller than O’Connor, and dark haired in contrast to the other man’s grey-white hair.”
“All the men are dressed out in this new kit. It looks to be very efficient. When was it issued?”
“Just before we deployed, sir. Yes… It’s new, as are many other things in the brigade. We’ve new equipment and vehicles to show you today.”
“Then Tiger Convoy made it through?”
Kinlan did not know what O’Connor was referring to, but Fedorov did. He was walking just behind the two generals, with Popski, who was quietly translating what was said at Fedorov’s request. It was the Winston Special convoy Churchill had insisted on to reinforce Wavell with new tanks, but it was not supposed to happen until May of that year. It would transport Matildas and the A15 Crusader tanks to Egypt, taking the short but dangerous route through the Mediterranean, but that would not be possible now that the Germans controlled Gibraltar. For O’Connor to mention it meant the British must be planning to sent the convoy early, as it would have to travel all the way around the Cape of Good Hope.
“I’m sorry, but I haven’t heard anything about that,” said Kinlan.
“Not in the loop yet,” said O’Connor. “Don’t worry, Mister Kinlan, you’ll wish you were out of it once they do drag you in. Tiger Convoy was supposed to be delivering fresh tanks so we can get 7th Armored back on its feet. Yet here you are, as far from the main front as one is likely to get out here. Why were you sent here, General? We hardly need a brigade of armor here for Siwa. And you certainly weren’t sent here to look for me.”
“No sir, I only learned of your disappearance when Captain Fedorov informed me of his mission. It seems I’ve a good deal to learn here, but I just follow orders. In fact, I had orders to move to Mersa Matruh.”
“Better there than here. You say you have armor with you? Well I’d give my right arm for a good tank battalion or two these days.”
“Well sir… I think I can fill the bill for you. The unit is just ahead; just over that rise.”
He gestured as they began to climb the low hill that screened the terrain ahead and, as they crested the rise, he stood in silence, one eye on O’Connor, the other on the Royal Scotts Dragoons. There sat four Sabres of heavy Challenger II tanks, sixty in all, in a square of steel dressed out in khaki on the desert below. O’Connor stared at them, his face registering complete surprise.
“My god,” he said quietly, the sheer quantity and mass of the formation striking him. Then he leaned forward, taking a closer look. “What in the world? Those aren’t Matildas, nor any cruiser tank I’ve ever seen. Why… they’re enormous!”
“A new design, sir,” said Kinlan. “Our very latest model. 7th Brigade received them for this mission to Libya. Shall we have a closer look.”
