Yet Rommel was still not entirely convinced this could be much of a threat. He knew Almasy was a reliable man, a skilled observer, and one who knew these deserts like the back of his hand, but he wanted to see for himself. “Tanks” was a fairly broad category these days. He had Panzers labeled one thru four in his own division, and the British had things from the light Mark VI machine gun tankettes, to the heavy Matilda infantry support tanks. So he leapt into a nearby Kubelwagon, collaring a driver, and sped off towards the highest ground he could find, the hills above the ruined tomb southeast of Bir el Khamsa. From that height he should be able to see anything moving on the desert to the south, particularly any sizable force, which should be kicking up a lot of dust by now.
When he got there, his surprise was complete. Almasy was correct! This was a fast, mechanized force, and he could clearly see armor just behind the leading fan of armored cars, which looked to be something new as far as he could tell through his field glasses. The mutter of small arms fire and the distant rattle of a machine gun told him this force was still sweeping through the thin cordon of desert patrols, small platoons of his oasis groups that had been screening this sector.
“Damn!” he swore aloud. “This Wavell has more guts than I realized. Turnabout is fair play, or so it seems. This must be all the armor he could scrape together, and he’s sent it in a wide enveloping maneuver, just as I would have done. He’s beaten me to the punch!”
His spies had also told him that the British 7th Armored Division, the force that had been the undoing of the Italians a month earlier, was also refitting near Alexandria. Could they be ready for battle so soon? Was this the 7th Armored, appearing like a mad Jinn on his flank just as his battalions were moving into the dawn attack he had ordered? Now he would have to call off that attack and quickly disengage. Cursing, he rushed back down the hill to the vehicles waiting below, and was quickly on the radio.
“Streich! Never mind the attack! Get your tanks south of Bir el Khamsa, and form as many Kampfgruppen as you can. We have uninvited guests for breakfast!”
Streich was incensed. His men had just fought a hot action to storm the 230 meter hill overshadowing Bir Arnab, Now he was being ordered to give it back to the enemy, disengage, and regroup 15 to 20 kilometers to the south, a maneuver he had not factored into his careful fuel rations. He bawled this over the radio until Rommel cursed at him and told him to be silent and do what he had ordered. Then he acted, with skill and determination in spite of his rising anger.
This headstrong General already had the entire Afrika Korps strung out for nearly a hundred kilometers from Sollum to Bir el Khamsa. In places that long front was being screened by small detachments of flak batteries, their gasoline plundered to feed the hungry maneuver elements. Meanwhile, without their defensive AA umbrella, the troops were being increasingly harassed by enemy aircraft. The British seemed to sense that if they were to lose this battle, Egypt might ride in the balance. They were throwing everything they had at Rommel now, beating troops to quarter from every corner of their empire. They had even managed to field this Carpathian infantry that appeared so suddenly at dusk the previous evening.
Orders were one thing, but disengaging from a forward action and re-directing that effort 180 degrees to a new axis was no small matter. The Germans were disciplined, skilled troops, and managed to extricate their valuable tank battalions and get them headed south. Rommel had the 8th Machinegun battalion in reserve, which would form the nucleus of one Kampfgruppe. Streich put together another with I/5 Panzer Battalion supported by the division reconnaissance unit. A third kampfgruppe was formed with the Division Pioneer battalion and II/5 Panzer. There was plenty of artillery around to support all three while still keeping suppressive fire on the British position.
“Let them think we’re reorganizing for another attack,” Streich told his subordinates. We’ll finish off this British unit to our south first, and be back by noon to do just that-assuming I have any gasoline to get here! Then we’ll finish the job with this New Zealand Division.”
Confidence was a good thing in a commanding officer, but Streich was wrong, and by noon that day the situation would look a good deal different than anything he could imagine.
