“Of course. We’ll want his squadrons redeploying to airfields on Greece as soon as this weather clears. For now it will provide us with welcome cover as we make this move east. We’ll steer southeast, then east to muster in the Messenian Gulf off Greece. That will give Fiebig time to move his air strength to Greece to cover us again. Then we visit Crete as planned to begin softening that place up for the planned air operations. We’ll hit the ports and airfields around Chania, Souda Bay and possibly even Heraklion if things go well.”
“Has the Fuhrer approved?”
“I hear he was more than pleased with how the attack went in against Malta. So yes, we have authorization to carry out Donner as a preliminary operation. As to the invasion plans for Crete, that remains to be seen. In the meantime, we’ll show the British they are not the only ones able to utilize sea power in the Mediterranean now. This is a whole new kettle of fish here, Adler. Now we fight in fleet actions like the British, not as solo raiders trying to sneak past Iceland and joust with the convoys. We leave that to Doenitz and his U-Boats. So we will carry out Operation Donner as planned. Let’s see if the British have the stomach to come up and do anything about it.”
Finally, thought Adler. Lutjens has found his backbone after all. This is good. If we make a strong show of force here, we demonstrate that they are no longer masters of this sea while we remain a strong force in opposition. Yet he had one misgiving. They had thought to achieve complete sea dominance with this action, but the Italians were now a most questionable element in their equation.
“You realize we may not be able to count on the Italians,” he said with the obvious reservation in his voice.
“When have we ever been able to count on the Italians?” Lutjens smiled, but the point Adler raised was going to matter more than he realized, because the British fleet wasn’t sailing for Alexandria, and it would not be long before they would find that out.
“There’s only one principle of war and that’s this. Hit the other fellow, as quick as you can, and as hard as you can, where it hurts him most, when he ain’t lookin!”
Hauptmann Hans Kummel had a frustrated look on his face that morning. He was commander of 1st Company. I/8th Panzer in Cramer’s regiment, but thus far his war in the desert had been a headlong rush east over tractless sand and limestone gravel, through occasional briar scrub and camelthorn, and over parched, wrinkled wadis barring the way. The mid-day heat was intense, even now in the winter, so he had one consolation knowing the coming fight would be in the morning, with the chill of the desert night still heavy on the barren landscape. He was eager for it, a real fight at last with a British Armored force, or so the rumors had it.
“So the British found their backbone,” he said to his driver, a man named Kruschinski. “See that ridge line there? They will have to flow to either side of that. It will split their force, and when they come, we’ll take the company on a wide swing to the east and catch them on the flank. Our job is to get at their support group. The Panzerjagers will engage the tanks.”
“Good enough, Hans. You aiming to get a third Iron Cross this morning?”
Kummel smiled. He had three medals already pinned to his uniform, two Iron Crosses and a Panzer Assault Badge for work in Poland and France. Yes, he thought. A third cross is good luck for me, and bad luck for the British. He saw the beginning of the little artillery duel, three rounds on either side, and then heard the whine of heavy shells coming in, which surprised him. He looked to see the small hill where the Commander of 5th Light had been observing. It erupted in smoke and fire and he saw what looked to be a heavy gun tossed up into the air with the power of the explosions.
“Those are big guns!” he shouted to Kruschinski. “At least 150mm! I would not want to be on that hill.”
More rounds came, seeming to walk westward along the German line now, right through the Pakfront that had been set up there to cover the wadi approach. It was difficult to see what was happening, but he saw at least one big 88 flak gun blasted onto its side. How the British could have registered that fire so accurately amazed him.
