What he did not see that morning was the battery of AS-90 Braveheart self propelled 155mm howitzers, well behind the advancing British force. With shells that could range anywhere from 25 to as far as 40 kilometers, all it needed was a good target call, and that had been provided by spotters using lasers to tag the hilltop. The position of the spotting vehicle was seen on the digital screen of the firing Bravehearts, which then knew that the target was 3000 meters beyond that, and with precise coordinates on the digital map. The hilltop had been a known terrain feature, and a bad choice for Streich and his small battery of 150s.
Lieutenant Reeves had also done his work and he was out on the left flank, about 5 kilometers from the German Pakfront he had seen on his thermal imaging systems. Now he was painting the suspected gun positions with a pulse coded laser. The Bravehearts picked up the signal, and gunners loaded the new Excalibur Laser Guided Rounds, programming them to the same code. When fired, the rounds would activate a seeker as they approached the target, and fins would deploy to allow the round to guide itself to the spot being lazed. It was not as accurate as GPS guided munitions, but there were no satellite links, and it was good enough on a cloudless morning like this. Reeves’ artillery call would take out three 88s before their crews ever sighted the enemy.
The artillery was the opening round of the battle, and only the first of many shocking surprises for the Germans that day. Kummel was restless, his head and shoulders jutting up from the open top hatch, his eyes squinting through a pair of field glasses as he watched the incoming fire.
“Come on, Kruschinski, we had better get moving before that artillery finds us too!”
His company was behind and to the left of the 8th MG Battalion from 5th Light Division, and he gave the order for his 18 Panzer IIIGs to move out. He would be the unseen counterattack emerging from the gloaming of the rising sun to the east, staying on low ground so as not to be silhouetted. If the British attacked true to form, they would send in their tanks first, followed later by infantry in small carriers from their support battalions. These were the prey he had his mind set on, and if he swung deep enough, he might also find this enemy artillery as well. He knew where it might be, given the typical range of a British 25 pounder, but could not know that he was very wrong about that guess. Kruschinski kicked the tank forward, and Kummel radioed his company to follow.
Lieutenant William Bowers watched the artillery fire come in to silence the hilltop battery and then engage suspected gun positions on his left. His Sabre had the wadi limited approach that led right up to that hill, a narrow channel that the enemy obviously thought was well protected from direct attack by armor. He radioed back and told the Mercian Battalion to hold in place, but to be ready with infantry on his call. Then he gave the order to move out.
The tanks broke column and spread out in lines, three abreast, five lines deep. Behind them a company of the Mercian infantry in their Warrior IFVs waited on call. The next three rounds to come in were smoke, giving his force a thin mask to make their approach, an advantage he hadn’t called for and really did not need. It had been designed to frustrate the optics and thermals of enemy T-72s, but that beast was not their enemy today-not if Lieutenant Reeves had his head screwed on right that morning. Instead Bowers would end up facing the best guns the German army had for killing tanks, bar none, the weapon that would make a legend for itself here in this very desert, the dual purpose 88.
As Bowers advanced, his gunner had not seen a smaller gun position at the base of the hill and off to the right. It was there that Streich had placed a Pak 50 and two smaller 37mm AT guns in defilade within the wadi. The guns were below the ground level the tanks were using, and therefore not seen on the thermal imaging system until the crews suddenly pushed them forward to the edge of the wadi and began firing. The first indication Bowers had of their presence was a small clink against his frontal armor-a sound that was much more than an errant stone kicked up by the grinding tank tracks.
“I think we just took a small caliber round,” he said, though the tank showed no signs of any damage. “Gunner, track left.”
The big turret, nearly the length of the entire tank, rotated fifteen degrees left and saw the guns. Another muzzle flash marked the position, soon followed by a dull clink as yet another round struck the tank. “Target marked!”
“Shoot!”
