Operation Compass had come to its wheezing end, over nearly 800 kilometers of inhospitable desert, against a force five times its size. The brilliance and determination of General O’Connor, and all the Brigadiers that commanded the dogged troops he led into battle, had given Great Britain the one thing it so desperately needed at that time, a victory.
O’Connor’s face would make the news, the energetic British Terrier that had beaten the Italians senseless in the Libyan Desert, defending Egypt and liberating all of Cyrenaica. He had taken two small ports in Bardia, Tobruk and soon added Benghazi as the Australians continued to press the Italians from behind. The airfields he had secured would be vital to the defense of Malta, for when the Italians moved into Egypt, the only way the British could get more Hurricanes to Malta was by carrier. Now they would have plenty of new airfields to leap frog the fighters forward.
It was a jubilant time, and a much needed relief from the anxiety that the Italian advance into Egypt had caused. Secretary of War Anthony Eden took a leaf from Churchill’s book and characterized the victory in a single phrase: “Never has so much been surrendered by so many to so few.”
Churchill himself was a bit more direct: “It looks as if these people were corn ripe for the sickle,” he said in a congratulatory message to Wavell. The stalwart General placed the praise on O’Connor’s handling of the battle, getting the utmost from the slim resources he had, with imagination, skill and considerable daring. Yet O’Connor never sought the limelight and considered his actions as nothing more than the simple performance of his duty. His face did make the news, however, and more than an admiring population in Great Britain would see the magazine covers. Dark eyes would soon take interest in what was happening there in the Western Desert. A conjunction of minds and forces was soon about to change everything again, as Germany decided how it would now deal with the sudden and complete defeat of the Italians in North Africa.
Aboard Kirov, Anton Fedorov had been following all these developments closely from any reports Nikolin could fish from the wire traffic. He knew what lay ahead, at least in one telling of these events, and he had been amazed at the integrity of the history concerning O’Connor’s Raid and Operation Compass. He turned to Admiral Volsky, explaining that all this was about to be reversed, and wondering what they could do about it.
“You mean to say that after such a resounding victory this British General will be defeated by the Italians now?” Volsky did not understand.
“No sir, not the Italians, though they will reinforce their position in Tripolitania and continue to fight. If the history continues to hold this course, the British will soon be sent reeling across the desert in retreat by the Germans, and principally by one man, General Erwin Rommel, the man who will come to be called the Desert Fox. He’s out there somewhere even as we speak, waiting in the wings, and he is about to take center stage if things hold together. In fact, O’Connor may soon be captured, along with many other Brigadiers who just fought this victorious battle against the Italians. Britain will lose one of its most daring generals just as a foe of equal skill comes on the scene for the other side. This reversal sets back British plans for half a year, and in this history it could be even more significant, possibly fatal.”
“My,” said Volsky. “History can be a stubborn mule at times. Must this happen, Fedorov? Might it not change?”
“It might if I could do one thing, sir.”
“What is that?”
“Warn General O’Connor, so the British will not be deprived of his brilliance. We must warn them, sir. Information is as much a weapon as anything else in this war, and that we have in abundance, no matter how many missiles remain in our magazine.”
“Admiral Tovey has sent word that there will be a meeting in Cairo to plan the defense of Egypt and the future course of the war. We are invited as observers and agents of the Soviet government. It is either that or we sail for Murmansk to arrange these convoys, but Admiral Golovko can handle that for the time being. These old bones are starting to feel the cold up here. Warmer waters would be most welcome. Would you like to go?”
“Of course!” Fedorov was elated.
He thought it would be a perfect time to discretely offer the British the benefit of his foreknowledge of what was to come. Nothing was certain, but he might help them avoid some key blunders, like the ill fated and futile effort to reinforce Greece. He might also let them know how important Malta will become to the future war in the desert.
As he pondered this, another event was about to happen that would now weigh heavily in the balance. It would begin with a simple coded signal, heralding an arrival that had been long expected, and one that would change the entire course of the war.
