Riposte in the Desert

RAF Hurricane in North Africa
(Source)

Flight Lieutenant Reginald Morley sat in the cockpit of his Hurricane awaiting the signal for take off. Even though it was still early in the morning, the heat was building rapidly. He could feel the first trickles of sweat down his back.

He was leading two Vics of Hurricanes on an escort mission, covering a squadron of Bristol Blenheims as they hit Axis supply lines beyond Halfaya Pass. As he watched, he saw a flare arch skywards from ground control. Time to get airborne.

Glancing to his left, he saw Corporal Will O'Donnell throw him a quick salute. His other ground crewman, Leading Aircraftman George Frasier, was too busy stowing various tools and parts to pay attention to the takeoff of the aircraft he kept running like a Swiss watch.

Though the expected transition to the Spitfire had not occurred, they were needed elsewhere, the squadron had received all new aircraft before staging to Malta. Many of them had already been lost or damaged in the desperate fighting over that important bastion laying astride the Axis supply lines to North Africa to Italy.

At least Morley had been able to spend some time with his wife, Section Leader Janice Worthington, on Malta before she shipped on to headquarters in Cairo. After her departure he had shot down two aircraft, one Italian and one German, and been promoted to Flight Lieutenant.

When his squadron had finally arrived in Egypt (they had flown in to Ma'aten Bagush, a large camp near Mersa Matruh), he had been thrilled, yet anxious, to learn that Janice was actually posted to the same place. Thrilled at the thought of being able to see her on a regular basis. Anxious as the front wasn't that far away and this Rommel chap seemed to know his business.

But all that was in the past, today was the start of a new offensive to try and drive the Germans and their Italian allies away from the border with Egypt, perhaps even back to El Agheila where all this had started.

Closing his canopy to keep the dust out, he advanced the throttle and began his takeoff roll. He was airborne quickly and checked to see that his two Vics were in the proper formation, he wondered if the RAF would ever wake up and adopt the formation the Germans used, what some called the "fluid" or "finger" four.

But such thoughts were for later, now was a time to pay attention and try to stay alive.

(Source)

"Right lads, button up, time to earn our pay!" O'Connell kept his head up, merely lowering himself in his seat but keeping his hatch open. He didn't really fear snipers out here, where would they hide after all? (He would later learn that there were many places for a man with a rifle to hide himself.) But artillery was another matter, and so far the German guns were silent.

Fitzhugh was having trouble seeing forward with all the dust being kicked up by the tanks ahead of theirs. Fortunately O'Connell was guiding him over the intercom, the tank commander could see a little more of the world from his hatch. Though not much.

Finally O'Connell told him to stop the tank.

"Wait here lads, I'm going to go for a 'look-see,' shan't be but a minute."

O'Connell climbed down and surveyed the landscape as the dust began to settle. They should be close to the German positions by now, all they had to do was wait for the command to attack. In any event, no command was necessary.

The Germans had spotted them.

DAK 5 cm PaK 38 Anti-tank Gun
(Source)

Oberfeldwebel Gerhard Voss barked out "Feuer!" as the English tanks rolled to a halt and the dust began to settle. His crew had a perfect position, slightly above the Tommies and well-concealed.

The first round was high, before Voss could say a word the gunner had adjusted his sights and sent another round downrange. That one was a solid hit.

One of the seventeen British tanks began to burn. Others followed as the entire battery opened up on the British tankers.

Imperial War Museum

"Hoffmeister!" the shout came over the platoon net.

Hoffmeister recognized his platoon leader's voice, the man wasn't much for protocol, over the radio or anywhere else for that matter.

"413 here." He answered.

"Anything to the south we need to be concerned with?" Hoffmeister's position on the far right flank of the platoon gave him better visibility then what Weber had in Panzer 411."

"Nichts, we're clear."

"Right then, advance, left echelon formation, lead us in Willi!"

Fritz Weber heard the entire exchange and began rolling as soon as the platoon commander finished speaking.

"Your cousin is sticking us out front, Fritz." Lutz Schumacher called down from his loader's position.

"Leck mich am Arsch¹, Lutz. I told you, we're not related." Weber was a little annoyed with their new loader. In truth, no one in the crew really liked the man.

"Ah, but you'd like that wouldn't you?" Schumacher retorted.

"Halt deine Fresse², Schumacher." Hoffmeister barked loud enough so that the intercom wasn't needed.

In the next instant, "Target Panzer, 10 o'clock!"

Horst Krebs leaned further into his sight, "Got him! Shot out!"

Schumacher was too busy reloading the gun to make any more clever comments.

O'Connell's tank lurched to a sudden stop, "Fitzie! What the Hell is going on?!"

Fitzhugh was trying to get the transmission back into gear, the shift lever had popped to the neutral position and he couldn't get it back into gear.

"The bloody transmission's bollocksed up, probably the f**cking sand!"

Suddenly the tank rang like a bell, everyone heard McTavish grunt as if he'd been punched.

"Damn it, tank's hit, Freddy's hurt bad! Get us moving Fitzie!" O'Connell bellowed down from his hatch.

Fitzhugh tried reverse, that worked and the tank started rolling backwards. "That's the best I can do Sarn't!"

As Morley led his two Vics back to the base, the Blenheim lead came on over the wireless, "Ascot Lead, Leopard Lead, nice work today lads."

Morley's engine was running rough and his number two was leaking oil. "Ah roger, Leopard Lead, thank you. Ascot Lead, out." Intentionally, and rudely, terminating the transmission, Morley was in no mood to be nice to the bomber boys.

They had been late at the rendezvous, had had to make two passes at the target and had left Morley's flight holding the bag. Morley's men had been jumped by four Italian Freccias.³

These aircraft had been led by a very good pilot. His wingmen weren't as good but he positioned them and led them well. Morley's flight had had quite the chore keeping them off the Blenheims.

They had succeeded but had come away with two damaged aircraft. Charles Buckingham, leading the second Vic, swore he'd damaged one of the Italians, but no one else saw it.

Morley was furious. He resolved then and there to adopt the "fluid" four formation, not yet officially sanctioned in his wing. He'd move heaven and earth to change that.

Corporal Fred McTavish had been hit by a splinter spalled off the interior of the turret by a German anti-tank round. He was bleeding from the lower belly but when they got him to the medicos, they weren't worried. Apparently nothing vital had been hit.

"He'll heal up in a few weeks, send him back to the field hospital, he'll be right as rain."

O'Connell looked at his gunner, "Well damn it, Freddie, now I get to replace you with an Irishman!"

"Doc, can you load me on an ambulance so I'll not have to listen to my sergeant's wild fantasies." McTavish laughed and immediately grimaced. "Lord but that hurts. Get me awae from a' this, Doc."

Shaking his head the doctor gestured to the stretcher bearers to load McTavish into the ambulance.

Now all O'Connell had to do was convince his platoon commander to give him a good gunner, on a temporary basis. But he doubted that would happen, spare gunners, good ones, didn't grow on trees.

And there were damned few trees in the Western Desert anyway.

¹ Kiss my ass (German)

² Shut the f**k up. (German)

³ The Fiat G.50 Freccia (Arrow) was a WWII Italian fighter in service from 1935 to 1943.