Debacle - Western Desert, November 1941

South African War Museum (PD)

"Uh, Willi, this beast was refurbished, right?" Gefreiter Fritz Weber was checking out the driver's area in their newly issued PzKw III Aus. J¹.

Hoffmeister paused in his inspection of the turret area, "Yes, why?"

Weber didn't answer as he climbed out of his hatch and proceeded to vomit his breakfast over the side. Shaking his head, Hoffmeister grabbed a rag from one of the turret bins and climbed down to the driver's seat. Sure enough, the men who had refurbished the tank had missed a spot.

Hoffmeister scraped the dried up human remains off of the turret roof next to the driver's hatch, looking around, he found the repair patch which sealed the hole where a round had come through the front of the vehicle and obviously killed the previous driver. He'd complain to the repair depot but it would be wasted breath, those lads were doing everything they could to get the Afrika Korps' Panzer strength back up.

"Fritz, it's cleaned up. Go take a walk, tell the rest of the crew to report in. We're ready as ever."

Hoffmeister didn't think of it as a bad omen, he had no time for such superstitions. Within a couple of hours they would be on the attack. The British were desperately trying to break into the siege of Tobruk and were pressing hard. Time for another counterattack.

Hoffmeister thought they'd be wiser to fall back on their supply lines, pull the British in then hit them when they were at the end of their supply line. At the moment, the German armored troops were scraping the bottom of the barrel with what they had left. Patched up tanks and exhausted troops. A recipe for disaster!

Sergeant Theodore O'Connell's platoon had been rebuilt to full strength, three tanks. He rather liked the way the Germans did things, five tanks per platoon. He doubted though that they were anywhere near full strength now. They had just driven by what appeared to be an entire German tank company, all the vehicles abandoned, either knocked out or out of fuel.

His orders were to press the attack on the airfield at Sidi Rezegh. The attack of his unit was meant to cover the main drive to punch through to Tobruk. At least that's the way he understood things. Like Fitzhugh said, we're just simple tankers, we go where they tell us, kill who they tell us, and get yelled at if the plans fall through. Which lately seemed to be the rule rather than the exception.

But even he could see, they were wearing the Germans and Italians down.

O'Connell turned and watched as the infantry disembarked from their trucks. It took them a moment to get sorted but within minutes they were advancing, rifles at high port, bayonets fixed. His orders were to trail behind and give them support.

"Bobby go out to the right about seventy five yards, Jackie you do the same to my left. Keep your machines about a hundred yards behind the foot sloggers. We should see the arty start any time now."

As if on cue, the big guns began firing, hitting the suspected German positions around the airfield. O'Connell felt as if he was watching a scene from the Great War play out in front of him. Infantry advancing behind a barrage, bayonets fixed, all they were missing was a band. He was sure that if they were Scots he'd hear a bagpipe playing, but these lads were South Africans, a grim lot from what he'd seen.

O'Connell ducked involuntarily as a flight of Hurricanes roared by overhead, on their way to the north to strafe the northern approaches to Sidi Rezegh. Hell, if the airfield was any closer to the coast he was sure the Royal Navy would be in play as well!

The men dug in around the airfield were deep in their dugouts, wincing each time a shell landed close by. They were wincing a lot.

Feldwebel Jost Lindemann looked around at his squad, most of them were veterans, only one man was new. But even the veterans looked shocked at the intensity of the bombardment.

A massive blast close by nearly collapsed their position, one of the palm logs in the ceiling shifted and sand began pouring in. Lindemann could hear screaming not far away, even above the roar of the explosions. From what he could tell from the shouting, a section of trench had collapsed, burying the men within.

Jesus, he pleaded, make it stop.

The first wave of South African infantry began to jog forward as the bombardment lifted. From the look of it, the German position was completely destroyed. They could see collapsed dugouts, sections of trench blasted to oblivion. Some of the men breathed a sigh of relief, figuring that it would be a walk in the park. Those who knew better hunched their shoulders and tried to make themselves small as they advanced. Waiting for the Hell they knew would start soon.

O'Connell had his field glasses out, trying to spot any movement in the German position. He glimpsed something, the tops of helmets and the soft caps adorning the men running bent over down a surviving section of trench. Damn it why didn't they have anything other than armor-piercing for their 2-pounder gun? We could tear those bastards apart!

"Fitzie, slew the turret to 11 o'clock, be ready to engage targets with the coaxial machine gun. Sully, if you something ahead of you that ain't a South African, kill it!"

"How do I know if it's a South African Sarge?" Private Ian Sullivan asked from his bow gunner's seat.

"They'll be the ones not shooting at you lad. Keep your fire high, I'm sure the South Africans will be huggin' the earth soon enough."

Again, as if on cue, O'Connell heard the ripping snarl of German machine guns. Just like his old Da' said, "Doesn't matter how much artillery you dump on 'em, the feckin' Hun'll find a way to survive and man his feckin' machine guns."

Lindemann smacked his gunner on the shoulder and pointed to his right. As the man swung the barrel of his MG 34 in that direction, he saw, and engaged, a party of infantry that were nearly upon the destroyed section of trench.

Before turning to check the other flank, Lindemann saw the enemy soldiers being knocked over like ten pins. The few survivors went to ground, seeking what little cover there was around the collapsed section of trench.

O'Connell spotted at least three of the machine gun positions that were tearing the infantry to red ruin. Frustrated that he had no high explosive ammunition for the 2-pounder, he was nearly resolved to start using the armor piercing, at least it could tear through the cover the Germans were behind.

Before he could give the command, Corporal Bobby Tanner came over the R/T, "Sarn't O'Connell, Hun tanks, a lot of 'em, advancing on our flank!"

Ordering his small platoon to pivot to the right, he ordered driver Private Alan Caddick to find a hull down position.

"I'm looking Sarn't, but the  terrain around here is buggered, too damn flat!" Caddick barked over the intercom, loud enough that he almost didn't need the intercom.

Hoffmeister ordered his reduced platoon of three tanks into wedge formation as they topped the slight rise. There, spread before him as if on a sand table, was the English assault on the airfield.

"All Panzers engage the Tommy tanks! Horst are you up?" Oberfeldwebel Horst Winkel commanded the 1st platoon in the company.

"We're ready, you want us to engage the infantry?"

"Do it! We'll kill the Tommy Panzers!"

As high explosive rounds began hitting the South African infantry, their morale collapsed. Assailed by machine gun fire to their front and now tank cannon fire to their right, they simply had had enough.

They didn't run though, they withdrew in fairly good order, covering each other as they fell back. O'Connell saw them running past as his tanks began to engage the Mark IIIs coming at them. He could see one column of smoke already rising into the desert sky, marking the funeral pyre of a German tank crew.

O'Connell hissed in anger when he saw Sergeant Jackie McAllister's tank take one hit in the engine compartment, then a second tore the right track off.

"Jackie, get out of there, I see smoke on your engine deck!"

He watched as McAllister's crew bailed from their crippled tank and ran back to O'Connell's tank. Leaning out of his hatch, O'Connell bellowed over the roar of gunfire, "Climb aboard lads! Last bus to Cairo leaves now!"

He transmitted over the wireless, "Bobby, fall back. We've got Jackie's crew aboard and looks like the infantry are clear. F**king Huns win another round. Damn it all to bloody Hell!"

"Scheiße! Tommy artillery!" Hoffmeister yelled in frustration as the English guns began to work over the area just to his front. He could also see that the rounds were landing closer even as he watched.

"All Panzers, halt in place. The airfield is safe for now, the English are using their artillery to cover their withdrawal. I don't want to lose any more Panzers today!"

He'd lost contact with Horst Winkel's platoon and had to assume the worst, he could see at least three burning vehicles in that direction. One of his platoon had been mobility killed, he wasn't about to pursue the Tommies with his remaining two Panzers.

The damned Tommies had stopped their attack. Looks like they'd won this round!

¹ PzKw III Ausf. J - The most common variant of the Panzer III, which served in North Africa and the Eastern Front. Hull and turret front armor increased to solid 50 mm plate. Spaced armor was placed around the gun mantlet. Some were produced with 5 cm KwK 39 L/60 gun and later redesignated Ausf. L. (Source)