Air Support

Ju 87 Stukas over the desert
(Source)

Newly promoted Gefreiter Hans Decker was bitching over the intercom to his pilot, Feldwebel Ernst Wolfram. "Why in the name of all that is Holy did they move us to North Africa. Blisteringly hot during the day, cold as a witch's tit at night, and more verdammte flies than I've ever seen in my entire life!"

Wolfram shook his head, if Decker wasn't complaining, he'd be worried, but now wasn't the time. They were 2000 meters above the desert floor and were expecting to come up on an English truck convoy at any minute.

"Halt die Klappe¹, Hans. Now is not the time."

From the terse tone of his pilot's voice, Decker could tell that he was nervous. With good reason, though they had yet to encounter any Spitfires in the desert, Hurricanes were plentiful, as were the American built P-40s which the South Africans were flying out of Tobruk.

The 109 pilots weren't impressed by the P-40, but then again, they weren't flying the Ju 87. An aircraft so ill-suited for air-to-air combat that they had been withdrawn from the Battle of Britain. Wolfram and Decker had survived that fight and were relieved to be sent to Sicily, as opposed to Russia.

Now they were in North Africa, a large detachment of their Stukageschwader² had been sent over to the desert to support Rommel's latest thrust east, they had traded the easy living in Italy for the harsh conditions of Libya. Decker didn't miss the combat over Malta, which was growing more costly with each passing day, but the British had yet to come up in strength to oppose them over Libya. As they got closer to Egypt, he expected that that would change.

The intel briefing that morning had warned them that things might be changing as the desert army drove on Tobruk. The British were falling back in some disarray, it looked like they might not make a stand at Tobruk, but more fighters were coming up to oppose the bombers. Older aircraft yes, but a Stuka was easy meat for any halfway decent pilot in a fighter.

"Penguin Lead, Penguin Three, dust cloud, eleven o'clock." Decker heard over the radio. If it was the truck convoy they were looking for, there were bound to be enemy fighters in the area.

Ian Sullivan was taking his turn on the Vickers machine gun which had been jury-rigged atop a Bedford lorry. It was hot, the dust was making it hard to see, and they were expecting air attacks along this section of the coast road. He saw something, he looked, looked again, then shouted out ...

"Stukas! At our five o'clock position!"

Alan Caddick, who was driving the truck loaded with wounded, glanced over at his tank commander, Sergeant Teddy O'Connell, for instructions.

"Keep 'er steady Alan, there's no way off this bloody road except into the desert. If the chap ahead speeds up, you speed up."

O'Connell was furious that there had been no replacement tanks at Tobruk, they'd been ordered all the way back to Alex.³ His crew had been split between this truck and the one behind initially, but at the first stop for fuel, he'd got all his lads onto this truck. "Sod the Army if it thinks they're going to split us up." had been his reason to the convoy commander. That man, a major with a Highland regiment, had readily agreed, he seemed a decent sort.

O'Connell felt the lorry lurch ahead as Caddick increased speed, the chap in front was accelerating, so must they. A second later, he heard Sullivan's Vickers open fire.

Wolfram's section had been detailed to hit the head of the column, as the aircraft tipped into its dive, he heard Decker call out, "The guys behind us are getting jumped, looks like those P-40s intel told us about!"

 As the enemy were ignoring them, for the moment, Wolfram concentrated on his dive. A number of crews had complained about the automatic dive recovery system lately, it was something Wolfram hadn't used since training. He didn't plan on utilizing that system any time soon, he had a deep distrust of anything "automatic." He knew his bird better than any technical contraption.

As his bombs fell free (he had a 250-kg bomb under the belly and a 50-kg bomb under each wing), he began his pullout. Grunting, he felt his vision start to fade around the edges, but once they were level, it cleared quickly. Then he nearly jumped out of his seat as Decker's gun began to hammer behind him.

Sergeant Pilot Christiaan Krige swore as he triggered the guns of his Kittyhawk, as his rounds went high over the Stuka to his front, the rounds of his intended prey's gunner slammed into the nose of his aircraft. He could feel that he was losing power. a glance at his oil pressure gauge told him why.

"Blue Lead, Blue Three, I've been tagged. Breaking away!"

As oil began to spatter his windscreen, he began to look for a spot to set his aircraft down. Things were going to hell much quicker than he cared for.

As Wolfram rejoined with the rest of his section, one of whom was missing, he heard nothing from his gunner. As he scanned the skies, looking for fighters, he saw a flight of four aircraft joining above, from their tail up posture, he could tell they were Me-109s.

"Hans, friendlies at six high, do you see them?"

Silence.

"Hans?"

A soft moan over the intercom, "Ernst, we need to land."

Knowing that the nearest base was over a hundred kilometers to the west, he began looking for a spot on the coastal road. "Penguin Lead, Four, I need to land, now!"

The voice of Hauptmann Wild came back, "Damage, injuries?"

"Injuries."

After a long moment, Wild came back. "Dust column about twenty kilometers west, that's the Afrika Korps, try and set down near them. See you back at base, good luck."

"Stay with me, Hans, I'm going to put the crate down soon."

In the rear seat, Decker was starting to shiver, he knew that without medical attention he would be dead, and soon.

"Herr Feldwebel, is that a Stuka ahead?" Oberpanzerschütze Schumacher was riding outside of his position in one of the side turret hatches. He saw something coming in low to their front, from the gull-winged shape, it had to be a Stuka.

Hoffmeister looked up, "It is, what the ..."

The aircraft set down on the road, bouncing once or twice before the tail settled as the pilot throttled back. When the dust had settled, Hoffmeister saw the pilot scramble out of his cockpit and frantically began pulling open the gunner's hood. He had a sick feeling.

"Fritz get us up to that aircraft fast as you can." Then on the radio he transmitted, "Need a Sanitäter up front, quickly!"

As the Panzer rolled to a stop, not ten meters from the aircraft, Hoffmeister yelled, "Give me the first aid kit."

After Krebs had handed it up, Hoffmeister ran to the aircraft and looked for how to climb up on the wing.

"Throw me the kit!" as Wolfram caught the first aid kit he pointed to the trailing edge of the aircraft. The Panzer crewman saw the boarding step on the fuselage and immediately figured out what it was for. Wolfram by then had turned his attention to his wounded gunner.

It looked bad, Decker's right leg was soaked in blood. Checking for a pulse, Decker shifted in his seat.

"I never figured you for one to try and cop a feel from a wounded comrade, Ernst." Decker grinned weakly as he said that.

Taking a breath, Decker said, "I managed to get a tourniquet on the leg, hard to see in all that mess, but I think the bleeding has stopped."

Moments later, Wolfram heard a brusque voice order, "Move!"

He stepped back and let the army medic through. The man checked everything out then turned and said, "You probably saved your gunner's life with that tourniquet. Good job, now we need to get him out of that seat, gently."

Wolfram, as he assisted the medic, said, "He put that on himself, I didn't do it."

The medic shook his head, "Your man has balls, I'll give him that. Gently, gently ...," the medic had the Panzer crewman and the Stuka pilot helping him. Moments later they had Decker on the ground.

Checking the tourniquet and the wound, the medic turned to the man who had driven him up to the head of the column in a Kübelwagen. "We need to get him back to the surgeon now, we might yet save this leg."

As the small car and its wounded burden sped back the way it had came, Wolfram looked at the Panzer crewman, extending his hand, "Wolfram, Ernst Wolfram, Stukageschwader Three."

Clasping the pilot's hand, Hoffmeister responded, "Hoffmeister, Willi, 2st Panzer. Do you need a lift?"

"No, I think I can get airborne from here, just block the road for me."

Gesturing back at the stopped column, Hoffmeister said, "You've already done that."

Wolfram chuckled, "I guess I should get out of the Army's way then."

As the big aircraft got into the air, Hoffmeister shook his head. "Hopefully, that gunner will be okay."

Weber spoke up, "It's even money he has to have that leg off. Seen it before."

"Come on, show's over, let's go hunting. The English won't wait for us!" Hoffmeister ordered, something odd in his voice.

As Panzer 413 trundled off down the coast road, the rest of the column fell in behind. Some twenty kilometers ahead, O'Connell's truck was now the lead vehicle in the convoy, Wolfram's bombs had destroyed five trucks at the front of the column.

"Even if we stay ahead of the Jerries, we might have nothing left by the time we get to Alex." O'Connell said to Caddick.

Caddick nodded towards the desert, three columns of smoke marked the funeral pyres of six German airman, brought down by South African fighters. "Will they run out of aircraft before we run out of trucks, I wonder."

O'Connell looked out at the smoke and said, "Sod them, sod all the bloody Huns."

¹ Shut up.

² Dive bomber wing

³ Alexandria in Egypt