Splinters - 1
Yes, I know, I need to work on Cato's Cavalry. But this damn thing popped into my head as I slogged my way through the slimy mud that is Epping Forest today. In the middle of the Battle of Alam Halfa Rommel was caught in a bombing raid and a bomb fragment only just missed him. What if that fragment had actually hit him? What would the consequences be?
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Before Alam Halfa Ridge, September 2nd, 1942
“The swine isn’t attacking!”
Lieutenant Gottfried Lehring looked at the map again whilst his commanding officer raged up and down the folding map table by the side of the command car. Field-Marshal Erwin Rommel was in a very bad mood. To be honest Lehring couldn’t blame him at all for that.
The attack was not going well. The plan had been to burst through the British minefields and then swing north to capture the ridge to the North-East. From there they’d slash through the British supply lines, pin the bulk of their army against the sea and dash for Alexandria. At least that had been the plan. Lehring hadn’t been sure that they had enough petrol to get to Alexandria, but there was always the chance of capturing a juicy British petrol dump.
To get there however, they had to get through the British – and they were not co-operating. Normally the British were extradinarily profligate with their armoured divisions, charging straight into range of the German anti-tank guns and losing the lot. However, their new commander seemed to have a better grip on affairs than their previous one, because this time the British tanks were stuck in hull-down positions on that damn ridge and had already beaten off one attack, whilst their artillery hosed the German forces with high explosive.
And all the time the RAF was in the air above them, bombing, strafing and making a total nuisance of themselves. Everyone was gaunt-eyed and miserable from lack of sleep and Lehring was getting very worried about the Field Marshal. He wasn’t a well man and he looked worse than ever today. He was also in a very bad mood. His subordinate commanders were dropping like flies – Von Bismark, the commander of the 21st Panzer Division was dead, whilst Nehring, the commander of the Afrika Korps had been badly wounded.
Rommel was now looking through his binoculars at the ridge again, muttering under his breath. Lehring watched him quietly – until he spotted movement out of the corner of his eye. Shit, more planes.
“Herr Feldmarshall! Another bombing raid!”
Rommel looked around and swore again as the first explosions started a few hundred yards away. “Take cover!” he bellowed and promptly threw himself into a slit trench to one side.
Lehring looked around wildly and then on impulse jumped into the same trench, causing Rommel to move to one side slightly. “Keep your head down boy,” he grunted.
“Yes sir,” shouted Lehring and then the bombs were on them, splitting the air with a series of concussive eruptions that left Lehring’s head ringing and covered him in fine powder.
When the explosions stopped he raised his head cautiously. The vehicles were almost unscathed, although an armoured car to one side had taken a direct hit and was burning fiercely. The rest of the staff were also starting to stir from whatever cover they’d been able to find.
“That could have been worse,” Lehring muttered as he climbed out of the trench and then brushed ineffectually at the dust. “Are you alright sir?”
Rommel did not reply and Lehring looked down into the trench again. The Field Marshal was hunched over at the bottom of it. He wasn’t moving.
“Sir?” Lehring called, as panic squirrelled its way across his stomach. “Are you alright?”
Rommel still made no response and Lehring jumped down into the trench and hurried over to him. “Sir!” He shook Rommel’s shoulder. There was no response at all. Lehring reached down and pulled him to one side carefully. A metal splinter that had to be at least 6 inches long was buried in Rommel’s right temple. His eyes were open and lifeless.
Lehring looked up into the face of Kompff, who was looking over the side of the trench and who seemed as panicked as Lehring felt. “Shit,” he whispered, “What the hell do we do now?”
===============================================
Before Alam Halfa Ridge, September 2nd, 1942
“The swine isn’t attacking!”
Lieutenant Gottfried Lehring looked at the map again whilst his commanding officer raged up and down the folding map table by the side of the command car. Field-Marshal Erwin Rommel was in a very bad mood. To be honest Lehring couldn’t blame him at all for that.
The attack was not going well. The plan had been to burst through the British minefields and then swing north to capture the ridge to the North-East. From there they’d slash through the British supply lines, pin the bulk of their army against the sea and dash for Alexandria. At least that had been the plan. Lehring hadn’t been sure that they had enough petrol to get to Alexandria, but there was always the chance of capturing a juicy British petrol dump.
To get there however, they had to get through the British – and they were not co-operating. Normally the British were extradinarily profligate with their armoured divisions, charging straight into range of the German anti-tank guns and losing the lot. However, their new commander seemed to have a better grip on affairs than their previous one, because this time the British tanks were stuck in hull-down positions on that damn ridge and had already beaten off one attack, whilst their artillery hosed the German forces with high explosive.
And all the time the RAF was in the air above them, bombing, strafing and making a total nuisance of themselves. Everyone was gaunt-eyed and miserable from lack of sleep and Lehring was getting very worried about the Field Marshal. He wasn’t a well man and he looked worse than ever today. He was also in a very bad mood. His subordinate commanders were dropping like flies – Von Bismark, the commander of the 21st Panzer Division was dead, whilst Nehring, the commander of the Afrika Korps had been badly wounded.
Rommel was now looking through his binoculars at the ridge again, muttering under his breath. Lehring watched him quietly – until he spotted movement out of the corner of his eye. Shit, more planes.
“Herr Feldmarshall! Another bombing raid!”
Rommel looked around and swore again as the first explosions started a few hundred yards away. “Take cover!” he bellowed and promptly threw himself into a slit trench to one side.
Lehring looked around wildly and then on impulse jumped into the same trench, causing Rommel to move to one side slightly. “Keep your head down boy,” he grunted.
“Yes sir,” shouted Lehring and then the bombs were on them, splitting the air with a series of concussive eruptions that left Lehring’s head ringing and covered him in fine powder.
When the explosions stopped he raised his head cautiously. The vehicles were almost unscathed, although an armoured car to one side had taken a direct hit and was burning fiercely. The rest of the staff were also starting to stir from whatever cover they’d been able to find.
“That could have been worse,” Lehring muttered as he climbed out of the trench and then brushed ineffectually at the dust. “Are you alright sir?”
Rommel did not reply and Lehring looked down into the trench again. The Field Marshal was hunched over at the bottom of it. He wasn’t moving.
“Sir?” Lehring called, as panic squirrelled its way across his stomach. “Are you alright?”
Rommel still made no response and Lehring jumped down into the trench and hurried over to him. “Sir!” He shook Rommel’s shoulder. There was no response at all. Lehring reached down and pulled him to one side carefully. A metal splinter that had to be at least 6 inches long was buried in Rommel’s right temple. His eyes were open and lifeless.
Lehring looked up into the face of Kompff, who was looking over the side of the trench and who seemed as panicked as Lehring felt. “Shit,” he whispered, “What the hell do we do now?”
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