John Schettler - Hammer of God

Fedorov had been dreading the meeting in Alexandria, but the presence of Admirals Tovey and Cunningham, and the support of both General O’Connor and Brigadier Kinlan had conspired to make it much more bearable. They had come to initiate a new member into the grey priesthood of the knowing-those who grasped the full truth concerning Kirov and the newly arrived 7th Brigade. The ability to speak directly to Wavell in Russian eased the language barrier, but it was still difficult to simply come out with the story of all that had happened in the desert.

Wavell displayed the expected surprise and disbelief, but here he had Admirals, Generals and Captains off strange Russian ships in front of him, and they all held fast to the same belief. Beyond that, he knew very well that he had no armored force in the southern desert. It had been all he could do to send a single battalion from the 6th Australian Division there to cover Siwa and try to scout out the enemy position at Giarabub. In the end, the argument that had finally won him over was the simple fact of Rommel’s retreat. The Germans had been set to roll in on his last strategic reserve in theatre, the 2nd New Zealand Infantry Division. The battle had been joined, and he had also sent the Carpathian Brigade in to try and backstop the position at Bir el Khamsa. As the first reports of the action came in, he soon received an urgent communication from O’Connor.

“Presently on the enemy flank and with good force in hand. I propose to attack at dawn. The lack of details had proved to be most aggravating, and Wavell could not imagine what O’Connor was talking about. What force might he have scraped up that could threaten the enemy flank? That said, the intrepid O’Connor had appeared like a mad Jinn on the blood red dawn, and something had come surging out of the southern desert with a vengeance. It had struck the enemy like the Hammer of God, and sent the entire German Afrika Korps reeling with shock, and Wavell could not argue with that result. By the time he had thought to get forward to see what was happening, he had a message in hand that an urgent meeting had been called in Alexandria. There he heard the combined testimony of all these other respected officers, all serious minded men. Tovey and Cunningham were fresh from battle at sea, and here before him now was a man he had no knowledge of whatsoever, Brigadier Kinlan. There he stood, his odd uniform soiled by the desert, looking like a sensible, competent British serving officer-from a distant future that Wavell could not even begin to imagine.

Six hours later he was a different man.

They had gone over everything together, and then another strange gentlemen was introduced, and Director Kamenski had a long, quiet chat with Wavell. This moment had come to them all, each man present. They had all suffered the same shock, the wrenching disorientation, the disbelief. Yet they had all come to accept their fate in time. They were now believers.

It wasn’t until the discussion turned to plans and strategy that Wavell could even begin to gather his thoughts. The realization finally struck him like that same Hammer of God, but he suddenly realized that he had that hammer in his own strong hand now, and could wield the most powerful weapon any man had ever been given in this world. So he put aside all his shock and disbelief and pressed his thoughts on what they might now achieve with this godsend.

“Gentlemen,” he said. “What, then, do we propose to do? And how in the world are we to communicate all this to our government? I have been in receipt of cables from the Prime Minister every other day. If he has not already been informed, he will want a summation of the current situation in the Western Desert from me forthwith. What in the world am I to tell him? Just last week I was stressing the lack of transport and the complete inadequacy of our current armored forces. He was proposing every sort of counter to the enemy advance, right down to naval landings on the coast road behind Rommel’s lines. In short, he had no effective understanding of what we were facing here, and could not imagine why we were not able to prevent Rommel’s advance. He insisted we chop off the turtle’s neck, as he put things.”

“Well,” Admiral Tovey smiled. “It seems you have done exactly that. The details may not be important-only the result. The Prime Minister will certainly take heart in knowing we’ve set Rommel back on his heel. But I cannot imagine that we can continue on without him knowing what has happened here. Captain Fedorov has stressed the grave importance of restricting the knowledge we have shared with you, and I am in full agreement with that. But the Prime Minister must be informed. It is a hard hour, when we come to the realization that the world we are living in is not what we thought it was. It takes courage and time to stand up after that. Yet we need only focus our minds and hearts on one thing now-how can we prevail?”

“That will be the same question the enemy is asking,” said Cunningham. “They have seen the rockets fly, and smelled the burning steel. Though they may have no idea what really befell them, both at sea and on land, they will still be set on finding a way to redress that situation.”

“So we must be resolute,” said Tovey, “and we must press our advantage to the fullest while we can. The support of both Admiral Volsky, Miss Fairchild, and Brigadier Kinlan has been decisive. We have turned the enemy back on both fronts, but this struggle is far from over.”

Wavell nodded gravely as he spoke up now. “As I am in regular communication with the Prime Minister, perhaps I can handle the matter of his briefing. But realize that what happens to that information after it is disclosed will not be a matter I can control.”

“That is the dilemma,” said Fedorov after he heard the translation. “The more this knowledge spreads, the greater the chance that it will act like a poison in this world. It must be restricted, the most closely guarded secret of the war. Surely a man like Churchill can understand that.”

“I believe he will,” said Wavell. “In the short run he is likely to send Foreign Secretary Eden here to investigate and report. I can’t see how we can avoid his knowing about all of this. And what about the War Cabinet? The list goes on and on. Who do we include in this little club, and who is to be shut out?”

“Perhaps it would be best if we arrange a meeting with Churchill here, away from the hubbub of the War Cabinet and the politics involved,” said Tovey. “Might we persuade him to come out and have a look around himself?”

“I would be delighted to make the invitation,” said Wavell, “and I suppose if we all put our names to it, with the strongest possible request that he come here, good old Winston will likely be so curious as to what this is all about that he would swim here, if he couldn’t fly.”

That brought a much needed round of laughter, though it was short-lived when Wavell revealed the most recent message he had received from Churchill. “More than a simple communication, this is a directive, dated Feb 14, 1941. The Prime Minister stresses the importance of taking every advantage of our recent victory, and states that every effort must be made to cut the enemy’s lines of communications by sea to North Africa.”