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Yogi Yohan -> Not really an AAR... but sort of. (4/13/2002 9:49:21 AM)
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This episode really happened (less the drama and detail of course) towards the end of the "Clash of wills" scenario in the MCNA.
Since I don't have the patience to write a propper turn-by-turn AAR, I'd thought I'd tell it lika a little war novelette. Hope you like it, although it IS a bit unpolished...
[B]Outskirts of Tobruk, April 16th 1941[/B]
The sandstorm was settling, but hot winds still howled from the barren depths of the Sahara. The sun was settling too, a dusty ball of red barely visible through sand-ladden air. Another day of battle was nearing its end for the tired men fighting on both sides of the line in the siege of Tobruk. It had been a bad day for the Australians, and one in which the Italian forces of the Afrika Korps had covered themselves with glory.
The Australian encirclement of Kampfgruppe Dietsl a few days earlier had misfired, the DAK forces repulsing attack after attack until they were finally liberated by a counter-attack by elements of the newly arrived 15th Panzer Division. The action had earned Dietsl a Knight’s Cross. When the sandstorm struck a few days later, Rommel had leapt at the chance and launched an all-out assault, spearheaded by tanks and infantry from the Ariete Armoured Division. Spread thin after their losses in the previous battle, the Australian troops in their strong-points were to far apart to give each other support, given the bad visibility. With strong support of Stukas and Italian bombers, the Italian troops had stormed the front-line trenches. The Aussie defenders were suppressed by a murderous long-range fire by the ubiquitous Breda machine-guns and 100mm artillery fire and overwhelmed by superior enemy numbers. Next the defending bunkers were pinpointed by advancing infantry, blasted by Stukas and finished by close range 47mm cannon fire from the Ariete M 13/40 tanks. And all the while, Kampfgruppe Dietsl, Rommels armoured fist, was waiting close behind the Italians, ready to take advantage of an Italian breakthrough. At last, the bunker complex nicknamed “Margie” and “Abigail”, astride a dominating ridge, had been devastated by a final Stuka attack and destroyed by Dietsl’s PzKpfw-IIIs. Now only small ridge covered by palm trees stood between the tired attackers and a clean breakthrough.
Steiner’s radio headset crackled to life, bearing the voice of Oberst Dietsl.
-Steiner, send your scouts past that ridge before you take your Panzers over the top. One of the Stuka pilots claims he destroyed a Matilda there earlier today. There might be others…
-Jawohl Herr Oberst! answered the young Panzerwaffe Leutenant, commander of F-zug.
He needed no further encouragement, fighting Matildas with his PzKpfw-IIIe’s was not his, nor anybodys idea of fun. Turning in his cuopola to face the Italian scout troops riding on the back of his tank, he gestured to their leader, Sargento Cottone.
-Sergeant, I need to know what’s on the other side of those palm trees. Don’t engage anything you cannot handle, just come back and tell me what you saw.
The Italian nodded blankly and jumped of the stopped Panzer, closely followed by his three men. Sheltering from the blistering wind by the tracks of the PzKpfw-III, Cottone quickly outlined the mission to his men, but although keeping it to himself he couldn’t help feeling slighted by the young German. After all, hadn’t the Italian forces had been victorious today, while the supposed elite of the DAK, Kampfgruppe Dietsl, had sat idling in their tanks all day? And now this arrogant “Tedesco” was telling him to come running to “mamma” if he encountered resistance? Not likely he would!
Cottone’s men spread out and advanced crouching towards the ridge, under cover from the guns of Steiner’s five PzKpfw III. In a minute they had reached it and crawled on their knees and elbows to the crest, looking down on the other side. Through the swirling sands he could make out the still smoldering wreck of a an Australian Matilda II some 100 meters aways. The turret had been blown off by the blast of a 500 kg bomb, its deadly 2-pounder AT-gun useless against a Stuka diving from above. Nothing else was visible. Muttering to himself, Cottone gestured his men forward, intending to take a closer look at the wreck and maybe pick up a trofé to show his kids back in Firenze. A British Webley revolver would be nice…
At thirty paces from the hulk, he froze, his insides instantly turning to ice despite the hot climate. Like the hydra of Greek mythology the blackened Matilda seemed to have grown a fresh turret, its ochre camouflage unstained by soot. Since this was clearly impossible, there remained only one explanation – there was another tank sheltering behind the wreck, and in the despicable visibility conditions, he had missed it!
Gesturing to his men to drop, he swore under his breath and considered his options. He didn’t think they had been spotted, or his scout patrol would already have been cut down. The 2-pounder did have HE shells, although not very effecitve (not that they needed to be against his feeble force) but the co-axial Besa machine-gun would scythe his men like weath at this range. They could retreat the way they had come, but if they were spotted, the open ground between the tank and the ridge was a killing ground. If they could get closer, they could shelter behind the burnt-out Matilda and radio Steiner for help…
Making his decision, Cottone gestured to his men to crawl forward, trusting the whirling sands and restricted vision slits of the Matilda to cover his approach. Finally the Italian scouts were able to rest their backs against the track mantle of the destroyed infantry tank. Once in the relative safety of cover, Sgt Cottone’s amibition grew.
-Men, were going to assault that tank and remind Il Teniente Steiner that the soldiers of New Rome know how to fight too! We’ll come round the sides of the wreck, climb up and drop some grenades down the turret hatch – piece of cake! There will be medals all around, maybe even leave. What do you say?
The soldiers nodded happily, already savouring the joys of home leave. Cottone got a grenade from his combat harness, put down his rifle and draw his pistol. The other three also brandished grenades and pistols, leaving the heavy radio set on the ground. Taking one man with him to the left and sending the other two to the right, Cottone crawled round the wrecked enemy tank and reached the side of the undamaged Matilda. Slowly rising, he prepared to climb up on the spacious track mantlet when everything suddenly went wrong. On the other side, one of his men slipped and slammed his pistol against the turret with a metallic sound. Out of the turret hatch came the helmeted head and staring eyes of the Aussie tank commander, soon followed by his hands, which were incidentally holding a Sten sub-machinegun. Swearing, Cottone fired his pistol at the enemy, missed, and bolted for cover on the other side of the burnt-out tank, bullets cracking past his head and ricocheting against tank armour. He barely made, and heard the engine of the Matilda roar to life behind him. As the tank backed away, its gunner opened up with the co-axial Besa, sending streams of bullets screaming over the heads of the covering Italians.
Screaming curses, Cottone clawed for his flare pistol. There was no time for radio messages, he hoped Steiner would see the flare and come to the rescue with his Panzers, otherwise he and his men were toast.
On the other side of the ridge, Steiner flinched at the sound of machine-gun fire. Wondering what Cottone and his men had gotten themselves into, he was startled to se a white flare rise behind the ridgeline. Apparently, the Italians needed help, he decided, but he was still unwilling to commit his entire force against an unknown.
-Kortenhaus, Funk! he cried into his headseat. Advance to the ridge, see what kind of trouble the scouts are in.
-Jawohl Herr Offizer! was the chorused reply of the tank commanders over the wireless. The Maybach engines of the Panzer III’s came to life and the tanks advanced in a billowing cloud of dust. Driving among the palm tree trunks they stopped just short of the crest, in order not to expose more of themselves than necessary. Stretching up in his cuopola, Feldwebel Funk scanned the reverse slope, and swore loudly. The Italian scouts were playing a deadly game of hide and seek with a Matilda II, sprinting this way and that in order to keep the burnt out hulk of another tank between them and death on tracks.
-Enemy armour, twelve o’clock! shouted Funk straight into his headset, oblivious of the fact that his Lieutenant could hear him just fine in a level voice. One Matilda II, its chasing the scouts!
-Advance and engage! came Steiner’s reply. Go for rear shots, it’s the only way! We’ll be with you in no time! Already the other three Panzers were picking up speed, rolling forward to join their comrades.
Amid plumes of dust, the two German Panzers rolled over the crest and fanned out to envelop the lumbering infantry tank. Shocked, the Australian tank crew desisted from their chase of the Italian scouts and tried to swing around tank and turret to bear on Kortenhaus’s PzKpfw-III. An orange ball of fire exploded from the muzzle of the two-pounder as the AP-shell speeded against its target. The shot went wide, and the Matilda’s turn towards Kortenhaus exposed its somewhat more vulnerable rear to Funk’s gun.
-Armour piercing! shouted the Feldwebel, wishing for a bigger gun or at least tungsten shot.
-Loaded!
-Gunner, hit the engine! FIRE!
The 37mm cracked, scoring a direct hit on the rear chassis, but the shell bounced off harmlessly.
- Screw this worthless piece of junk we have for gun! raged Funk. Hit it again, armour piercing!
Then the 2-pounder spoke again, hitting the other Panzer III straight on the front plate and stopping it in its tracks. Horrified, Funk could see black smoke start to pour from behind the turret. The Matilda II now reversed its tracks and began to turn towards his own Panzer, the turret already traversing to engage the enemy behind.
-Loaded, announced Funks gunner.
-Fire! ordered the Panzer commander without much hope. Again, the 37mm barked and again, the clangour of shot against armour was the only reward.
-Reload, Armour piercing! But the Matilda was no longer exposing its rear, and its turret had traversed nearly all the way to face Funk’s tank. The Feldwebel now counted his remaining life in seconds.
To his right, Funk could see Steiner’s Panzers gain the crest of the ridge and open up on the Matilda, probably to draw off its attention. The shells struck true, but they could just as well have been firing wet tissue for all the good it did.
-If I ever get my hands on that moron at the Armaments Office that decided the Panzer III should have a 37mm instead of a long-barrelled 50mm, I’ll tear him limb from limb, I swear, Funk muttered under his breath. Not that he was counting on it, or on much else either. His last shot bounced against the enemy gun shield. The 2-pounder fired and scored a hit. Its projectile slammed into the front plate of the PzKpfw-III and smashed the hull MG, the radio set and the operator of both these devices. Smoke and a sickening stench of blood and excrements filled the confined fighting compartment of the Panzer. The Matilda had completed its roundabout and was now facing the Panzer III front to front. Steiner’s three Panzer’s were approaching at flank speed, but they would be to late.
Feeling his bile rise, Funk waited for death, but was instead stunned when the Matilda erupted in a ball of flame, followed by a tower of black smoke rising from its engine compartment. Its hatches popped and the crew bailed out, hands held high. Kortenhaus’s Panzer had been immobilised but not destroyed, and had scored a rear shot at the weak spot behind the engine. Funk would live, not so his radio operator.
Steiner cheered seeing the Matilda cook off. His platoon had defeated a Matilda without any losses of their own, at least not total losses. This might earn him an Iron Cross, he mused.
The radio cracked to life again.
-Steiner, this is Dietsl. Report.
-Encountered and destroyed one Matilda II, have two Panzers damaged, one a runner. Herr Oberst, were through. It’s a breakthrough!
In the onsetting gloom of dusk, Steiner looked north, were an alley of palm trees flanked the road to Tobruk and the sea beyond. No more trenches, bunkers or tanks were visible between him and the city. The advance would continue.
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