Encirclement and Encirclement

The tent was dimly lit, with only a kerosene lamp hanging on a pillar in the center of the tent, casting a yellowish glow on a dozen or so faces.

Those faces came from different countries, different military units, and different skin colors: Australians, New Zealanders, British, French. At that moment, they were all looking in the same direction at the young man standing behind the wooden table.

His fingers pressed against the map he'd brought from Wadi Rum, his knuckles turning white from the pressure. The map was covered in red and blue markings, the result of three months of repeated surveys in the desert. But now, he wasn't looking at the map.

He was looking at the people in front of him.

Brigadier General Moshead, commander of the 2nd Brigade of the 9th Division of Australia, was in his fifties and had an old scar on his face that stretched from his chin to his ear. At that moment, the scar was dark red, like a living worm wriggling.

Brigadier General Putrick, commander of the 4th Brigade of New Zealand, was tall and thin, like a bamboo pole, with the look of someone who had just been evacuated from Crete. His lips were chapped, his eyes were sunken, and his uniform still bore the salt stains of the sea.

Brigadier General Campbell, in his early forties, sat silently in a corner, commanding the remnants of the British 7th Armoured Division. His division had once been the most elite force in North Africa, known to the British as the "Desert Rats." Now, only forty-seven tanks remained.

And there was Leclerc, standing silently beside Lorraine, waiting for him to speak.

Outside the tent, the desert wind howled. Occasionally, a few cannon shots rang out in the distance, muffled and distant, as if Rommel's troops were circling day and night outside Tobruk, launching bombardments.

Loran spoke up.

"Rommel's armored division has surrounded Tobruk on three sides. The Australian brigade in the city has been cut off from supplies; they have enough food for two weeks, ammunition for ten days, and water for a week."

He paused.

"But there's one thing we need to figure out first."

He looked at Putrick.

How exactly was Crete lost?

The tent fell silent.

Putrick kept his head down, staring at the table. After a long while, he finally looked up, his face exhausted.

"You want to hear the truth?"

Loran nodded.

"The truth."

Putrick was silent for a few seconds, then spoke. His voice was hoarse, like sandpaper scraping against stone.

"On the morning of May 20th, just as dawn broke, the German planes arrived. Not just a few, but hundreds. Ju 88 bombers, Stuka dive bombers, Bf 109 fighters, they plowed up the entire north coast."

He looked up at the people inside the tent.

"We had 40,000 men there. New Zealanders, Australians, British, Greeks. General Freiberg dispersed his troops across three airfields: Maleme, Resimonon, and Heraklion, as well as the capital, Chania. He thought the Germans would land by sea, so he stationed a large force along the coast."

He gave a wry smile.

"Then the Germans came down from the sky."

Loran listened quietly.

Putritter continued.

"The first paratroopers landed in Malaime. That was the most important airfield in the west. The German gliders crashed straight into the ground, and as soon as the cabin doors opened, the paratroopers rushed out. Our men were already waiting. Machine guns were set up on the hillside, and bullets rained down on them."

He paused.

"Those German paratroopers only had pistols and parachute knives when they jumped. Their rifles were all in weapon cases, thrown separately. Many were killed as soon as they landed. The survivors ran to find the weapon cases, only to discover that they were in front of our position and couldn't be reached."

Brigadier General Moshead's scar twitched. He had fought in the last major war and seen the Germans. But he had never heard of this kind of fighting.

Putritter continued.

"On the first day, the Germans died several thousand times. They charged Hill 107 outside the Maleme airport three times, but were repelled each time. The same thing happened on the Chania side; after the 3rd Parachute Regiment landed, they were surrounded by our men in the valley and couldn't move. On the Reshimnon side, the Australians held their ground tightly, and the Germans couldn't get close to the airport at all."

He raised his head.

"After the first day, we all thought we had won. The Germans had suffered such heavy losses, they definitely wouldn't be able to hold on."

The tent was quiet for a few seconds.

"And then?" Brigadier General Campbell asked.

A strange expression appeared on Putrick's face. It was a mixture of anger, helplessness, and embarrassment.

"Then one of our battalion commanders ran away."

Everyone was stunned.

"They ran away?"

Putrick nodded.

"The battalion on Hill 107 was the 22nd Battalion of New Zealand. The battalion commander was named Andrews, a veteran of the last World War. After fighting for a whole day, most of his men were dead, the telephone line to the brigade headquarters was destroyed, and the radio was also broken. He didn't know what the fighting was like outside, he only knew that the Germans were still charging."

He looked at Loran.

That night, he made a decision. He felt he couldn't hold the position any longer, so he ordered a withdrawal. The hill, which held for two thousand men, was surrendered to the Germans without a single shot being fired.

The tent was deathly silent.

Loran pressed his fingers on the map, his knuckles turning white.

Putricide's voice continued.

"The next day at dawn, the Germans found the hilltop deserted. They climbed to the top, set up machine guns, and bombarded the entire Maleme Airport. But the most critical thing was that the airport was still in our hands. The runway was still intact."

He paused.

"The Germans had a general named Studen. He heard that there were still surviving paratroopers holding the high ground in Maleme, so he did something: he deployed his last five hundred reserves to that airfield. Five hundred men, in transport planes, went directly onto and off the runway."

"Our artillery was still firing at the airfield. German planes were being shot down one after another, bursting into flames and crashing into the sea. But there were just too many planes. After 500 men landed, another 500, and another 500. On the third day, the German mountain divisions arrived."

He looked at the people inside the tent.

"Do you know what a mountain division is? It's not paratroopers. It's real, combat-ready infantry. They come down from the planes and immediately engage in combat. Our men are still running around in the mountains, still waiting for orders, still searching for their own units. By the time General Freiberg finally figured out what was going on and tried to call back his troops to counterattack, it was too late."

He closed his eyes.

"From that day on, all that remained was to retreat."

Brigadier General Campbell's voice was very soft.

"How many people were evacuated?"

Putrick opened his eyes.

"Of the 40,000 men, less than 20,000 escaped. The rest either died or were captured. The Greeks fared the worst; they had no ships, no planes, and could only flee into the mountains. The Germans were in hot pursuit, killing them one by one."

He looked at Loran.

"Do you know what the last thing I saw on Crete was?"

Loran did not speak.

“It was the King of Greece,” Putrike said. “George II. He retreated with us. We crossed the mountains and reached the port of Sfakia in the south, where we squeezed onto a destroyer. He stood on the deck, looking back at the island, without saying a word. Beside him were his guards, only a dozen or so, all of whom had crawled out of piles of corpses.”

His voice trembled slightly.

"That island was Greek territory. The Greeks defended it for two thousand years. And then, overnight, it was gone."

The tent fell silent again.

Loran remained silent for a long time.

He looked at the map, at the location of Tobruk, at the red line that surrounded the city on three sides, and at the dense German markings outside the city.

"How many Germans died?" he asked.

Putrick thought for a moment.

"Airborne troops. According to Stuart's own statistics, more than four thousand were killed or missing, and more than two thousand were wounded. They lost nearly two hundred of the Ju 52 transport planes they used to drop the paratroopers."

Loran nodded.

"In other words, although Crete was lost, the German paratroopers were also decimated."

Putrick looked at him.

"What are you trying to say?"

Loran looked up at the people inside the tent.

"What I'm trying to say is that Crete lost in one place: communications were cut off."

His voice was flat, as flat as if he were saying that the weather was nice today.

"The battalion commander on Hill 107 didn't know how the fighting was going outside, so he withdrew. If he had known that the other positions were still intact and that the Germans were about to collapse, he probably wouldn't have withdrawn."

He paused.

"Tobruk is the same."

He pointed to Tobruk on the map.

"Rommel has surrounded the city on three sides. The Australians inside don't know we're coming, and we don't know how many able-bodied men are left in the city. If we rush in rashly, we might end up like we did on Crete, crashing headfirst into the German 88mm gun positions."

He looked at those people.

"So the first thing is not to fight, but to communicate."

Brigadier General Moshead frowned.

"Pass?"

"Send word," Loran said. "Send men into the city to establish contact with the troops there. Let them know we're here, when we'll attack, and from which direction."

Brigadier General Campbell asked, "How do we send men? The city is surrounded on three sides, and German patrols have blocked every road."

Lorraine pointed to a line on the map.

"Here, to the south. The Italians' defense zone."

He raised his head.

"Italians are different from Germans. They don't patrol at night, they don't lay mines on the roads, and they don't set up sentry posts at mountain passes. If someone sneaks in at night, there's a good chance they can get in."

Brigadier General Putrick looked at him.

"Do you have someone in mind?"

Loran nodded.

"I'll go myself."

Everyone in the tent was stunned.

Leclerc suddenly stood up.

"you?"

Lorraine looked at him.

"I'm the only one who's traveled that road. From Libya to the port of Brega, and from the port of Brega to Tripoli. I know the Italians' patrol patterns and changing of the guard best.

He looked at Leclerc.

"You stay here with the rest of the men. If I don't come back, you fight alongside Moshead and his men."

Leclerc stared at him, his lips moved, but he ultimately said nothing.

Brigadier General Moshead spoke. His voice was hoarse, but steady.

"Major, what happened after you entered the city?"

Loran pointed to the map.

"After entering the city, I arranged a time with the troops inside. Three days later, at eight o'clock in the evening. To the south of the city, on the Italian side. They rushed out from the east, and we fought our way in from the south, meeting up in the middle."

Brigadier General Campbell asked, "And what about us?"

Lorraine looked at him.

"Your tanks, engage the supply line."

His finger moved across the map.

"Rommel's supply lines come from the west, with convoys departing from the port of Brega every day. Divide your tanks into three groups and attack three supply depots simultaneously. Don't linger in battle; take them and run. Cut off his frontline troops' fuel, food, and ammunition."

Campbell thought for a moment.

"Forty-seven tanks, attacking three points simultaneously. If all goes well, we can destroy three supply depots in one night."

Loran nodded.

"not enough."

Campbell paused for a moment.

"not enough?"

"Not enough," Lorraine said. "Rommel's reserves are enough for him to fight for a month. If we take out three supply depots, he can last another three weeks. If we want to bring him to the brink, we have to take out his fuel."

His finger pointed to the location of Port Regga.

"This is his main fuel depot. Half of the 15th Armored Division's fuel is stored here."

He looked at Campbell.

"Once you destroy the three supply depots, Rommel will definitely bring in oil from the rear. He'll send convoys from the port of Brega to the front. At that point, your tanks will be waiting by the roadside, taking out those oil trucks one by one."

Campbell's eyes lit up.

"Encircle and attack reinforcements."

"Yes," Loran said, "encircle and attack reinforcements."

Campbell thought for a moment and nodded.

"I can fight."

Lorraine turned to Putrick.

"Your men will guard the south."

Putrick paused for a moment.

"South of the city? Isn't that an Italian?"

Loran nodded.

"Yes. Italians. Your men need a victory to withdraw from Crete. The Italians are not Germans. Their morale is low, their equipment is poor, and their officers are afraid to die. If your men fight harder, they might run away."

He looked at Putrick.

"Three days later, at eight o'clock in the evening. You take your men and attack from the south into the city. You don't need to go very deep, just make the Italians think that our main force is over there, and make Rommel think that we are going to break through from there."

Putrick nodded.

"Understood."

Lorraine eventually turned to Moshead.

"Your people are on the front."

Moshead's scar twitched.

"Frontline? Rommel's 88mm gun positions?"

Loran nodded.

"Yes. Your men don't need to actually charge in. Just make Rommel think you're going to."

He pointed to the east side of the city on the map.

"Divide your infantry into three groups. The first group, sneak up to the German positions at night, dig trenches, set up machine guns, and fire. Make them think you're launching a night attack. The second group, withdraw before dawn, and the third group will take over. Fire again, dig more trenches. Make them think your main force is constantly pushing forward."

Moshead narrowed his eyes.

"bluff."

“Yes,” Loran said. “A bluff. Let Rommel think you have 10,000 men going to charge his 88mm gun position. He’ll then bring in his reserves and wait for you to charge.”

He paused.

"Then you don't charge. Make him wait. Wait a day, wait two days, wait three days. Wait for his soldiers to crouch in the trenches, wait for his shells to hit the open ground, wait for his reserves to be too tired to sleep."

He looked at Moshead.

"Wait until Campbell's tanks destroy his fuel depots, until his tanks break down, until his soldiers go hungry. Wait until Putrick breaks through from the south, until the people in the city rush out from the east. Then you can make your move."

Moshead stared at the map for a long time.

Then he looked up.

"Major, you've played a very big game here."

Loran did not speak.

Brigadier General Campbell spoke.

"Major, I have a question."

Lorraine looked at him.

"ask."

"How did your men get out of the city after they entered?"

The tent fell silent.

Loran took a deep breath; this was probably the best opportunity for him to establish his prestige.

"I can't get out," he said. "Once I get into the city, I'll fight my way out with the troops inside."