Hammer of God (Kirov Series Book 14) (17 page)

They
walked towards the fort now, where there was a room with table and chairs, and
sat down in the cool shadows. Fedorov took some time to explain the mission he
had in mind, and what he expected to accomplish at Palmyra.

“You’re
going to fly there… in that aircraft?” asked Glubb.

“That
we are,” said Popski.

“What
about those German fighters?”

“We’ll
slip in at night and get there before they know anything.”

“And
then you’re going to seize the chateau? With twenty men?” He was referring to
the castle of Fakhr-al-Din al Manni, built by a Druz prince in the15th century,
which the French simply called ‘the chateau.’

“We’ll
take it in a flash.” Popski folded his arms, confident with what he had already
seen of Troyak’s Marines.

“There’s
Foreign Legion at Palmyra. Tough men, and block houses round that airfield.”

“Take
a closer look at the lads out there,” said Popski. “We’ll handle ourselves.
It’s the fortress we want. King Column can take the airfield. All we do is lay
down fire so the enemy can’t use the field for operations or resupply.”

“You
know that fort is on a high hill—very steep, and surrounded by a deep gully
moat. There’s only a single bridge over that, beneath high stone towers.”

“We
won’t be taking the bridge, or even bothering to ring the bell at the gate. We
plan to plop right down on top of them, or so the Captain here tells me. Once
we get the fort, then we’ll turn our mortars on that garrison and airfield and
give them a little misery. It will be nice to know that you chaps are coming
along soon. This bit about Kingstone’s column still held up at Habbaniyah has
set back the timetable, but we go tomorrow in any case, as soon as that bird
out there returns with more supplies.”

Glubb
Pasha took all this in, raising a sandy eyebrow, thinking. “Let’s hope
Brigadier Kingstone gets his supplies and isn’t delayed. He was none too happy
about these new orders to withdraw to Habbaniyah, and I dare say he won’t be
happy to learn he’s got a new mission to Palmyra. It was a long haul across the
desert from the shores of the Med all the way to the Euphrates. His was the first
military force to pull that off since Alexander the Great. There was a lot of
looting in Baghdad after the Golden Square took flight. I’ve heard the Foreign
office was none too happy about it, and they’ll be less happy to see Kingstone
pulling his troops out so suddenly. You realize this will tip our hand that
Palmyra is King Column’s next target. That’s the most strategic town in the
eastern desert. What if the French send in reinforcements?”

Writing
new history always has its risks, thought Fedorov, but he said nothing more.

Chapter 17

Palmyra
had been an
important stop on the long caravan routes to Persia and beyond for many
centuries. Dating to the second millennium BC, it was reputed to have been
built by King Solomon as a fortress outpost. Centuries later the Romans came,
with Marc Antony raiding the place in 41 BC until it eventually became just
another pearl on the necklace of conquests made by Rome. Yet its strategic
position between the east and west saw its merchants thrive, controlling ships
in the Mediterranean, and pulling goods from the Silk Road and markets in
India. Roman Legions were billeted there under Diocletian, and the site was
walled off by the Emperor Justinian, making the place a sturdy fortress town.

In
modern times it came to be known as “The Bride of the Desert.” The old Roman
ruins still remain, like the elegant Corinthian style colonnaded portico at the
temple of Ba’al, dedicated to the storm god who might bring much needed rain to
the parched desert around the settlement. There the litany of deities worshiped
were inscribed on the walls…
“for Bel and Baal Shamin, and for Aglibol, and
for Malakbel, and for Astarte, and for Nemesis, and for Arsu, and for Abgal,
the good and rewarding gods ..…”

It
was perhaps Rome’s appetite for exotic goods from the east that kept the city a
thriving place, where spices, silk, ebony, and even slaves were traded in the
town. Monumental arches, long columns, elegant tetrapylons, and the remnant of
the old Roman aqueduct still remain on the well preserved site, even though the
Romans themselves destroyed the place when Queen Zenobia, a descendant of
Cleopatra, rebelled and thought to break away from the empire. After that it
became a barracks and fortified camp for the legion of Diocletian, and the armies
of the Sassanids, Muslims, Mamlukes, and eventually the Mongols all swept over
the site as the centuries passed, each leaving some remains in the ruins.

By
1941 the desire for exotic goods from the east had been distilled down to one
primary thing—oil. The city sat right astride the long underground pipelines
that carried the oil from Kirkuk, through Homs, to Tripoli and Banias on the
Mediterranean coast. All along that route the British had set up pumping
stations to maintain the flow of that oil, labeled T1 through T4 on the “Tripoli”
pipeline route. So now the armies of France and Great Britain would meet and
struggle there, and men from a far distant future would watch from atop the
high volcanic cone, crowned by the old stone fortress of Fakhr-al-Din.

At
this time, Palmyra was a small settlement, graced by shady groves of palm
trees. Fedorov was excited for a chance to see the ruins, which sat like the bleached
skeletal bones of an old fallen empire. The history here was written in the
sandstone, layered deep, and carved into the land over long millennia. Now the
soldiers of another fading empire would come to do battle there beyond the
ancient tomb sites, and remnants of the high stone walls of the old city. The
coming of Troyak and his squads of Marines would be the first time the ancient
site would hear the sound of Russian made assault rifles, but it would not be
the last. Rebels clashed with the Syrian government in the years before
Kirov
first went to sea, and the blight of war would again leave its mark on the old
ruins, which were also looted to provide artifacts for wealthy collectors when
order broke down in Syria.

Now
the ancient gods and goddesses would stir fitfully in the ruins of their
temples. There slept Allat, the goddess of the underworld, and Nebo, the
Mesopotamian god of oracles, who would hear again the din and rattle of war
echoing through the weathered stone columns of Aswan granite. The Babylonians
called him the Son of Marduke, Lord of Heaven and the scribe of the “Table of Destiny.”
Today he would make a new entry in his ledger of fate, when the
Russian Marines came thumping in from the south,
emerging from the long shadowy ridges of Mount Atbar and Jabal al Khan, the ‘hill
of the King.’

The
KA-40 came in low, beneath the crests of hills rising over 500 meters just west
of the palm groves. The chateau was situated on a high solitary hill
overlooking the town, triangular in shape, with the longest wall facing west on
the angle of approach. Surprise was complete, until the roar of the helo
startled the observation teams settling in to sleep in the stony chambers
beneath the towers. One man was bold enough to run up the stairs to the upper
level, emerging to see a dark, shuddering shadow hovering in the sky. He had a
brief moment of shock and awe before a sniper rifle in the hands of a Russian
Marine cut him down.

Now
the long ropes descended from the helo, and one by one the Marines slid down
onto the hard stone roof of the fortress. Troyak led one team down the long
west facing wall, seizing two towers there and leaving small two man teams to
guard the ramparts. Zykov took another squad along the first of the two east
facing walls, until he reached a position right above the single stone bridge
that led to the gate. He fixed an assault rope to the upper wall and rappelled
down to take the main gate from above, while other Marines worked their way
down the stone stairways and into hidden chambers within the heart of the fortress.
It was just as Popski had told Glubb Pasha, they had simply plopped down from
above and taken the entire fortress by storm.

They
found three other men from the garrison there, one Belgian and the others a
pair of sharp eyed Bedouin tribesmen, but did not kill them. Fedorov questioned
the men through Popski, who could manage both French and Arabic. He learned
that the units assigned to the garrison here were much as the history recorded,
two companies of the French Foreign Legion, and a single Bedu Desert Company.

“What
about Fawsi al Qawuqji?” Popski pressed them. “Are he and his men nearby?”

At
this the captives pleaded their ignorance, and Fedorov could see that they
really knew very little.

“And
the Germans? Do they have planes on that airfield?”

They
learned what Fedorov already seemed to know, that the leading planes to arrive
here were from Zerstorergeschwader 76, which had been using the base as a
transit stop en route to bases in northern Iraq.

“Two
planes,” said the Belgian. “Only two.” He held up two fingers, his other hand
over his heart to profess his oath of truth in what he was saying, eyes wide
with fear.

“Two
planes,” said Fedorov to Troyak. “They’ll be on the ground there now, so get
your mortar teams in action right away. I’m afraid we’re going to have to wake
up the rest of the French garrison, if the helo hasn’t already done that.”

“Kolnov,”
Troyak barked. “Set up one 82 on the south tower, the other to the north. Use
your map and register that fire as we trained.”

Fedorov
had been able to give them a detailed map of Palmyra, but they could clearly
see the airbase there between the hill and the town itself. In later years
after the war, another airfield would be built well east of the town, but in
1941 it was just above the Roman ruins, over watched by the high Chateau. They
could simply register the fire right on the field, and easily shut it down. The
prisoners were taken to a chamber below the main courtyard, and the KA-40 sent
down the last of the supply and weapons canisters in heavy canvass satchels.
Then the pilot saluted, and the dark noisome mass of the helo began to lift away,
swooping down into the valley behind the high volcanic hill, and off to the
north, all running lights dark.

There
was no place big enough to land the helo on the fortress, and so it had been
decided to move it to the gnarled hills to the north, where it could set down
at elevation, unseen in a furrowed gorge. The advantage of having Google
satellite maps of the whole region, and detailed navigation pilotage charts
made the selection of an appropriate LZ for the helo easy enough. It would be
out of sight and harm’s way, but conveniently at hand should they need its
minigun and missile fire support.

Ten
minutes later the new masters of the Castle of Fakhr-al-Din began to put well
aimed 82mm mortar fire down on the airfield, and there was a bright explosion
and fire there when they hit one of the twin engine He-111 bombers that had
been left their when their tires were damaged on landing earlier.

They
soon heard the distant call of a bugle as the French Foreign Legion was called
to arms. Troyak was on a high tower, surveying the mortar fire, and he peered
through his hand held night vision field glasses, watching the scene. There he
saw the movement of men on the ground, and they could hear the sound of trucks.
Soon they saw several truckloads of infantry arriving at the edge of the town
and spreading out in the palm groves near the ruins.

“They
know they have uninvited visitors,” said Troyak. “It looks to be two platoons
at this point, about 40 or 50 men. They’ll look us over first to try and
determine who we are, and in what strength, but I doubt if they’ll be foolish
enough to try and attack this fort tonight.”

“Agreed,”
said Fedorov. “But how would they attack if they decide to come?”

“The
ground is too open to the east, and we have good fields of fire from all these
towers. They would have to get north or south of us, and then try to come up
that road that leads up here on the western flank of this hill. Even that is a
long shot. With our firepower this fort is practically impregnable. You chose
the position well. All they might do is try to put heavy weapons on us, if they
have any artillery, and our mortars can answer that, or the KA-40. I think we
can hold here.”

“Then
the only question is how long it will be before we are relieved by the British,
or Glubb Pasha’s men. He’s promised to come here as soon as possible. In the
meantime, we’ve done what we came here to do so far, and shut down that
airfield.”

* * *

The
Germans would be
denied the use of the field as long as the Marines held the fortress, but
phones were already ringing in Mosul, where
Fiegerführer Irak,
Werner Junck,
was trying to muster more aircraft to counter the British offensive. He commanded
the Luftwaffe component of Sonderstab F, the first responders sent by Germany
to aid the Iraqi rebellion.
General der Flieger
Hellmuth Felmy’s
Brandenburger Commandos were the initial ground component, but plans had been
made to use elements of the 22nd Luftland Air Landing Division, and deploy them
through airfields in Syria. At present, Junck had only eight serviceable planes
in Mosul, two Messerschmitts, four more Heinkels and a pair of Ju-52s that had
ferried in the ground support crews. More planes were on the way, but at this
critical moment, his force was not capable of preventing the British from
undoing the Iraqi rebellion.

Junck
had been briefed by Goering’s personal Chief of Staff on this mission. He was
to assess the overall situation in Iraq, select the best airfields for future
Luftwaffe operations, and harass the British offensive there as much as
possible. Now his overlords were clearly not happy. Palmyra had been chosen as
a way station for future Luftwaffe deployments, and word had come that the
airfield was already under attack.

“The British are in Palmyra!”
Came the voice on the phone.
“They have taken the fortress there and
they are shelling the airfield!”

“Impossible,”
said Junck. “All our latest reports still have them at Habbaniyah. The
Brandenburgers have taken their supply flotilla! There is no way they could
have reached Palmyra.”

“Well they are there now! Do something about it!”

“Do
something? With what? I have eight planes left, and two of those are
transports. Where are the fighters and bombers I was promised? Where are the
Fallschirmjagers?”

“They are coming. Just make sure the British know we are onto them. The
French garrison at Palmyra is still holding the town and airfield. It must not
fall. Understood?”

The
ripples in the stream from the rock Fedorov had dropped on the Chateau had
spread all the way to Berlin, where Hitler was none too happy to hear that the
Iraqi government had collapsed, and that the situation in Syria was precarious,
with the British now threatening both Damascus and Beirut. The only good news
thus far had come from Cyprus, where Student’s veteran 7th Flieger Division had
secured every facility of any value on the island, and was now consolidating
positions there.

Goring
clucked with this news, seeing his prestige notch higher after the humiliation
he suffered in failing to subdue the RAF in the Battle of Britain. Now he
seemed very pleased with the results his Luftwaffe were delivering. They had
redeemed themselves by taking Malta, and now Cyprus, bypassing and isolating
Crete as the Germans moved to implement the Führer’s plans. He had already sent
his personal ‘Herman Goering Brigade’ to reinforce Rommel in North Africa, and
now he was authorized to commit the 22nd Luftland Division to operations in
Iraq and Syria.

The
Reichsführer was taking a very personal interest in the campaign, as he had
been one of the key men involved in the plans for Germany’s oil production and
economic development. The four year plan devised in 1936 included a
comprehensive strategy for increasing Germany’s oil production, and furthering
access to new supplies. In 1938 the plan was revised in light of the wartime
needs of the army, and renamed Plan Karinhall, after Goering’s spacious
mansion. Reliance on the Rumanian oil of Ploesti, and domestic synthetic
production, would not be enough. New sources had to be secured, and the rich
fields of Baku were at the top of the list. When the Orenburg Federation joined
the Axis, securing this much needed oil was no longer a military problem, but
now the Soviet Union was preventing shipments across the Black Sea, and the
reckoning was nigh at hand.