see the commandos and Marines, he
could hear their assault, and when the Iraqi troops turned and fled in terror,
he blew hard on his whistle and gave the order to charge on up the hill.
Up above, one of the X-3s was
observing and putting in additional fire support when they noted the movement
by the British troops. Popski was just behind the advancing Marines, listening
on a headset that had been given him, delighted with the gizmo. Troyak had
showed him how to pinch off the send button when he needed to communicate with
the Sergeant, and now he called up with the news that friendly troops would soon
be on their left.
Troyak stood up, raising a fist
to halt his men, and he looked to see the Argonauts had done the same. He took
a look at the enemy troops fleeing madly before their advance and knew the hour
was won. There was no point pressing the attack now, and it was decided to
leave the action to the Kings Own Rifles, and the Number 4 Company of the
Assyrians who came rushing in for support. He ordered his men to go to ground,
dark shadows that suddenly seemed to be swallowed by the earth. Then, with
precise and well coordinated movements, the fire teams broke off and withdrew
towards a pre-designated position where they were to meet up with the
helicopters.
Their work here was done.
Twenty minutes later they boarded
in a storm of dust, rising up into the desert night. Popski’s cheeks were red
with the cold night air and the exhilaration of the action he had witnessed.
“Damn good MGs on these birds,”
he said to Troyak. “And where can I get me one of those handy rifles of yours?”
The Sergeant handed him his own
assault rifle. “I’ll have to show you how it operates, but with a little
training you’ll fall in love with that in no time.”
Popski nodded, looking down onto
the plateau that was now a broiling, smoking scene of devastation. Of the
thirty guns the Iraqis had brought in to shell the base, twenty seven were
destroyed or captured. The three that escaped had been moved earlier by trucks
to the far side of the Euphrates. The Kings Own Rifles reached the scene in
utter amazement, and groups of weeping Iraqis fell at their feet to beg for
mercy. Colonel Roberts two companies quickly had over 500 prisoners, and the
rest were fleeing madly east, their war on the British over for the moment.
The four helos turned west into
the night, their mission plan now calling them back to Tango-1 just across the
Jordanian border. There they would suck up the last of the aviation fuel they
had ferried in earlier, and begin the ride to Palestine. Along the way they saw
the long column of King Column en route to the relief of RAF Habbaniyah. They
would leave the rest of the action there to the British who would now try to use
the tiny garrison and these small flying columns to good effect, relieving the
base, and then toppling the incipient rebellion of Rashid Ali and sending the
German Ambassador fleeing to Mosul.
But it was far from over. When he
got news of the rout of the Iraqi Army at Habbaniyah, he could hardly believe
it. He was immediately on the phone to higher authorities, his voice angry in
the night. “It’s the British!” he exclaimed. “They have driven off all the troops
we sent to capture Habbaniyah, and now I have word more units have arrived from
India at Basra. They will be coming for Baghdad next! You must launch your
operation immediately, before we lose everything here!”
Then he stormed away to his motor
car and the long ride to Mosul. But “Operation Anvil,” a plan that had been
simmering in the mind of the Führer for some days now, would become a timely
reprisal to face the emergency, and the hammer was about to fall.
Chapter
9
The mobile force arrived
in Palestine amid the final preparations for Operation Scimitar. It had taken
two weeks to move all the troops into position. The entire Australian 7th
Division, all three brigades, was now positioned south of the Lebanese
could hear their assault, and when the Iraqi troops turned and fled in terror,
he blew hard on his whistle and gave the order to charge on up the hill.
Up above, one of the X-3s was
observing and putting in additional fire support when they noted the movement
by the British troops. Popski was just behind the advancing Marines, listening
on a headset that had been given him, delighted with the gizmo. Troyak had
showed him how to pinch off the send button when he needed to communicate with
the Sergeant, and now he called up with the news that friendly troops would soon
be on their left.
Troyak stood up, raising a fist
to halt his men, and he looked to see the Argonauts had done the same. He took
a look at the enemy troops fleeing madly before their advance and knew the hour
was won. There was no point pressing the attack now, and it was decided to
leave the action to the Kings Own Rifles, and the Number 4 Company of the
Assyrians who came rushing in for support. He ordered his men to go to ground,
dark shadows that suddenly seemed to be swallowed by the earth. Then, with
precise and well coordinated movements, the fire teams broke off and withdrew
towards a pre-designated position where they were to meet up with the
helicopters.
Their work here was done.
Twenty minutes later they boarded
in a storm of dust, rising up into the desert night. Popski’s cheeks were red
with the cold night air and the exhilaration of the action he had witnessed.
“Damn good MGs on these birds,”
he said to Troyak. “And where can I get me one of those handy rifles of yours?”
The Sergeant handed him his own
assault rifle. “I’ll have to show you how it operates, but with a little
training you’ll fall in love with that in no time.”
Popski nodded, looking down onto
the plateau that was now a broiling, smoking scene of devastation. Of the
thirty guns the Iraqis had brought in to shell the base, twenty seven were
destroyed or captured. The three that escaped had been moved earlier by trucks
to the far side of the Euphrates. The Kings Own Rifles reached the scene in
utter amazement, and groups of weeping Iraqis fell at their feet to beg for
mercy. Colonel Roberts two companies quickly had over 500 prisoners, and the
rest were fleeing madly east, their war on the British over for the moment.
The four helos turned west into
the night, their mission plan now calling them back to Tango-1 just across the
Jordanian border. There they would suck up the last of the aviation fuel they
had ferried in earlier, and begin the ride to Palestine. Along the way they saw
the long column of King Column en route to the relief of RAF Habbaniyah. They
would leave the rest of the action there to the British who would now try to use
the tiny garrison and these small flying columns to good effect, relieving the
base, and then toppling the incipient rebellion of Rashid Ali and sending the
German Ambassador fleeing to Mosul.
But it was far from over. When he
got news of the rout of the Iraqi Army at Habbaniyah, he could hardly believe
it. He was immediately on the phone to higher authorities, his voice angry in
the night. “It’s the British!” he exclaimed. “They have driven off all the troops
we sent to capture Habbaniyah, and now I have word more units have arrived from
India at Basra. They will be coming for Baghdad next! You must launch your
operation immediately, before we lose everything here!”
Then he stormed away to his motor
car and the long ride to Mosul. But “Operation Anvil,” a plan that had been
simmering in the mind of the Führer for some days now, would become a timely
reprisal to face the emergency, and the hammer was about to fall.
Chapter
9
The mobile force arrived
in Palestine amid the final preparations for Operation Scimitar. It had taken
two weeks to move all the troops into position. The entire Australian 7th
Division, all three brigades, was now positioned south of the Lebanese
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