Three Kings (Kirov Series) by John Schettler Page B

where the tanks were hastily
filling up with the much needed fuel. That was a fortunate find, for the supply
column on its way from Bardia with more fuel had run into a sand storm and was
now completely lost.
    “Nice
of the Italians to make the delivery just when we needed it most,” said a
tanker. It was just another barb in the Italian 10th Army’s side, a force that
was now in the last desperate throes of the most ignominious defeat in the
history of Italian arms.
    Twenty
Italian tanks had managed to break into the lines of the Kings Rifles, but they
soon realized that they had no supporting infantry and that the rest of their
brigade had been stopped by the artillery fire, well behind them. One British
Sergeant took out his pistol and leapt atop an enemy M11/39 tank, rapping on
the turret hatch, which, to his surprise, was immediately opened by an ornery
Italian Lieutenant.
    “Hello
mate,” he said calmly. “You and your lads might want to give it up now before
those 25 pounders get you bore sighted.”
    There
was the Lieutenant, sitting behind 30mm armor, with a 37mm main gun and two 8mm
Breda machine guns bristling from his upper turret, and he was facing a single
British Sergeant with a revolver. He could have slammed his hatch shut, which
he should never have opened in the first place, and gunned his engine to
continue his attack, but instead he just climbed out of his tank and
surrendered. The Sergeant single handedly captured three of the twenty tanks in
the lines with nothing more than his sidearm. Seven others were knocked out by
the artillery, and the rest turned and fled.
    The incident
was symbolic of the entire battle, where this vastly superior Italian force
seemed not to have the slightest idea of how it should fight the enemy
tormenting them in the desert. When this attack failed, the Italians decided to
wait for further orders from behind, where Electric Beard Bergonzoli was furious that his escape to Tripoli should be blocked by such a small
British force.
    Darkness
put a merciful end to the chaos of that day. A few British fuel trucks had
finally made it all the way from Bardia, and the rest of the tanks that had
joined the action were able to refuel. The Division, if it could still be
called that, now could count nineteen tanks in the 2nd RTR, and a division
reserve of 10 cruiser tanks. The men passed a sleepless night, cold, with the
threat of rain on the crisp desert air.
    To the
north, Bergonzoli was also busy organizing his last
attempt to break through at dawn the following morning. He would execute a
small flanking maneuver, turning east off the road, and charge in with the last
of his tanks, a force some 60 strong. Once they had tied down the British tanks
and guns, his infantry would push on up the road, where he hoped his sheer
numbers would overwhelm the 2nd King’s Rifle Battalion, still dug in and
huddled over tins of Bully Beef and cold water.
    The
next morning, Brigadier J.A.L. Caunter would organize the defense, setting out
his 19 tanks to receive the enemy when they discovered what Bergonzoli was up to. “Blood” Caunter, as he was called, was a man who never flinched from
a tough job. When he went fishing, it was not for carp or herring, but sharks,
and he would later write a book about angling for the most dangerous sharks he
could find in British waters. Now, however, he was angling to catch Bergonzoli’s armor by surprise, and the last tank battle of
the campaign was about to be joined near a small rise, studded with the
blanched white sandstone dome of an old Arab mosque.
    The
British called it “the Pimple,” and it would be a landmark for their well
rehearsed battle maneuvers. Blood Caunter had the advantage of experience,
grit, and good radios in his tanks to coordinate his movements. Even though the
enemy outnumbered him three to one, the Italians had no radios, and had to rely
on flag signals from one tank formation to another to coordinate their attack.
    But on
they