1939 pt 8
1,800 km to the southeast, Italian Major-General Italo Gariboldi ground the heels of his boots into the top of a crumbling earthen wall near the ruined Nubian fortress surrounding the remains of the ancient city of Kerma. He had leaped atop a knee-high wall adjoining the deserted stronghold in a futile attempt to see just a little further into the no-man’s land between his forces and the suspected British divisions just beyond the Second cataract of the Nile to his northwest. Peering into a set of binoculars, Gariboldi scanned the horizon from west to east and found only scrub bushes and broken boulders punctuating the dry African plain. A cool highland wind swept over and around him, carrying the sound of his boots crunching into the ancient terrace aloft towards the Red Sea.
Gariboldi was on edge, and for good reason. Every day for the past week, he had feared an attack along this desolate sector of the front; sweeping battles were taking place in the Cyrenaican deserts far to the north, but he had seen nothing to indicate that the British forces in southern Egypt were doing anything at all. SIM agents had confirmed that elements of several British divisions were still deployed in the area, but it was unknown if any of these forces were being prepared to reinforce British defenses around Alexandria or not. As far as Gariboldi was concerned, the British could bury their heads in the sands for as long as they pleased—his forces were in no position to fight anyone at the moment, and as much as he would have liked to aid his countrymen in the north, he knew that his under strength and underequipped colonial levies would make a poor showing in an attack against the lethal and mechanized British. Worse, the Suez Canal had been closed to Italian resupply ships for over a week, forcing many Italian units to forage for supplies as best they could; Gariboldi knew that the troops of his
32nd Militia Division, crouched on the front line 50 km north of Adwa, were living on borrowed time.
Dusk was fast approaching, lacquering the arid expanse of scrub desert to his north in a dusty, Martian-red coating. Long shadows from the indiscriminately-strewn boulders stretched interminably eastward as an auburn sun began to set behind the peak of Ras Dashen, the dominion’s highest point. Dropping off the low wall onto the gravel below, Gariboldi was struck by the realization that the gravel beneath his feet was comprised of the same material from which the wall had been constructed. He bent down on one knee to get a closer look; scooping up a handful, he let the granules sift through his spread fingers. The smaller particles drifted aloft with the east blowing wind while the larger pieces fell back to the ground in conical piles.
Suddenly introspective, Gariboldi thought of all the battles the fortress at Kerma must have witnessed over the past thousand years; how many times had men cowered behind these very walls before, at a signal, cresting the ramparts to take the fight to a marauding enemy? With a wince, he also considered the alternative, wondering how many times an invader had themselves overcome the same walls and massacred the defenders trapped within. Like their human creators, even these seemingly-eternal walls were returning to dust. An emptiness clutched Gariboldi as thickly as the descending night; the emptiness reminded Gariboldi that nothing can last forever. Perhaps there was some merit behind the fascist mantra of sacrifice…after all, he reasoned, even mountains eventually crumble into dust, oceans eventually evaporate, everything made by human hands will eventually disintegrate…in the end, the only thing that could possibly hope to survive forever is something both worthy of remembrance and popular enough to be passed on. Achilles at Troy, Scipio at Zama, Leonidas at Thermopylae, Marlborough at Blenheim, Alexander at Gaugamela, Caesar at Alesia: powerful men of history flashed before his eyes, their intangible glory mocking the grim banality of a ‘regular’ life.
With the sunset nearly extinguished, General Gariboldi rose and prepared to descend the small hill back his
55th Regimental command post some 500 yards to the south. The void of oblivion that he had peered into had given him an unexpected strength, a strength that rendered him at once fearless, reckless, bold. His earlier fear had been replaced with a lust to accomplish something legendary, something timeless. Being completely outclassed by his British adversaries only strengthened his resolve to be remembered for all eternity.
The wind was growing in strength, and he could both feel and hear its affects even if he could not see them. Had sunset been delayed another hour, Gariboldi would have been able to see a colossal storm brewing and churning in the mountains to the northwest. Choosing his footing carefully in the loose sand, Gariboldi wrapped his greatcoat around him tighter in an attempt to keep out the encroaching chill; he felt confident that the British would not attack at night during a storm, and he now believed that the greatest source of discomfort this evening would be another lackluster fire and another cold meal, inevitable pains of being stationed in a mostly treeless area far from the supply depot in Massawa.
But one thing was for certain; when it came, Gariboldi would not fear combat, no matter what the odds.
Conveniently for him, the British were already on their way.
The three divisions of British XL Corps attack the five Italian militia divisions manning the northern sector of the AOI
The sound of their engines muted by the crashing storm overhead, British Lieutenant-General Bernard Montgomery led the forward elements of the
7th Armored Division across the Italian border east of Gallabat. Standing upright in the hatch of his command vehicle, a mixture of perspiration and rain dripped from his face as he watched the red taillights of his leading armored cars traverse the shallows of the 2nd Nile cataract. Though lightning blazed above him like a short-circuiting strobe light, there was very little rain; terrific gusts of wind kept most of the precipitation suspended high above in swirling gales, and the large raindrops that did manage to fall served only to annoy Montgomery rather than impede his advance. Far ahead on the black, windswept plains to his south, pathfinder units from the
Long Range Desert Group ranged ahead of the main battle group and marked a path through the shoals with red phosphorous flares.
Over the past 4 months, scouts from the
LRDG had clandestinely observed Italian routines along frontier region in addition to planning an attack route to reach them; as a result, Montgomery knew the general pattern of their patrols and the rotation of their sentry posts. From these reports, Montgomery had gleaned that most of the Italians officers liked to dine well after dark, as was their custom, and he had planned to strike just as his opponents were sitting down for their only good meal of the day. In this way, by attacking from the very bowels of a storm that would mask their approach, against unprepared and hungry troops that were out of supply, lacked heavy weapons, and consisted primarily of local conscripts with dubious loyalties, Montgomery felt that he had explored and considered every option for the upcoming attack. On the first day of the war, many of his subordinates had begged Montgomery to attack the Italians immediately; they argued that the weak Italian forces opposing them were too few to defend such a large border, and that the native Eritrean and Somali conscripts would in all likelihood scatter at the first hint of combat. Montgomery’s penchant for extensive pre-planning, however, had prevailed in the end, allowing the Italians a short reprieve.
Crusader tanks of Montgomery’s 7th Armored Division assembling in the hours before the night attack
Gariboldi had just reached the bottom of a hill when the sound of an unusual thunderclap rattled above him. In the roiling wind, it was difficult to even hear the sound of thunder, but this particular percussion rattled in such a way as to vibrate the very ground. Flashlight in hand, Garibaldi scanned the base of the hill behind him; grains of sand and clumps of dirt were still visibly reverberating, spilling out onto the plains in sonic waves. Great gusts of wind flew through the small valley where he was standing, carrying the faint but unmistakable scent of cordite on its tendrils. There was something defiantly unnatural about this storm, Gariboldi thought.
The Italian general sprinted to the top of the next hill; he was still 200 yards north of his command post, and though he knew he would not be able to see anything, an ancestral and instinctual urge to reach the high ground drove him forward. As he raced upwards, a dim orange glow began to backlight the hilltop. Upon reaching the summit, he peered downward into a blazing cauldron of fire and smoke—burning bodies, panicked screaming, spectral flames arching skyward—his headquarters had been hit. Though he did not know exactly what had happened, Gariboldi’s forward command post had been struck by a dozen 105mm shells from nearby British self-propelled artillery battery, essentially decapitating the leadership of the
32nd Division. Even worse than the loss of command and control, the native Italians that constituted the HQ’s soldiers had been the most motivated and well-trained men in the division; most of these men were now scattered and aflame, fleeing into dark hills beyond the camp, leaving behind a haphazard assortment of weapons and half-eaten meals.
In this first skirmish to determine the fate of the AOI, British tactical aggressiveness succeeded in surprising the Italian defenders in the hills of northern Ethiopia. Along the eastern portion of the front, the lightly armed
14th and
15th Militia Divisions defending the mountain pass leading to Asmara received the brunt of the main British infantry attack led by the
6th Infantry Division and the
50th Northumbrian Division. Though their local artillery superiority was negated by the pitch darkness, British infantry managed to use the storm and
LRDG maps to infiltrate behind the scattered outposts held by the Italian militia divisions; at dawn, the British were able to attack many of these positions from behind, and were further able to direct withering artillery fire on those positions that resisted. By 1600 hours on 13 April, the British infantry divisions of
XL Corps had penetrated 20 km into the border defenses, overrunning all of the forward outposts and driving hard for the main supply port of Massaua. As the ragged survivors of the Italian
14th and
15th divisions retreated southward just ahead of the pursuing British foot infantry, they left all of their meager artillery and archaic anti-tank weapons behind; throngs of native African troops clogged the road leading to Massaua, where the
30th Militia Division had fortified the approaches to the port and city. Officers from the nearby
Eritrean Corps in Assab attempted to direct the retreating troops into prepared defensive positions in the area.
150 km to the southwest, Montgomery’s
7th Armored Division continued to punish the bewildered defenders of Gariboldi’s
32nd Militia Division. By the time the pickets realized that a British armored column was rumbling by in the night, Crusader tanks were already operating 15 km behind the front line. There was no communication between the isolated outposts and the remnants of the regimental command post; operating without combat direction, many of the frontier companies simply disappeared into the hills upon hearing the sounds of the British advance. By dawn, the position of the
32nd Militia Division was untenable; Gariboldi had by that time managed to get in touch with several of his battalions and ordered them to disable their remaining heavy weapons and fall back towards the towns of Dese and Denakil with all speed. Gariboldi was also able to reach Viceroy Amendo de Savoy in Addis Ababa via radio, who informed Gariboldi that the Italian
44th Militia Division had been ordered north to cover the retreat of the
32nd.
British 7th Armored races to encircle the fleeing Italians
If anything, General Montgomery was displeased with the utter surprise his attack had wrought. He had expected at least a modicum of resistance from the Italian units; in the event, the militia divisions had fled before firing a shot, oftentimes leaving their weapons at their posts. Montgomery had been counting on at least a day of combat in order to allow the long logistical tail of his division to catch up to his forward units, but now he had to pursue the fleeing Italian or risk having them regroup and form a new defensive line. As a result, his division’s frontage was reduced to a thin point, reducing his offensive striking power and creating a coiled logistical trail that confined his wheeled vehicles to the only road in the area. Montgomery ordered his driver to pull to the side of the road; from the shoulder, he looked back towards the Egyptian border some 20 km distant; a constant stream of vehicles snaked its way beyond the horizon. Most distant were the vulnerable fuel trucks, on whom the whole offensive depended; they would soon be needed to refuel the armored vanguard far to the south. Montgomery banged his right fist against the roof of his armored car in disgust; he had not anticipated having his off-road tracked vehicles being confined to an exposed road. Despite the formidable firepower of his division, Montgomery’s
7th Armored was tethered to an aggravating petroleum leash. Furious that Italian ineptitude had disrupted his meticulous assault timetable, Montgomery dropped back down into his vehicle and made contact with Air Commodore Raymond Collishaw in Ismailia.
British tactical bombers strike the Italian 44th Division
Luckily for Montgomery, Commodore Collishaw already had a group of bombers orbiting nearby.
AHQ Sudan in Khartoum had ordered the
9th Squadron of
254 Wing into the air over an hour before. Montgomery wasted no time putting them to work, assigning them the task of harassing the retreating soldiers of
32nd Division, pleased that he could continue to take the fight to the enemy even as he paused to refuel his armor. Eventually, the
9th Squadron spotted advance elements of the
44th Division approaching from the south, and Montgomery ordered the bombers to concentrate on this new formation. It did not take long for Montgomery to figure out that the two units were attempting to merge near the crossroads town of Adwa.
Remnants of 32nd Militia Division retreat towards a rendezvous with the 44th Division near Adwa
The significance of the Italian assemblage near Adwa was not lost on Montgomery; he was well aware of the special significance that location held in the Italian national psyche. The possibility of repeating a battle, like the Ethiopian victory of 1896 over the Italians, was something that very few officers ever get an opportunity to repeat. For a brief moment, Montgomery was consumed by a desire to send a scratch battle group to Adwa at breakneck speed, forsaking any and all losses, in order to get their first and preclude a battle from even occurring. However, after a few fleeting moments of internal deliberation, Montgomery decided the forsake such a reckless endeavor and proceeded to plan an operation in the ‘proper’ way, which of course meant hours or days of painstakingly researching every conceivable course of action for every possible enemy action.
A British airstrike at dawn on 14 April caught the headquarters company of the Italian
44th Militia Division on the open plains south of Adwa; Umberto Mondino, General of
44th was one of the many Italian officers killed during the bombing. Immediately afterwards, Viceroy Amendo de Savoy field promoted Gariboldi to take command of both
32nd and
44th divisions until it can be determined which, if any, officers from the
44th survived the attack. In actuality, Gariboldi’s two divisions contained the equivalent of two regiments worth of soldiers, or less than a single full-strength division even when combined. Nevertheless, it appeared that his fresh
44th Division would win the race to Adwa; standing in the center of the Adwa/Gallabat road, Gariboldi directed his survivors from the
32nd Division to reinforce the
44th soldiers who were beginning to fortify the town.
Over the next two days, Gariboldi managed to funnel the stragglers of the
32nd Division into three ad hoc reserve combat groups, one assigned to bolster the strength of each of the three battalions of the
21st Regiment/44th Division manning the front line; the
44th Division’s other regiment, the
22nd Regiment, was designated as the force’s reserve. The
22nd Regiment was assigned all of the available trucks and vehicles that could be cobbled together in order to make it a rapid reaction force, though the 20 odd vehicles that could be found were only enough trucks to equip one battalion in such a way.
The formidable defensive terrain near Adwa
Gariboldi knew that the steep elevation rise near Adwa would force the British
7th Armored along an even narrower front, further reducing their mobility; Gariboldi hoped to use his infantry to block the British advance along the main road, and then use his
22nd Regiment to conduct counterattacks against Montgomery’s rear-echelon supply forces. If he could reach even a portion of the fuel tankers and destroy them, he might have an opportunity to disable the entire division. Still, even with terrain favoring the defense, Gariboldi realized that he had a difficult task ahead of him.
Italian soldiers rush to emplace a machine gun overlooking the Adwa/Gallabat road
As hundreds of soldiers rushed furiously back and forth at dusk on the 16th April, Gariboldi stood solemnly in the shadow of the monument dedicated to fallen Italian soldiers during the 1896 battle. He knew that he only had a short amount of time before Montgomery’s forces would finish refueling and continue their assault. Standing in the middle of a busy intersection, in the presence of thousands of soldiers looking up to him for leadership, Gariboldi feared what could happen to his men, and he silently lamented his fate. On another hand, however, he had mentally steeled himself for combat, fully believing that his encyclopedic knowledge of historical battles would offer him an opportunity to wrest victory from the menacing jaws of defeat. He was the underdog, after all, and was not expected to win; that in of itself was an advantage.
Italian colonial troopers prepare an ambush on a disguised hillside
The sun once again fading behind the Ras Dashen mastiff, Gariboldi contemplated how historians would reflect on his actions in the coming battle; he suddenly realized that he needed a catchy quip or defining declaration to cement his place in the annals of hallowed antiquity.
Squinting his eyes directly into the setting sun, he gritted his teeth and forcefully mumbled “
The die is cast.”
Pausing a few moments for dramatic effect, and then shaking his head vigorously, Gariboldi realized that it sounded terrible. He wasn’t even sure of what point he was trying to make with his Caesarian rip-off. He hoped no one passing by had heard his meek attempt at projecting a majestic utterance. He tried again, setting his jaw against the backlit mountain peak again, uttering “
I am not afraid of an army of lions led by a sheep; I am afraid of an army of sheep led by a lion.”
Disgusted, Gariboldi slapped his palm against his forehead; that particular catchphrase wouldn’t do either. He needed something unique, something germane to the epic confrontation about to occur. Great quotes from uncompressing men filled his thoughts, and he tried to splice many of them together: “
We will fight in the shade”…”
The problem with Scotland, is that it’s full of Scots”…”
I swear so soon as age will permit, I will use fire and steel to arrest the destiny of Rome”…”
England is a nation of shopkeepers”…”
Laws are like sausages, it is better not to see them being made”
The sun finally set behind the distant western mountains; Gariboldi finally settled on the droll yet earnest battlecry “
Kill them all.”
One of 2 batteries of 75mm artillery employed by the 21st Regiment, crewed by native Italian soldiers