Able Sentry Page 14

  There were two irregular “battalions” of Libyan fighters in the area, the Madkhali and Al Wadi, about 200 men each, with light arms and scout cars and trucks. That night, men of the Madkhali were clustered about small radios, drinking and listening to the news reports of the fighting in Sinai, when suddenly there came a bulletin with news of troops landing at Tobruk. As Allah is my witness, some men spoke, I will go there and throw them into the sea!

  They would not have to make the journey north, for a moment later the air quavered with the sound of scores of helicopters, getting louder by the moment. The men reached for their rifles and some ran outside, but they could see nothing in the black desert night. The four battalions of the Air Assault Brigade had landed on every side of the oasis site, controlling all roads. 1st and 2nd Para Battalions were tasked with clearing all the main facilities at Jarabub, and they leapt from the helos, crouching low as they moved through the dark in small fire teams. The place was surrounded in short order, and the squeeze was on. The men moved like shadows, advancing from every direction, and all heading towards the center of the wheel.

  South of Jarabub, the deep southern desert extended for miles on end, with high ridges of dunes like waves in an endless sea of sand. There was nothing there, and the British had no worries about that flank. So even as they began a firefight at Jarabub against the men of the Madkhali Battalion, 3 Para Battalion moved east towards the Egyptian border at Melfa Spring, and to the south 1 Gurkha Battalion was moving three of its four companies along a thin track at the edge of that sand sea, heading for the border crossing site of Masrab el Jalo.

  Part VI

  Just Resolve

  “Until you step into the unknown, you don’t know

  what you’re made of.”

  ― Roy T. Bennett

  Chapter 16

  22:10 Local, Moonrise, 6 JAN 2026

  Tobruk, Libya

  The 4th Royal Artillery was the last unit off the transports, and it was assembling near Brigadier Kinlan’s headquarters in Tobruk. To the south, the entire brigade had already formed up in a long column of march, extending for many kilometers. Behind the main column in Tobruk, the infantry of the 11th Brigade was manning the perimeter of the city, taking up positions once held when the place was a WWII desert fortress. With them were the four squadrons of the Royal Wessex Yeomanry, a dividend Kinlan had squeezed from the Army order of battle, and one that bolstered his confidence in this crazy mission.

  Simpson, his Staff Officer, came in to report, a man that Kinlan and the other staff officers always called ‘Sims’ for short.

  “Sir, the column is fully formed and the men are at the ready. They turned over the engines five minutes ago.”

  “Very well, Sims. Send the order. We’ve neither time nor fuel to waste tonight, and a long way to go. I’ll be along in a tick.”

  “Right sir.” Simpson saluted, and was on his way. The General looked for his gloves and map case, and was soon on his way out to the command vehicle. Yet each step he took seemed to haunt him. He could not shake the strange feeling of Déjà vu, telling him he had been here before, though he knew this was the first time he had ever set foot in the city.

  Yes…. I’ve been here, going somewhere I think, about to embark on another adventure like this one. This time I’m arriving, but to what end? I’m not sure who has the tougher job, my brigade jaunting off into the desert night, or these men here holding the fort. Let’s hope the locals leave the 11th Brigade in peace, he thought, then he realized the irony in that. They were the ones that brought war here, and whether or not they would come to regret that remained to be seen.

  The column was led by Colonel Reeves of the Royal Lancers Regiment, three sabers in the new Ajax Armored Fighting Vehicle, with the 40mm main gun. Reeves had been pleased to get the new vehicles to replace his Scimitars and Boxers, and the men loved them. Each Saber had 16 Ajax, so he felt like he had some real rolling muscle now, a worthy fighting force, and not just a scouting mission.

  Reeves loved it up front, the tip of the spear as he told the men. He had every faith in his three Saber commanders, Lieutenants Hansen, Dobie, and Hope, and he knew they would get the job done.

  “Sergeant Galloway, be sure the column takes the leftmost road up ahead.”

  “Yes sir, looks like Lieutenant Hansen has made the correct turn.”

  The road south tree-limbed out here as it came to the Marsa el Hariga pipeline reaching southwest to the Sarir Refinery site. They needed to bear southeast now, and the left track would take them closer to the Egyptian border. But not too close, thought Reeves, though I can’t imagine that they would have anything out here, not with that ruckus underway in Sinai. No, most of their army will be far to the east, and good for that. This should be an easy ride south.

  “Sir,” said Galloway. “Hope reports a vehicle has thrown a track on that rough patch we just went through. They’re sorting it out.”

  Kinlan would often ride well forward, but he had lingered in Tobruk, staring out at the harbor, thinking. When he finally got to his command vehicle, he ended up with the 4th Royal Scots Mech Battalion near the tail of the column. The vehicles rattled away, the tracks kicking up dust in places where the sand blew small drifts across the road. Soon they passed south through the old airfield site at El Adem, and then on to Bir el Gubi, all places made famous on the maps by the battles fought there during the war.

  The march order had Reeves in front, followed immediately by the armor of the Royal Dragoon Guards, then the two mechanized battalions, 1st Scots Guards and finally 4th Royal Scots. The artillery was last in line, with a transport battalion, vehicles available to move the civilians to safe ground once they reached Sultan Apache. The tanks of the Royal Wessex Yeomanry were left behind in Tobruk with the 11th Brigade infantry, but Kinlan was comforted to know that he now had a much firmer hold on that vital coastal anchor.

  He was going to need them there.

  That night, when the news came in to Cairo about the British landing at Tobruk, the Egyptian Army was quick to react. With only light forces on the Libyan border, it ordered the ready brigade of the 2nd Mech Division at Alexandria to immediately board trains and head west to Mersa Matruh and beyond. The move was seen by Allied recon assets, and air strikes were called in to hamper it, knocking a full mech company and artillery off the tracks. The phones were also ringing at the headquarters of 3rd Mech Division in the south, and at 129th Special Forces Brigade at Borg El Aran airfield southwest of Alexandria. In those confused early hours, the Egyptians were not exactly sure what was going on, and what the British landing was about.

  “They are moving south,” a staff officer reported to General Nisr that night, who already had his hands full of reports from the Sinai front.

  “South? Into Libya? Are you certain they have not moved southeast toward our border?”

  “We have no reports of that, sir. But now we learn that an air mobile force has preceded them. Our 222nd Special Forces Brigade reports they have landed at Jarabub Oasis.”

  The Lion of the Desert squinted, a suspicious look on his face. “Jarabub… Then they are going to their oil fields—Sultan Apache. This is not an attack on our western border.”

  “Could it be a feint, sir?”

  “No, Halabi. That is a very long way to go. If they went to Jarabub, it is because they will go to Siwa next. Be certain our 222nd Brigade is ready to oppose them. We must send reserves to these oil fields at once. Order the 129th Special Forces to go there, and send orders to General Salid in the 3rd Mech Division. He is to move west immediately, and await my orders.”

  “With his whole division, sir?”

  “Everything. Those forces will not be needed here. The Israelis won’t ever get to Cairo, and by now they must be starting to realize that. So the British have come to reclaim their oil fields? Such arrogance! They think they can go wherever they please? We will teach them a very hard lesson. Get me Tripoli. Let us see what the Libyans think of this.”


  “Yes sir. At once.”

  Those orders to the 129th Special Forces Brigade were ill-fated. The General wanted it to move to Qantara Oasis, which was just northeast of Sultan Apache, but the first battalion attempting to move by air was intercepted and shot up badly by British F-35’s. Nothing had been seen on radar, but now the Egyptians knew they could not rely on air movement over any distance, and even the rail lines were chancy.

  3rd Mech Division would move its brigades by rail to the Bahariya Oasis first, but from there they would have to go by road further west, as there was no direct rail connection to the oil concern or Siwa.

  At that oasis, a single battalion of the 222nd Special Forces Brigade held forth, the remainder of the brigade being at Sultan Apache. One company moved forward to the height near Girba, about 25 kilometers from Siwa. It would set up an observation post to give warning of any British movement on the roads. At Sultan Apache, the troops were rushing to set up defensive positions, and putting a guard on the main facilities, where 500 British nationals were still holed up. They would make excellent hostages.

  06:00 Local, 7 Jan 2026

  Jarabub Oasis

  The Madkhali fighters in Jarabub were also holed up, in the adobe stone buildings at the center of Jarabub. The town itself was about 2.5 kilometers wide, a small urban setting that offered many defensive positions to fight from. They had been taken by surprise, but knew the ground well, every hollow and alley in the town, and now it became a small urban street fight for the place, lasting all through the previous night. About 10 kilometers to the southeast, the Al Wadi Fighters were also attacking C Company, 2nd Para Battalion, on the thin desert road to Masrab el Jalo. The Gurkhas were farther on near the border, but the Al Wadi Fighters were now between Jarabub and their position on the border along that road.

  The unexpectedly fierce resistance of these irregular Libyan groups was holding things up, and already the 16th Air Assault Brigade was behind schedule. Brigadier Hale was getting impatient. Thus far he had not ordered in his attack helos, out of respect to the Libyan civilians, but now it seemed that these dissident Arab fighters were going house to house and pressing any able bodied man they could find into the fight, and this would not do.

  “Lieutenant Williams!” said Hale, his voice low with gravel. He was a stout, sandy haired man, bulldog faced, and all business. “The men called him Curly Dog, but never to his face.

  “Get 662 Squadron up,” he ordered. “I want them on close fire support to clear this mess up, and smartly.”

  That’ll put some thump in the morning air, thought Hale. I’ll not be off my schedule for a pack of local street rabble. The Gurkhas have the border post at Masrab el Jalo, so I’ll send them on their way to Siwa. 3 Para cleared the post at Melfa Spring, so it’s time to get them back on the helos.

  That was done in short order, the helicopters landing around Melfa Spring in a whirl of blowing sand, and the men leaping aboard. They would move quickly southwest to their initial objects near Siwa, the small Uthman Air strip, Hill 433 near Girba, and the Hajj Ali Spring, about 15 kilometers west of the main settlement. That was near a small islet called Fatnas Island on Siwa Lake, and all those positions were taken without resistance.

  The fight for Jarabub ended a little after noon once the attack helicopters got into it. Hale had 662 and 653 Squadrons from 3rd Regiment, with 663 Squadron remaining at Tobruk. They were all Apaches, and the rockets did the trick when it came to rooting out tough enemy positions. What was left of the Libyan fighters simply melted away, wanting nothing more of their war with the British, and now Hale could move on Siwa in force.

  15:00 Local, 7 Jan 2026

  Sidi Suliman

  The first train bringing in elements of the Egyptian 2nd Mech division reached Sidi Suliman near the Libyan border around noon, and by 15:00, the troops had assembled for operations. That station was just 15 miles south of Sollum and Halfaya Pass on the coast, and very near the famous Fort Capuzzo and Bardia in Libya. The train had brought up the 713th Mech Brigade, with two mech infantry battalions and a tank battalion. The border was already being held by the 218th and 219th Frontier reserve battalions, which provided a good screening force along the wire for the mech brigade to move up. It was soon to be joined by elements of the 10th Armored Brigade as more rolling stock came up. These forces assembled and rumbled up to the wire, but did not cross.

  In the south, most of the Egyptian 3rd Mech Division had already passed through the Bahariya Oasis, and was heading west on the desert road to Siwa. It was now becoming a race to see who could reach the Sultan Apache site in force, and win the day, and Brigadier Kinlan had his doubts.

  “Sims, what’s holding up Reeves? We’re too bloody slow!”

  “Tricky road, sir. Not well maintained at all. He also reports light forces in pickup trucks are moving toward us from the west, and he may have to engage.”

  “Well, if we need to get a couple companies of 40 Commando up front, so be it. We’ve got to keep moving.”

  “Yes sir… but as to 40 Commando, they haven’t any helicopters left in Tobruk. Everything went south to Jarabub with 16th Air Assault.”

  Kinlan frowned. “You mean to say they’re on foot?”

  “Well sir, they’ll have a few trucks per company, five or six.”

  “Well isn’t that a nice surprise. Get hold of General Hale. Tell him if he would kindly send a helicopter lift squadron back to Tobruk, we’d make good use of it.”

  “Right sir.”

  * * *

  Reeves had spotted a group of so called “technicals” approaching from the west. These were groups of armed men in fast pickup trucks and cars, the trucks mounted with heavy machineguns, the occasional 20mm cannon, or a recoilless rifle. If he had to deploy to clear them out, he could lose hours here, and the sun was already setting.

  Reeves squinted through his field glasses, seeing the thin trails of dust rising as the vehicles approached. He decided to send two Sabers on their way, and ordered 2nd Saber to turn off the road into the desert.

  “Sergeant Galloway, let’s get 2nd Saber after those louts. And tell 1st Company of the Dragoons to standby. Everything else moves on south. We’re losing time here, but let’s see if these fellows want to tangle with Ajax.”

  If nothing else, he thought, we can get our throats cleared here, and something about being the first unit to fire in anger from the brigade was appealing to him.

  “We’ll take them right after sunset,” he said, smiling as he looked at his watch.

  There was a good deal of hooting and shouting as the trucks came up, but none of the fighters riding them had night vision optics as Reeves had in his Ajax. He waited until they got close, then gave the order to open fire. The 40mm cannons started barking their fire, the thin tracers streaking west into the darkness. Almost immediately, two truck were hit and exploded, which set off all the rest like a string of firecrackers. They were shooting in all directions, with every weapon they had, but little of that fire found the low hulled Ajax APC’s.

  The turrets rotated, firing short controlled bursts, and getting more hits. There came the signature crack of a big 120mm gun as the first of the Challenger II’s opened fire. Those rounds crossed the gulf between the two sides like molten fire, and when they exploded, they would literally rip one of those trucks to pieces. That would be the end of the Libyan sortie. In fact, they had thought to stop and make camp for the night, not even knowing they had been closing on the British column. The last of them turned and sped away to the northeast.

  “A nuisance,” said Reeves sourly. “Brewed up in no time, but it cost me half an hour. Come on lads, let’s get back on point.”

  The rest of the brigade had moved on like a great herd of metal beasts. The road split ahead, and the two Sabers Reeves had sent forward each took one fork. The tracks would join again in about 25 kilometers near hill 456. That would still have the column about 50 miles west of the Egyptian border, but there was no threat expected
this far south. The ground stretched for leagues, empty desert lit by a host of cold white stars.

  There was one road that ran northeast from that hill, and when Kinlan traced it in the map, his finger reached a place called Bir el Khamsa, the site of a big WWII battle. A shiver ran along his spine when he saw that spot on the map. It was where history had recorded that a special force of new British heavy tanks, highly classified, had come up from the southern desert to ambush General Erwin Rommel as he made his push for Alexandria and the Nile. Why his mind stuck on it, he could never say. That battle had always preyed upon him when he read any history of that time. Little, if anything was ever said about the force that made that ambush, unlike so many other battles where the officers involved were so well documented.

  Forget this nonsense, he told himself. It’s just that bloody dream you had the other night, that’s all. Yet the closer they got to the objective site, the more this hidden inner memory seemed to pressure his mind. He shook it away, too busy now to deal with such things. Word had just come that Hale’s Brigade had moved nine companies to Siwa, and the fighting was already underway there.

  Chapter 17

  18:00 Local, 7 JAN 2026

  Siwa was a much different place than the oasis site Fedorov had seen in WWII. Back then, it was largely just the inner old town, partly ruins, and little more than bleached mud huts baked in the desert sun to an ochre hue. They were actually built from a material called Karshif, which was a mixture of salt and clay worked by the ancient Berbers. Palm trees graced the otherwise barren terrain, in stark contrast to the jagged remnants of stone ruins and dilapidated towers. The crumbling, roofless mud walls of the old town huddled about a solitary weathered hill. It rose up in layers of sedimentary rock shelves to a tumble of large ruddy boulders near its ragged crest.